#the emotion of wonder is a constant for all sentient life

[emergency-vehicle]

do you ever think about how since cybertron is machinery, it's full of light, which means the atmosphere will refract the light, which means that they can't see the stars from the surface.

cybertronians building huge telescopes. cybertronians having black out nights. cybertronians planning date nights in the country. sparklings getting inspired by seeing out of a telescope for the first time.

the first time they could see the night sky was after the battle for cybertron. autobots returning to their homeworld after spending milleniums among the stars still getting starstruck from seeing the galaxy. they're instantly flashed back to their days as a child, peering through telescopes and excitedly counting down the days to their city's yearly blackout night.

autobots getting hit with nostalgia for something that had been for so long removed from them. autobots experiencing childlike wonder after a millenia of trauma and fight or flight and endless war. autobots remembering what peace feels like. autobots who were born during the war experiencing peace for the first time.

[freedfromthegalactichivemind]

I just want to take a moment to wonder / baffle at how different fandoms can be. It seems like some things are constant between all fandoms - an abundance of smutfic and art, self-insert and OC character-creation fun, people inserting characters into popular memes, people making the wildest aus (Let's fanart them as werewolves!" and the like). However, there are just such interesting differences. In Spop fandom, I will never, NEVER get over how much visceral HATRED exists for Hordak on one "side" of the fandom and how much of the same kind of hatred exists for Catra on another "side" of the fandom. Additionally, discourse over Glimmer and etc. It seems like all the people in this fandom (who haven't just said hang it all to just make cute fanart and funny comics) talk about are WAR CRIMES and "who deserves redemption more?" in a show that is clearly about restoration and kindness. Horde Prime's destroying planets aside, I can count the canonical deaths in this series ON ONE HAND. And everyone's upset at all of the war crimes committed in a largely non-lethal local-to-the-main-setting-planet war on this... almost utopian planet where we'd all probably like to live. Meanwhile, over in Trigun fandom... The body count is in the literal millions and not in passing mentions of genocide Jell-O at dinner, but in triumphant arms to the sky as a burning fleet of spaceships incinerate in the sky in a deliberate attempt at a genocide (not as a side-effect of ruling). Many on-screen deaths of characters you get to KNOW. There is this huge complex moral dilemma centered around the survival-needs of a population that depends upon sentient beings that are both dependent upon them and overused and abused by them. There's another huge complex moral dilemma revolving around the justification of lethal force vs. the prices of a life of chosen, ardent pacifism. It's not a Y-7 series by any means and the manga / comics version of it gets really super dark (yet somehow Trigun Stampede made the Tesla-arc even darker, bravo, I'm gonna be sick). And yet the villains - from the mini-boss assassin characters to the ur-villain who LITERALLY WANTS TO DESTROY ALL OF HUMANITY and also wishes to manipulate his hero-brother to his side through severe traumatizing emotional torture... it's like... there are loads of people in this fandom who are "Oh, Millions Knives is my favorite character!" and it doesn't seem like anyone bats an eyelash. There are probably more fandom essays exploring Knives' side of things and why he feels the way he does and how his character-arc makes sense than even people in any way actively against him. Yes, most people in this fandom "side with Vash" (as do I), but it's like... we understand the villain here, or try to, and here's a fandom where people find sympathy for and "humanity" in the blatantly cruel person who on-screen slaughters swaths of people in some of the most gruesome ways possible. It's like, in this fandom, if someone's a Knives-fan, or a Legato-fan, or a Midvalley-fan, or even those of us who love the greatest villain of all, he who shines in the darkness, BRILLIANT DYNAMITES NEON!!! (oh, my two-episode wonder, missed you in Stampede oh so much, my sparkler-smoking baby...) it's like... no one cares? It's like "Yeah, they're great characters, aren't they?" It's just so... different. In the non-fatal sparkly princess show, everyone's scrutinizing everyone else for liking characters who do (largely non-lethal) WAR CRIMES! and then the mature-anime/manga fandom I am in where there's this whole extinction of humanity and the uses of their adjacent created-resource-species at stake everyone's like... chill. And enjoying the villains - and different ones, at that, is NORMAL.

[reasonsilovemywife]

<witty title here>

I’m in my feels this morning, pain is particularly bad this morning and I just... /sigh.  Waiting for my pain meds to kick in and I realized one of the most terrifying things I learned as an adult is that almost everything around us is just made up bullshit. When I was a kid, we were all told, “Go to school, go to college, choose a career, graduate, get the job you want, work 40 years in a fulfilled life spending my last years playing a fucking guitar or something” But that story has no real truth to it anymore.  I say anymore, I’m not sure it had truth to it in the 70′s for most people honestly.  It’s just like this great lie we were sold when we were too young to even know to question it.  One of the constant comments I read all the time are folks saying how much better off now than we’ve ever been as a species.  Technology is flourishing and if you ignore the giant steaming pile of wailing malodorous corpses, Capitalism is the viagra of unabashed human progress.  But I would honestly argue that this may be one of the worst times to be sentient because we have self awareness because I have emotions and feelings and I am acutely aware of the fact that I’m trapped in time and that one day I will die.  I know all that but I have no idea why the fuck I’m here.  What purpose, if any, does our existence bring.  This conundrum is so deeply ingrained in us that people dress up in funny clothes every week and listen to an even funnier dressed man tell them a bat-shit fucking insane story so well crafted it’s able to push the wailing cries of existential dread down into the gut for a while.  This will never be resolved in my lifetime or years.  This might never be resolved.  Our innate sense of self awareness coupled with the reality of our own demise might be the greatest unintentionally hilarious cosmic absurdity that we are all doomed to play out.   And with that boiling cauldron of ontological excrement hanging around our necks and filling our nostrils day in and day out it amazes me how willing some people are to numb themselves to it.  Like.. I get it, I understand constantly staring at this unknown abyss could fuck you up pretty good but I don’t know what it says about us that in the face of this existential nightmare that we not only continue to function but we actively castrate anyone who says this shit.   I’m sure I’ll get comments or messages telling me how “edgy” or “immature” or “childish” I’m being by saying this out loud and maybe some folks can walk hand in hand with death on the precipice of nothingness but I’m reaching for the pill bottle just thinking about it.   No wonder people aren’t willing to work minimum wage jobs getting harassed by some doe eyed dipshit.  We do not have time for that.  The clock is ticking and the last thing we should have to concern ourselves with is filling out a goddam spreadsheet, getting paid barely enough to afford food, having zero chance of upward mobility, being tacit perpetrators of a broken social order, having every one of our actions be unethical by fucking design and the list goes on. LIke... fuck me but can we just burn all this to the ground because I’d really like to meet that chasm of nothingness knowing that I at least made the pointlessness of our absurd existence  a little bit better for the poor bastards coming behind me.  .... holy shit that was unhinged....  well, have a happy new year, everyone.

[unknownogre]

“What?!”

The hero looked to Nuvian with a very puzzled expression, the half-elf bard just smirked a bit and gave him a wink. Up until now he was the model of virtue, always helping the hero make the right choice so the people would love him. Telling the best stories so his path stayed true…so the works coming out of his mouth right now were jarring at best.

“Yes, let me toy with him for a while. I think I can get three or four weeks. Two months if I use this new healing spell I’ve been trying to learn on the side. Oh I think his screams will be wonderful…a symphony for the soul if you will.”

Nuvian smile as he moved the villain over to make sure his heart was still bleeding and offering some stabilization without waking him up. The hero was just dumbfounded at the moment.

“I…I was just going to kill him.”

Nuvian didn’t even look back as he made sure to search the Villain’s pockets and remove everything but enough clothes to leave his modesty intact. He moved like he was an expert at this, like it had been done a hundred times and this was simply business as usual. Even his tone was as light and warm as it ever has been.

“Oh, I know, but that was never the plan my dear friend. This was the plan. This has always been the plan.”

The rest of the party was recovering. They had all been just hurt enough to have to stay behind for the final battle leaving only the hero and his trusty bard to face the boss alone. None of them grievously injured…but just enough so they wouldn’t be at full so they weren’t strong enough to walk through the barrier.

“The Plan? You need to talk to me Nuvian. I want you to explain everything right now!”

The Hero panicked, had he just been manipulated this entire time? Were his motivation his own? Panic…worry…dread. He said he’d never be a puppet again. Not since escaping slavery.

“Oh it was simple. Keep you good, get you strong and get to the villain. Kill him, won’t help you feel better. You know it needs to be done though. If you did this, you’d lose part of yourself. Which is fine. You’ve only killed monsters up to this point, mindless hunks of meat that deal out constant aggression. They have no emotions, no anything. They are easy to kill. Sentient beings on the other hand, well that isn’t you cup of tea. Don’t worry, your quest was yours alone, I didn’t need to make you do anything. I was just along to get to this point.”

At this point the Hero didn’t even notice Nuvian hoist the Villain up on their horse and secure them to the saddle. The bard then turned to his friend and walked over to put a hand on his shoulder. The Hero’s eyes locked with his friend and oddly enough he found comfort in them. This was the man who had saved his life, who sang by the fire at night to quell the restless spirits that banded together to remove the Villain from power. He was there, it couldn’t have all been a lie could it?

“Listen, you aren’t the only one this bastard has hurt. On top of that he knows things, things no one but me knows he knows. So I want some answers. I get to have fun while I rip them from his flesh. I’m a nice person my dear Hero but I’m not a good one. Do you remember the corrupt mayor that we punished last year?”

The Hero nodded and then froze.

“What did you do to him? We left him in a jail cell and moved on. The city was supposed to do what they needed…but then you had business. I…I watched you get on a boat and leave. We met up a month later.”

Nuvian just smile and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. He then motioned for him to sit down in the batter throne they found the villain on while Nuvian sat in the stewards spot.

“Well, I did have business, but I just had the ship drop me down the river and I looped around back. I then hunted down every noble that supported the Mayor, I tortured them to make sure there were no hidden secrets, and then I tortured the mayor till his body gave out. I did some of my best work. A demon actually came up from hell to have me autograph a square of his flesh after his body gave out and his soul hit its final destination. It was really an honor. Shows I’m on the right path. Most polite pit fiend I’ve ever met. Didn’t use my real name of course, not that stupid. We had a laugh over it, all in all a great time.”

The Hero was still stunned but honestly he didn’t feel bad about it. He didn’t give the go ahead for this, but he knew if anyone deserved those fates it was that pedophile mayor and his lackies. Reason was starting to return, and the more Nuvian talked the more the Hero realized that it wasn’t that he didn’t know his friend, he just didn’t know ALL of his friend and that was okay because he was finding out now.

“Alright, if that is what you want to do I’m not going to argue or stop you. Come find me when you are done though okay, I want to take you out to the tavern for a drink.”

Nuvian just chuckled and brought his friend in for a hug. He knew the Hero wasn’t naive and thus why he was chosen as a traveling partner and one to help him get to his goal. Find, capture, break and then murder the Villain. The process took three years, but three years of well spent effort.

“Deal.”

The bard said as they parted ways and he turned to head out of the place before the rest of the party could try and press their morals upon them. Nuvian could only chuckle as he head the Villain groan in pain. Oh it was going to be SO much worse in just a day’s time…he couldn’t wait.

'You can't kill him!' 'Ugh I am so sick of this idea that killing this monster would make me just as bad as he is!' 'What? No I'm saying I can keep him alive for DAYS while I torture him' '…'

[blackkatmagic]

“So you haven’t been eaten by a dragon yet after all,” Xiaan says, warm despite the wind A'Sharad can see whipping her lekku around her in wild gusts. “You had me worried, A'Sharad.”

A'Sharad snorts, tipping the holo a little as it fuzzes from the wind-blown sand. “You have more than enough to worry about already, Xiaan,” he says, and the distant hum of a speeder makes him raise his head, watching narrowly as a craft cuts across the top of a distant dune. Not close enough to be a threat, but—close. He’ll have to warn the tribe that’s hosting him. If settlers are encroaching, it might be time for them to move.

“Little enough that I can't worry about you as well,” Xiaan retorts, though she’s smiling. “Taking your leave right under the nose of the Hutts is a risk.”

“The Hutts won't bother the Tuskens,” A'Sharad says dismissively, watching her with narrowed eyes. She looks tired, and A'Sharad can't see much of the land around her, but she mentioned deployment somewhere cold. “You should wrap your lekku. If they get frostbitten, you're going to spend the next six months complaining about numbness.”

Xiaan rolls her eyes, just as there's a bark of laughter from somewhere beyond the projector. A'Sharad raises an eyebrow, well able to recognize a clone trooper’s voice, and says dryly, “I assume I'm not the first person to tell you that, Xiaan.”

“You're worse than Quinlan,” Xiaan complains, and then leans back. “Salvo, that was not an I told you so moment, you're not allowed to mark that down.”

“I did tell you,” Xiaan's commander says, leaning down into the projector and waving a heavy winter headwrap at her. “I said General Hett would tell you to wear a wrap. That’s a point for me.”

Xiaan pulls a face, but doesn’t argue as she takes the headwrap and slides it over her lekku, attaching it to her leather headwrap and then looping her lekku around her neck. “It feels stifling,” she complains, and Salvo snorts as he takes a step back out of view.

“So does the armor, General Amersu” he retorts. “But at least it’s warm.”

When Xiaan turns her scowl on him, A'Sharad raises a hand to fend her off. “You know what I normally wear out of respect for the elements, Xiaan. You’ll get no sympathy from me.”

That makes Xiaan pause, looking troubled, and her eyes sweep up and down A'Sharad’s form, then slide back to his face. “I do,” she says, and it’s even, measured. “Though I can't help but notice that you stopped dressing as a Tusken, A'Sharad. Even now that you're back on Tatooine.”

A'Sharad doesn’t answer for a long moment. It’s too easy to remember the roil of Skywalker's hatred, the fury he’d turned on the soldiers they faced. The fury he’d turned on A'Sharad, before knowing he was Human, and something dark and grim traced through A'Sharad’s bones can't help but draw connections in the fact that Anakin stopped trying to kill him once he knew he was genetically a Human. Even weeks together, with A'Sharad doing everything he could to teach Anakin, had been obliterated in a moment by Anakin's hatred.

It’s a powerful force. Too powerful, and A'Sharad has dealt with hate too often in his life, but—Anakin's unnerves him.

“There are fewer misunderstandings when I dress as a Jedi,” he finally offers. “I'm a Tusken, but…the galaxy sees Human and understands that more readily.”

“You were still dressed as a Jedi when you wore your Tusken clothing,” Xiaan points out, quiet. “You're a Tusken Jedi. Clothing doesn’t change that.”

The Order has certainly never objected to A'Sharad’s culture, or his struggles with anger in the wake of his father’s murder. Each Jedi is an individual, a Jedi first and foremost, but—none of them have ever had to give up the culture of their homeworlds.

Still, the memory of Anakin's fury and hatred, and what Anakin confessed, turns A'Sharad’s stomach, sends a thread of doubt rising. He’s a Jedi, and he always has been, has devoted himself body and soul to the Force, but—

People see the Tuskens as animals. Anakin saw nothing else, to the point that he slaughtered a whole tribe, to the point that he almost killed another Jedi because of it. The Order fights a war right now because there's no other option, and sometimes A'Sharad can't help but feel the emotions of those who stand against the Republic armies and…wonder. Wonder how much of the fear is because of what he is, and how much would be removed if he were simply Human. He knows how Anakin reacted to the removal of his mask, after all.

The pain of grief is something that A'Sharad can respect, and the weight of a secret that eats like acid at the conscience is a decent punishment, but his own decision to say nothing weighs at him. Anakin acted out of anger, and if anyone can understand the fall into Dark emotions, it’s A'Sharad. Repentance was lacking, though, and any sort of acknowledgement that the Tuskens he killed were sentient, and A'Sharad…worries. Worries what might happen if the war drags on, and Anakin becomes a Knight, and takes a padawan.

Rot spreads quickly, and the Dark Side is a habit too easily enabled when the whole galaxy lacks light.

“It’s your choice, A'Sharad,” Xiaan says, leaning forward, and her eyes are kind and a little sad. “But you should know that my best friend has always been a Tusken, and him dressing as a Human changes nothing.”

A'Sharad can't help but smile a little, and the ache of this war, of the loss of Bhat, of every clone trooper under his command, still lingers, but—death is a constant, and part of life. Bhat was taken by the desert, as he wanted, and A'Sharad saw to pyres for the troopers, and that’s the most he can do. They’ve departed, and he values them, so he’ll keep moving. And in the meantime, moments like this can offer a little bit of solace.

“Thank you, Xiaan,” he says quietly, and pauses, then offers, “Tell Commander Salvo that he is entirely entitled to his point.”

Xiaan makes a rude sound and closes the connection.  

[kaypeace21]

listening to the rebel robin podcast- ep 1 and 2

interesting things i noticed...

-Robin in ep 1 saying “ ask for forgiveness not permission” like nancy in s3. Can’t wait for that teamup.

-Robin not being a fan of tom cruise’s ‘appeal’- who steve mentions in s1 he looks like. lol

- Robin says she’s afraid of change (kind of like Hopper in s3).

- robin says: ‘surviving hawkins takes a special skillset. hawkins high isn’t the easiest place to exist. Barb is like me...people that are different don’t last long in Hawkins and that’s what i mean about barb. she knew that you couldn’t be exactly who you were without serious consequences.” teacher:”if barb was so good at surviving here than why did she leave?” robin: “maybe she got tired of hiding. maybe it was getting harder to go unnoticed ... a nerd alone cause her bestfriend left her... now that would be worth escaping.”

( I wonder if that’s foreshadowing for another queer coded character other than Barb... hmm)

- Robin: “i know Will is different.what do you think happened to him?” both robin  and her gay teacher mr houser are thinking about gay coded Will and Barb’s disappearances  .Than Robin says . “the hawkins monster you see it too don’t you? the way it eats people up. That’s why the camouflage is so important. Because it’s always lurking in the shadows... i think you know that , don’t you? You wouldn’t be worried about me if you didn’t.( aka both queer characters thinking that something bad happen because Barb/Will couldn’t conform/camouflage properly)

- gay robin dreams of running away ( ‘like barb’) and mr houser who did something similar when younger says it’s no way to live a life and robin in turn says running away is a “good way to keep your life, though.” which again is a very dark line if you’re gay and living in a small b*goted town.

mr houser in ep 2 says: “there are monsters everywhere.” (even in cities). When robin says he should recommend subversive books he likes, he  says “that’s a sure fire way to rile up the monster... I know you understand this robin all your talk of camoflage that is you working in the system”. Robin than says she has no choice but to do so- and she needs to runaway or rebel because eventually she’ll be a person she doesn’t recognize or like.

The monster in this case is conformity- and people who are gay (in the 80s) and forced in the closet have much more fear/ emotional turmoil over such a monster watching and observing their every move.

I talked about it here - how in the rebel robin novel the main villain is the "monster of conformity and heteronomativity." So the companion podcast has similar themes. The book even mentions how both (gay) robin and mr hauser use “camoflage” to protect themselves from the monsters. Robin even says the Monster got mr hauser fired (after he’s outed by Dash). Robin also says if Dash knew the truth about her liking girls-the monster would be on her tail too. Of course the monster in the book also represents (for the most part) conformity and popularity. The whole book is Robin learning not to conform nor care about what other people think of her-and to be herself. 

infact, ep 1 of the podcast also mentions the book 1984: the villain (big brother) brutally purges out anyone who does not fully conform to their regime using the Thought Police and constant surveillance through telescreens (two-way televisions), cameras, and hidden microphones.  the ‘rebel robin’novel also has Robin/other students analyze the short story ‘the lottery’ -“The Lottery” was controversial because it critiqued blind conformity to tradition.The story suggested that even picturesque small towns in America are not always peaceful, and it questions the potential negative impacts of adhering unquestioningly to traditions.

in ep 2 about frankenstein :we see references to (maybe) dr brenner and the mindflayer

- robin “marry shelly understood who the real monsters were “. teacher: who were the real monsters in frankenstein? Robin:“the doctor.pretending scientific innovation is more important than humanity... innovation isn’t more important than humanity...  How you treat people is what really matters. frankenstein doesn’t get a gold star for making another human being and than treating his creation like dirt... frankenstein tried to control another sentient being.”

( Well sounds like Brenner who tried controlling el and other numbers for the sake of scientific “progress”. the monster even called  frankenstein  “father” aka “papa”. And El watched the film frankenstein in s2. Although, the whole treating your ‘creation’/child like dirt-could apply to another dad in the series too.)

- “ Robin about the monster in frankenstein“ well he was scared and confused and left to fend for himself. Which doesn’t excuse things but... i think she was saying we’re the monster...the fear they feel when they see him just because of the way he looks. That’s the true horror.”

(More stuff about conformity/society being the real monster.If you’re not aware - frankenstein was originally titled “the modern prometheus”. After the fire god-prometheus. Which Robin even references in s3. fire god (will the wise)=mindflayer.

Another cool eastergg is that in the novel and podcast they mentioned Robin’s friend Milton-which is first name of the author who wrote ‘paradise lost’- which the monster (in frankenstein) read .

-Robin also compares herself to frankenstein’s monster- saying they both want to runaway to a different country because they both are trapped in a society that doesn’t accept them.

[littlemissagrafina]

A Man And His Bots

A look into the relationship and care between Tony and his bots and A.I's.

Read on AO3

Tony had people issues. Everyone knew it. He knew it.

People were foreign to him, they had been ever since he was young. He just couldn't understand them.

No, that was wrong, he could understand them, it just wasn't always easy to do and more often than not it was exhausting to even try. Sure, there were some people he understood, his mom, Jarvis, and even Howard. Tony could understand him easily. It didn't take a genius to know that the elder Stark disliked, even hated, his son at times.

The tears and occasional bruises left on Tony's skin were a testament to that fact.

Anyone other than his mother and Jarvis were almost a trial to talk to and to be around. It made the social networking at events that he was pushed into by his parents that much more unbearable for Tony. 

The dinners, gala's, and charity events were some of the most draining nights in Tony's young life that he could remember. They always left him longing to be back in his room with his tools and various pieces of metal and machinery.

Maria and Jarvis understood his need to be alone and in the quiet of his own little world, but Howard hated it. Oh, he hated it. But usually if Tony had behaved well enough through what felt like the hundredth event in the space of a month, the man would turn a reluctant blind eye to the nights that his wife and Jarvis would help Tony sneak out to the quiet solitude of his room.

Tony grew to miss those nights where they would help him escape once he was shipped off to boarding school on his father's command. At least finishing senior year by fifteen had left him without many friends, either due to jealousy, bullying, or his own unwillingness to socialise.

Most of them had been after his money and status anyway, a hard fact Tony had had to face when the rare times of loneliness forced him to attempt a friendship with anyone. Eventually he stopped caring to try, and he spent his lonely nights as he always had, with tools, scraps, and blueprints.

It was thanks to those nights the the rudimentary start of his own A.I and been birthed, the work and escape it provided lasting right into his first year at MIT where, much to his surprise, he seemed to have formed what he thought could be a genuine friendship with his roommate.

James Rhodes. Or Rhodey as Tony had taken to calling him. In the beginning the older teen had come across as a stuck up,  goody two shoes. Over time, he had proven to have a fun and mischievous side that matched perfectly to Tony's own as they grew closer.

Although Tony had grown attached to his Honeybear, it didn't take away from the many, many times he needed his own space and a quiet retreat; a fact that Rhodey understood just as Maria and Jarvis had, something that took Tony by endless surprise.

Rhodey showed Tony an unused room near the campus labs, explaining that it was once meant to be an extension of a separate lab but had never been pulled properly into the plans and curriculum. As such, it had been forgotten in a way.

It was the perfect room for Tony to turn into his own getaway, and one that Rhodey had even helped him set up with a couple spare benches and tables they found in the storage rooms, soon filling it with other things such as a random couch they found in perfect condition outside a frat house, some equipment for Tony’s inventing, and other stray items they collected over time.

It was in this room that Dumm-E whirred fully to life, finally sentient and real.

And Tony loved him.

---

Eventually U would join Dumm-E in the "brotherhood of bots" as Tony called them even though there were only two of them.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened (if at all), sometimes even imagined if he was just reading too much into it, but Tony swore that his little bots seemed to express emotions at times.

There were little whirs that they emitted when he would power them up or if they were on when he entered a room. They almost felt like greetings to Tony.

There was also the panicked beeping at the numerous fires Tony would inevitably cause, or when he injured himself in the lab. Of course, followed by their more often than not misshapen attempts and trying to help him with said fire or injury.

Tony didn't think he'd ever be able to leave a fire extinguisher safely in their keep but he still continued to try.

There were other instances that made him question the emotional range of the little A.I's he'd made, but it was their greetings and "helpful" times that always managed to warm his heart.

They weren't people, but they were his and he could understand them.

And he hoped the bots somehow knew how much he cared for them in turn.

---

It was after Jarvis' death that Tony truly became dependent on his creations. Sure, he'd needed them after his parent's death, just like he'd always needed his tinkering, inventing, and whatever other techy think he was doing at that time.

But Jarvis' death… it broke him in a way that Howard and Maria's hadn't been able to. If he felt like it, Tony could probably wonder the reasoning behind it, if it was because of the clear difference in affection, care, and feeling of responsibility that the man held rather than what Howard or Maria had. But he didn't feel like it.

It was listening to a recording of a voicemail that Jarvis had sent him during college that gave Tony the idea. 

Locking himself in his lab, he hunted down every other voicemail or video he could get his hands on, typed code until his fingers cramped, and downed coffee until his legs were buzzing.

Rhodey knocking on his door in an attempt to curb his friend's self-destructive tendencies was flat out ignored, each call and voicemail not heard.

It continued until his single minded grief and need to create and to fix was softened and his work complete.

The most advanced A.I known to man was created, and Tony's loneliness and grief had someplace to go.

Jarvis was reborn.

---

The familiar safety and retreat of the bodyless British voice stayed with Tony for so many years. It was there through his many tabloid rises and falls, his numerous parties, one night stands and two week girlfriends.

It was there for his breakdowns, his breakdowns, and retreating from the world around him.

He was there before Afghanistan and once again after. Through Iron Man being born, through Obie's betrayal, the palladium, avengers, Killian.

All of it and Jarvis was there. Sure Tony had people to lean on, to love. He had Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy, but Dumm-E, U, and Jarvis were different.

The A.I had slowly become an entity to Tony. He wasn't just an animated voice anymore, he was the legacy of the man who was once practically his father.

And it was only so fitting that he experience the grief and loss of the man twice.

When Ultron happened and Jarvis was destroyed, Tony felt as if he went into a blanket of shock, only feeling and grieving once he was fully alone. And dammit did he grieve.

It manifested in anger first, and when that faded, it moved to sadness. A deep aching sadness reminiscent of his first loss. He hated it, loathed it, and wished he had the same outlet he had had for the first death.

But didn't he?

What was stopping him from creating it again? But not another Jarvis. Tony couldn't do this again, but what if he created another A.I? One separate from Jarvis and his meaning?

So he got to work, alone with his bots and once again spinning his grief into lines of code.

This time, a sister for Dumm-E and U was born. A spunky, Irish A.I with a similar proclivity for sarcasm to what her predecessor held.

"Lights on, baby girl. We've got work to do."

---

Just as Tony had grown to need Dumm-E and U, how he had needed Jarvis, he needed Friday too.

He supposed it sounded strange to regular people, the way he was more comfortable around his creations than around most of the human population, but to him it wasn't unlike the way people would gravitate towards animals, or books, or art.

It was easy for Tony. It was a comfort to him in the same way having a cat on your lap or a dog across your feet was, just in a different, mechanical or technical form.

The constant presence of Friday in his lab and his suits and his home was important to Tony. The strange alliance and comradery they had formed once again boosting the feeling of curiosity and care towards the emotions his creations had developed.

It was something he cherished, something he needed.

She wasn't Jarvis, but she had helped him and been with him in his times of need since she had been born, and Tony knew her and the bots would be there, still, in many times to come.

"Drop my needle, Fri. And show me Peter's patrol feed too, would'a?"

"Right away, boss."

[thecursedhellblazer-arc]

romantic headcanons.

name: John Constantine alias: Hellblazer, ConJob, The Laughing Magician, The World’s Greatest Con Man, El Diablo, The Constant One gender: male sexual orientation: pansexual romantic orientation: demiromantic

preferred pet names: John pretty much plays along with whatever nickname his partner(s) decide to use for him, from “classic” ones to whatever thing the people he’s seeing might have come up with. This means that even insults can become pet names, when used by his current partner, no matter how bad they can get. relationship status: single / verse dependant (I currently have a verse in which he’s building a poly relationship, another in which he’s (un)officially dating but it might get more than official at some point, and one in which he has a proper stable boyfriend)

opinion on true love:  John believes that a kind of love that comes close to be defined as such exists. He has experience a similar feeling in person a few times (with Nick and Zatanna, with Kit). However, because of his past experiences, he isn’t very confident on the fact that he’ll ever manage to find a way to keep that sort of relationship going. The closer someone gets to him, the worse fate awaits ahead of them or the deeper he disappoints them. opinion on love at first sight: John believes in “attraction at first sight”, but not in love at first sight. That’s in part because getting attached is often not an option for him. When it comes to sex and romance, he prefers going for something casual, with few string attached. It’s it’s safer and less complicated, and it hurts less with things inevitably fall apart. So, he isn’t one to fall fast for people. He wouldn’t be able to even if he tried (with a few exceptions). how ‘romantic’ are they?: John can be a romantic, especially if it’s something that his partner(s) enjoy. Personally, he likes doing some traditional couple stuff, like going out for dinner, going to concerts, having a picnic or even just having an aimless stroll around holding hands. He likes trying to play the cook and cooking homemade meals...even if the results aren’t always stellar. So, when he really cares for someone (or he is in love) John is…a lot of things. He tries to be charming, confident, playful and appealing, and he wines and dines his partner(s) as much as they allow him to. However, he can also be a huge, sometimes sappy dork. He’d go to hell and back, literally too, to try and make his partner(s) happy (and that’s part of his idea of romance too).

ideal physical traits: John’s tastes when it comes to his partners’ physical appearances are, to say the least, variegated. Considering that he finds attractive beings from very different species, it’s hard to pinpoint what exactly draws him to someone, physically speaking. He has a certain preference for inhuman traits, especially if they could be somehow harmful for him (he finds the thrill of danger is too appealing for his sake). Another thing that he likes, in humans and non-humans alike, is physical strength. He likes someone who can crush him and hold him down, or who can put up a fight when he does that. ideal personality traits: John enjoys someone who can match his wits, who is cunning and can challenge him, keep him on his toes. He’s also attracted to people who can be too straightforward and who are strong-willed and determined, bold and not easily deterred, perhaps because those are all qualities someone needs to have to manage to stay around him for a prolonged amount of time. He’s also drawn to people who are fierce and passionate or have strong emotions, but can also keep an open mind. He can appreciate if his partner(s) have a kind, softer, perhaps even nurturing side, because, whether he wants to admit it or not, he tends to cling and find solace in such affections.

unattractive physical traits: Again, it’s just as hard to pinpoint what John might not like as it is to find specific physical traits that he found more attractive (I mean, at some point he had sex with a bunch of sentients organs, for the gods!). He’s open to give everyone and everything a try (as long as it’s consensual), though not all the experiences turn out to be pleasant. Those, he tends to avoid the second time. unattractive personality traits: Dullness, excessive ignorance or lack of smartness. Hypocrisy, because John might be a liar, but that kind of behaviour irks him to no end. People who are too pretentious, who have a too high idea of themselves without having a good reason to justify it. People who force themselves on others, in any way. Someone who’s too obsessive (because of bad past experiences) or too self-absorbed to spare the effort every relationship needs to work out.

do they have a type?: Yes and no. He has a preference for whoever checks most of the boxes when it comes to what he generally likes in a partner, but every case turns out to be different. It’s also true that most of his lovers, though, held some sort of power over him, be it because they are strong (physically or mentally or “magically) or because they for some reason have the upper hand in the relationship. Strong-willedness and ability to call him out on his bullshit are other recurrent traits. opinion of public affection: When he’s fond of someone, John can get very touchy-feely, if not straight out handsy, around them, no matter if they are alone or in public. He is very much open to PDA, but he restrains himself if his partner prefers avoid them. The same can’t be said for when they are in private, because then any excuse (and even the lack of one) is good to gets his hands on whoever he’s seeing.

favourite canon ship: Uuuh, I’m going to say Nick / John / Zatanna. We don’t see much of it in canon, aside from their tragic falling out, but I like to think that they had a good run before everything fell apart. John was obviously so very in love with them both, and the three of them balanced each other well and were a positive influence in each other’s life, even if at the same times they also tended to bring out the worst in each other. For all those reasons and more, I love the verse I’ve been building with @adventurepunks​​ because it allows me to explore all the shades of their complicated relationship. I liked, even if not as much, John’s relationship with Kit. Though, I must say that I’m glad (for her) that it didn’t work out, because that wonderful woman deserves so much better than him (just as Zatanna). favourite non-canon ship: I have three main non-canon relationships. John / Demon John (which I write in my verse with @thedemonconstantine ) and that’s a pairing I also ship in general (meaning outside RPs). Then we have John / Oliver Queen, with @thegreenxrcher​​​ (and with her too I have a whole verse). Last but not least, John / Nick Sethson ( Devil OC written by @paradiseturnedhell​​​). Each of this ships has its own peculiar appeal to me and I could write an essay for each of them, but I’ll spare you all x’D However, I want to make some special mentions too. I have build a wonderful friendships (with occasional benefits) with @obsessionsarenotforheroes​​​ and her Jessica. I’m developing a ship (or should I say shipS? xD How does it even work with Marc xD) with @fistofhnsw​​​. John & @laughter-in-white​​‘s croptop J because their friends-with-benefits relationship is hilarious. And, finally, John and Koriand’r ( @blizzardmuses​​​...‘cause they kissed twice “for science” so it counts...right???)

*

tagged by: @laughter-in-white & @paradiseturnedhell tagging: @thegreenxrcher (one of the demons?) @fistofhnsw @adventurepunks @blizzardmuses​ @elisethetraveller​ @goldentemplariumcrow​ @seekthedarknesswithin​ - & whoever wants to steal this !

[flightfoot]

Tower of Nero quotes

So since I’m planning on writing some analyses for Tower of Nero, I decided to assemble my usual catalogue of quotes, so I won’t have to constantly flip through looking for them and typing them up hopefully. This is based on the kinds of analyses and things I want to talk about or just found interesting, but hey, I figure other people may find this useful as well.

Beware of spoilers, because no duh.

It was a silly thing to say, but some stubborn part of me insisted that Percy Jackson must be here somewhere, waiting to do dangerous tasks for me. That was his job!

But no. That was the old Apollo’s way of thinking - the Apollo I’d been the last time I was in this apartment. Percy was entitled to his own life. He was trying to have one, and - oh, the bitter truth! - it had nothing to do with me. (TON 37)

“Paul...” I ventured. “Aren’t you worried about having us here? We might endanger your family.”

The corners of his mouth tightened. “I was at the Battle of Manhattan. I’ve heard about some of the horrible things Sally went through - fighting the Minotaur, being imprisoned in the Underworld. And Percy’s adventures?” He shook his head in respect. “Percy has put himself on the line for us, for his friends, for the world, plenty of times. So, can I risk giving you a place to catch your breath, some fresh clothes, and a hot meal? Yeah, how could I not?” (TON 40-41)

What was it about kindness? In my time as Lester Papadopoulos, I had learned to stand up under horrendous verbal abuse and constant life-threatening violence, but the smallest act of generosity could ninja-kick me right in the heart and break me into a blubbering mess of emotions.

Damn you, Paul and Sally, and your cute baby too!

How could I repay them for providing me with this temporary refuge? I felt like I owed them the same thing I owed Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood, the Waystation and the Cistern, Piper and Frank and Hazel and Leo and, yes, especially Jason Grace. I owed them everything.

How could I not? (TON 41)

Sally Jackson crossed her arms. In spite of the grim matters we were discussing, she smiled. “You’ve grown up.”

I assumed she was talking about Meg. Over the last few months, my young friend had indeed gotten taller and- Wait. Was Sally referring to me?

My first thought: Preposterous! I was four thousand years old. I didn’t grow up.

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “The last time you were here, you were so lost. So... well, if you don’t mind me saying-”

“Pathetic,” I blurted out. “Whiny, entitled, selfish. I felt terribly sorry for myself.”

Meg nodded along with my words as if listening to her favorite song. “You still feel sorry for yourself.”

“But now,” Sally said, sitting back again, “you’re more... human, I suppose.”

There was that word again: human, which not long ago I would’ve considered a terrible insult. Now, every time I heard it, I thought of Jason Grace’s admonition: Remember what it’s like to be human.

He hadn’t meant all the terrible things about being human, of which there were plenty. He meant the best things: standing up for a just cause, putting others first, having stubborn faith that you could make a difference, even if it meant you had to die to protect your friends and what you believed it. These were not the kinds of feelings gods had... well, ever.

Sally Jackson meant the term in the same way Jason had - as something worth aspiring to. (TON 45-46)

And are you any better? taunted a small voice in my brain. How many times have you stood up to Zeus?

Okay, small voice. Fair point. Tyrants are not easy to oppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything. (TON 57)

I already felt disconnected from reality. I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t know who I was, who I was supposed to be, or even who I wanted to be. I was getting emotional whiplash from my exhilarating surges of godlike power, my depressing crashes back into mortal frailty, and my adrenaline-charged bouts of terror. In such a condition, approaching Dionysus was asking for trouble. Just being near him could widen the cracks in anyone’s psyche. (TON 76-77)

Dionysus eyed me with a mixture of shock and horror, much the same way I looked at myself in the mirror these days. (TON 77)

In retaliation, Dionysus decided to look and act as ungodly as possible. He was like a child refusing to tuck in his shirt, comb his hair, or brush his teeth, just to show his parents how little he cared. (TON 78)

“Dad!” Will shot to his feet. He ran down the steps and tackled me in a hug.

That’s when I lost it. I wept openly.

My beautiful son, with his kind eyes, his healer’s hands, his sun-warm demeanour. Somehow, he had inherited all my best qualities and none of the worst. (TON 80)

“I figured you’d come back to camp eventually,” he said. “I hoped you would, anyway. I wanted you to feel at home.”

It was enough to start me crying again. Gods, I was an emotional wreck. Will hadn’t inherited his thoughtfulness from me. That was all his mother, Naomi, bless her kind heart. (TON 87-88)

“You’ve grown up!” Kayla gripped my shoulders with her archery-strong hands. The June sunlight made her freckles more pronounced. The green tinted tips of her orange hair made me think of Halloween-pumpkin candy. “You’re two inches taller at least! Isn’t he, Austin?” (TON 88)

I wanted to tell them that they were all so young. Their lifespans were a blink of an eye compared to my four millennia. I should be wrapping them all in warm blankets and giving them cookies rather than expecting them to be heroes, slay monsters, and buy me clothes. (TON 90)

“Nico has been having... I guess you’d call it post-traumatic stress disorder. He gets flashbacks. He has waking dreams. Dionysus has been trying to help him make sense of it all. The worst part is the voices.” (TON 93)

I frowned at Dionysus. “You could always, oh, I don’t know, decide to help.”

He scoffed. “You know as well as I do, Apollo, that quests like this are demigod business. As for advising, guiding, helping... that’s really more Chiron’s job.” (TON 99)

I wondered, bitterly, if there was anyone I hadn’t neglected, hurt, or overlooked during my time as a mortal - strike that - during my four thousand years of existence, period. I could only be grateful that my shoes were not sentient. Or my underwear. Gods, I would never be able to stop apologizing. (TON 110)

“I betrayed you once,” she said. “Right here in these woods.” She didn’t sound sad or ashamed about it, the way she once might have. She spoke with a sort of dreamy disbelief, as if trying to recall the person she’d been six months ago. That was a problem I could relate to. (TON 114)

“I have to go back,” Meg insisted. “I have to see if I’m strong enough.”

Peaches cuddled up next to her as if he had no such concerns.

Meg patted his leafy wings. “Maybe I’ve gotten stronger. But when I go back to the palace, will it be enough? Can I remember to be who I am now and not... who I was then?”

I didn’t think she expected an answer. But it occurred to me that perhaps I should be asking myself that same question.

Since Jason Grace’s death, I’d spent sleepless nights wondering if I could keep my promise to him. Assuming I made it back to Mount Olympus, could I remember what it was like to be human, or would I slip back into being the self-centered god I used to be?

Change is a fragile thing. It requires time and distance. Survivors of abuse, like Meg, have to get away from their abusers. Going back to that toxic environment was the worst thing she could do. And former arrogant gods like me couldn’t hang around other arrogant gods and expect to stay unsullied.

But I supposed Meg was right. Going back was the only way to see how strong we’d gotten, even if it meant risking everything. (TON 114-115)

“So now you believe the Trogs exist?” Nico asked.

“I am learning to believe in all sorts of things that can kill me!” (TON 136)

If my trials as a mortal had done anything, they had shown me how many times I’d abandoned, forgotten, and failed my Oracle over the centuries. I could not abandon Rachel in the same way. I’d neglected the basic truth that they did not serve me; I was supposed to serve them. (TON 158)

Nico smirked. “Friends, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.”

“Could you not make a big deal about it?” Will asked. (TON 163)

“Rachel, I’m scared,” I admitted. “It was one thing thinking about putting myself in danger. But the entire camp? Everyone?”

Strangely, this comment seemed to please her.

She took my hand. “I know, Apollo. And the fact that you’re worried about other people? That’s beautiful. But you’ll have to trust me.” (TON 175)

When he’d told me to remember being human, he’d meant building on pain and tragedy, overcoming it, learning from it. That was something gods never did. We just complained.

To be human is to move forward, adapt, to believe in your ability to make things better. That is the only way to make the pain and sacrifice mean something. 

I met Rachel’s gaze.”I trust you. I’ll make things right. Or I will die trying.”

The strange thing was, I meant it. A world in which the future was controlled by a giant reptile, where hope was suffocated, where heroes sacrificed their lives for nothing, and pain and hardship could not yield a better life... that seemed much worse than a world without Apollo. (TON 176-177)

Not one deserved to be snuffed out by Nero’s cruelty. The revelation stunned me. I had become a human-life hoarder! (TON 182)

“I’m so sorry”, I managed at last. 

“No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.”

“You’re important,” I said. “Your life!”

Jason tilted his head. “I mean... sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”

He weighted the word person subtly, as if to stress it could mean a human, a faun, a dryad, a griffin, a pandos... even a god. (TON 218-219)

As a god of healing, I knew something about psychology and mental health, though I’ll admit I did not always best practices to myself. (TON 225)

I knew my anxiety about my own weakness was getting mixed up with my anxiety about Meg. Even if I somehow made my way back to Mount Olympus, I didn’t trust myself to hold onto the important things I’d learned as a mortal. That made me doubt Meg’s ability to stay strong in her old toxic home.

The similarities between Nero’s household and my family on Mount Olympus made me increasingly uneasy. The idea that we gods were just as manipulative, just as abusive as the worst Roman emperor... Surely that couldn’t be true. 

Oh, wait. Yes, it could. Ugh. I hated clarity. (TON 225-226)

I found myself back in the caverns of Delphi, volcanic gasses layering the air, the dark shape of Python moving heavily in the background.

“So, I have you again,” he gloated. “You shall perish-”

“I don’t have time for you right now.” My voice surprised me almost as mush as it did the reptile.

“What?”

“Gotta go.” I lashed the reins of my dream.

“How dare you! You cannot-”

I rocketed into reverse like I was tied to a rubber band. (TON 233)

We both knew that, under most circumstances, Meg was fully capable of rescuing herself. But with Nero... I suspected Lu, like me, wanted Meg to be strong enough to save herself. We couldn’t make the hard choices for her. Yet it was excruciating to stand by while Meg’s sense of independence was tested. (TON 244)

But now, after knowing Lu, I wondered how many of these Germani really wanted to serve Nero, and how many had been conscripted into his service with no choice. Enough people had died. My grudge was with only one person, Nero, and one reptile, Python. (TON 250)

“Well, no, not Mr. D,” Nico said. “You know how it is. Gods don’t fight demigod battles. Present company excepted.” (TON 263)

Austin and I had gotten to know each other - not just as god and mortal, or father and son, but as two people working side by side, helping each other get through our often messed-up lives. (TON 273)

My heart broke. Meg looked elegant, older, and quite beautiful. She also looked utterly, completely no longer herself. Nero had tried to strip way everything she had been, every choice she’d made, and replace her with someone else - a proper young lady of the Imperial Household. (TON 285-286)

I tried to contain my horror. “Meg,” I said. “There’s only one person you need to listen to here: yourself. Trust yourself.”

I meant it, despite all my doubts and fears, despite all my complaints over the months about Meg being my master. She had chosen me, but I had also chosen her. I did trust her - not in spite of her past with Nero, but because of it. I had seen her struggle. I’d admired her hard-won progress. I had to believe in her for my own sake. She was - gods help me - my role model. (TON 293)

“I didn’t kill my father,” she said, her voice small and hard. “I didn’t cut off Lu’s hands or enslave those dryads or twist us all up inside.” She swept a hand towards the other demigods of the household. “You did that, Nero. I hate you.” (TON 295)

“Lu has immortality,” I said, “because you’re immortal. The two of you have been connected for centuries.” 

Nero’s eye twitched. “But that’s my eternal life! You can’t trade my life for my life!” (TON 309)

Python had always been the real power behind the throne - a bigger puppet master than Nero’s mother ever had been. Like most bullies, Nero had been shaped and manipulated by an even stronger abuser. (TON 310)

Nero hissed. “Ungrateful child. The Beast-”

“The Beast is dead.” Meg tapped the side of her head. “I killed it.” (TON 311)

Rachel pulled out a blue plastic hairbrush and threw it at the nearest barbarian, beaning him in the eye and making him howl. 

Sorry I underestimated you, Rachel, I thought distantly. You’re actually kind of a hairbrush ninja. (TON 313)

"You - cannot - take - it - Lester!” Nero said through clenched teeth, pulling with all his might.

“I am Apollo,” I said, tugging the opposite direction. “And I - revoke - your - divinity!” (TON 317)

“Hasn’t he proved himself already?” Artemis demanded. My heart ached, seeing my sister again. “He’s suffered more in these last few months than even you could have expected! Whatever lesson you were trying to teach him, dear Father, he’s learned it!” (TON 319)

“This has gone on long enough. Too much loss. Too much pain. But if my husband insists on seeing it through, the least you all can do is not talk about Apollo as if he’s already dead!” (TON 320)

Then I was back in my mortal form, looking up not at the Olympians, but at the faces of my friends (TON 320)

I alternated drinking my nectar and Mountain Dew, which was sort of like alternating between premium gasoline and regular gasoline. (TON 323)

Meg had thrown away her sandals, braving bare feet despite the arrows, rubble, bones, and discarded blades that littered the floor. Someone had given her an orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, which she’d put on over her dress, making her allegiance clear. She still looked older and more sophisticated, but she also looked like my Meg. (TON 323)

I considered that perhaps courage was a self-perpetuating cycle, like abuse. Nero had hoped to create miniature, tortured versions of himself because that made him feel stronger. Meg had found the strength to oppose him because she saw how much her foster siblings needed her to succeed, to show them another way.

There were no guarantees. The imperial demigods had dealt with so much for so long, some of them might never be able to come back from the darkness. Then again, there had been no guarantees for Meg, either. There were still no guarantees that I would come back from the caverns of Delphi. All any of us could do was try, and hope that in the end, the virtuous cycle would break the vicious one. (TON 324)

Even if I survived, I would not be the same. The best I could hope for was to emerge from Delphi with my godhood restored, which was what I had wanted and dreamed about for the past half a year. So why did I feel so reluctant about leaving behind the broken, battered form of Lester Papadopolous?

“Just come back to me dummy, that’s an order.” Meg gave me a gentle hug, conscious of my injuries. Then she got to her feet and ran off to check on the imperial demigods - her former family, and possibly her family yet to be. (TON 327)

“We all have a duty to rescue each other, wouldn’t you say?”

I nodded, wondering how the centaur had become so wise over the centuries, and why that same wisdom had escaped me until I had been Lesterized. (TON 328)

I felt a tingly sensation of power building just under my skin - perhaps my divine self, trying to reassert itself in the proximity of my old arch-enemy. I hoped it was that and not just my mortal body combusting (TON 332)

Deep breath. This was for Meg. This was for Jason. This was for everyone who had fought and sacrificed to drag my sorry mortal butt from quest to quest for the last six months, just to get me this chance at redemption (TON 333)

And yet, along with humility, I’d learned something else: getting humiliated is the beginning, not the end. Sometimes you need a second shot, and a third, and a fourth. (TON 335)

“YOU CAN’T HIDE!” Python bellowed. “YOU ARE NO GOD!”

This pronouncement hit me like a bucket of ice water. It didn’t carry the weight of prophecy, but it was true nonetheless. At the moment, I wasn’t sure what I was. I certainly wasn’t my old godly self. I wasn’t exactly Lester Papadopolous either. My flesh steamed. Pulses of light flickered under my skin, like the sun trying to break through storm clouds. When had that started?

I was between states, morphing as rapidly as Python himself. I was no god. I would never be the same old Apollo again. But in this moment, I had the chance to decide what I would become, even if that new existence only lasted a few seconds.

The realization burned away my delirium.

“I won’t hide,” I muttered. “I won’t cower. That’s not who I will be.” (TON 339-340)

I had done my best. Surely, Zeus would see that and be proud. Maybe he would send down a lightning bolt, blast Python into tiny pieces, and save me!

As soon as I thought this, I realized how foolish it was. Zeus didn’t work that way. He would not save me anymore than Nero had saved Meg. I had to let go of that fantasy. I had to save myself. (TON 341)

The prophecy came true. Apollo fell, and Python fell with me. (TON 346)

The river sapped my memories, my emotions, my will. It pried open the burning cracks in my Lester Papadopoulos shell, making me feel raw and unmade like a molting dragonfly. (TON 348)

I held onto my purpose. I remembered Meg McCaffrey’s last order: Come back to me, my dummy. Her face remained clear in my mind. She had been abandoned so many times, used so cruelly. I would not be another cause of grief for her. I knew who I was. I was her dummy. (TON 348)

Wow, Apollo, you marvel. How did you survive? 

I didn’t.

But at that point I was no longer Lester Papadopoulos. I was not Apollo. I was not sure who or what I was (TON 349)

“Have you learned?” she asked.

If I hadn’t felt so weak, I might have laughed. I had learned, all right. I was still learning. 

At that moment, I realized I’d been thinking of the Styx the wrong way all these months. She hadn’t put destruction in my path. I’d caused it myself. She hadn’t gotten me into trouble. I was the trouble. She had merely called out my recklessness. (TON 353)

Why couldn’t I let go, then? I kept clinging to the edge with stubborn determination. My wayward pinky found its grip again. I had promised Meg I would return to her. I hadn’t sworn it as an oath, but that didn’t matter. If I said I would do it, I had to follow through.

Perhaps that was what Styx had been trying to teach me: it wasn’t about how loudly you swore your oath, or what sacred words you used. It was about whether or not you meant it. And whether your promise was worth making.

Hold on, I told myself, to both the rock and the lesson.

My arms seemed to become more substantial. My body felt more real. The lines of light wove together until my form was a mesh of solid gold.

Was it just a last hopeful hallucination, or did I just pull myself up? (TON 354)

I rose with a sob and hugged her tight. All my pain was gone. I felt perfect. I felt... I almost thought, like myself again, but I wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore.

I was a god again. For so long, my deepest desire was to be restored. But instead of feeling elated, I wept on my sister’s shoulder. I felt like if I let go of Artemis, I would fall back into Chaos. Huge parts of my identity would shake loose, and I would never be able to find all the puzzle pieces. (TON 355)

My chest was bronze and perfectly sculpted. My muscular arms bore no scars or fiery lines glowing beneath the surface. I was gorgeous, which made me feel melancholy. I had worked hard for those scars and bruises. All the suffering my friends and I had been through... (TON 355)

I felt awkward and uncomfortable in this form, as if I’d been given a Rolls-Royce to drive but no car insurance to go with it. I’d felt so much more comfortable in my economy-compact Lester. (TON 357)

I remembered my dream of the throne room - the other Olympians gambling on my success or failure. I wondered how much money they’d lost.

What could I possibly say to them? I no longer felt like one of them. I wasn’t one of them. (TON 358)

My poor Hyacinthus. Had I really created these flowers to commemorate him, or to wallow in my own grief and guilt? I found myself questioning many things I had done over the centuries. Strangely enough, this uneasiness felt somewhat reassuring.

I studied my smooth tan arms, wishing again that I had retained a few scars. Lester Papadopoulos had earned his cuts, bruises, broken ribs, blistered feet, acne... Well perhaps not the acne. No one deserves that. But the rest had felt more like symbols of victory than laurels, And better commemorations of loss than hyacinths. (TON 358-359)

I turned and strode out of my room, trying to recall how the god Apollo walked (TON 359)

As much as we pretended to be a council of twelve, in truth we were a tyranny. Zeus was less a benevolent father and more an iron-fisted leader with the biggest weapons and the ability to strip us of our immortality if we offended him. (TON 366)

My father coughed into his fist. “ I know you think your punishment was harsh, Apollo.”

I did not answer. I tried my best to keep my expression polite and neutral.

“But you must understand,” Zeus continued, “only you could have overthrown Python. Only you could have freed the Oracles. And you did it, as I expected. The suffering, the pain along the way... regrettable, but necessary. You have done me proud.”

Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let’s be honest: some fathers don’t deserve that. Some fathers aren’t capable of it.

I suppose I could have raged at him and called him bad names. We were alone. He probably expected it. Given his awkward self-consciousness at the moment, he might even have let me get away with it unpunished.

But it would not have changed him. It would not have made anything different between us.

You cannot change a tyrant by trying to out-ugly him. Meg could never have changed Nero, any more than I could change Zeus. I could only try to be different than him. Better. More... human. And to limit the time I spent around him to as little as possible. (TON 367-368)

I still didn’t feel like my old self. I didn’t want to feel like my old self. (TON 371)

When I’d first met Meg, she’d assured me that Lester’s appearance was perfectly normal. At the time, the notion had horrified me. Now I found it reassuring. (TON 371)

Ugly weeping would not have been appropriate for a major Olympian god, so that’s exactly what I did. (TON 372)

To be honest, though, I could no longer consider my time on Earth a punishment. Terrible, tragic, nearly impossible... yes. But calling it a punishment gave Zeus too much credit. It had been a journey - an important one I made for myself, with the help of my friends. I hoped... I believed that the grief and pain had shaped me into a better person. I had forged a more perfect Lester from the dregs of Apollo. I would not trade those experiences for anything. And if I had been told I had to be Lester for another hundred years... Well, I could think of worse things. At least I wouldn’t be expected to show up at the Olympian solstice meetings. (TON 373)

She laid her hand on my arm. “You haven’t forgotten. I can tell.”

She meant about being human, about honoring the sacrifices that had been made. 

“No,” I said. “I won’t forget. The memory is part of me now.” (TON 390)

It would have been inconceivable to the old Apollo, but the idea of aging in this lovely desert tree house, watching Meg grow into a strong and powerful woman... that didn’t sound bad at all. (TON 394)

Call on me. I will be there for you. (TON 396)

[wherefancytakesme]

“Mistakes”

(BOYD gets to spend the afternoon with Gyro, then Mark Beaks shows up and brings on emotions that BOYD has never had to face before.)

The day so far had been one of harmless goings-on and quiet excitement. BOYD went to school with his adoptive brother Doofus Drake, for once not being as much the studious little database he always was in class—he was going to meet with Gyro Gearloose and Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera after school, and it filled him to the brim with joy.

Since the day he’d reunited with his creator, BOYD loved spending time with the scientist, always awaiting a time when he would call the Drakes over the phone and ask to pick their ‘younger’ son up and bring him to the underwater lab. Gyro always said he needed to perform regular checkups and maintenance on the little android, but BOYD was hoping secretly that it was also about spending time together; The doctor was becoming gentler now that everything in the past was behind them.

Regardless, BOYD’s feet were bouncing lightly under his desk with the anticipation of it all the way until the final school-bell rang—any excuse to see Gyro, someone he considered so close, gave his mechanical heart inexplicable delight.

Finally when class had let out for the day, BOYD took Doofus’ hand, smiling, and pulled him gently along.

“Come on, come on, big brother! Dr. Gearloose and Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera are waiting outside!”

Doofus grunted. His parents had strictly told him to be on his nicest behavior in front of Scrooge McDuck’s scientist, especially for his little brother’s sake—and to say nothing at all if he hadn’t anything nice to say—or else not expect any dessert for the next several weeks. He threw a fit, of course, but eventually resigned to not ruin anything for BOYD—or his chance at still being allowed to eat an ice cream float every night—and let BOYD have all the ice cream for himself.

Some part of Doofus’ subconscious didn’t mind the constant company of someone his own age. But all the unpleasantness that buried such feelings from his thoughts and actions that proved Louie Duck right kept the boy from understanding any of that, and so he simply allowed BOYD to pull him along—small as he was, the android could easily overtake his brother—and decided to be pouty but uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the day—though not altogether unhappy.

When the two boys reached the front gate, Gyro and Fenton were waiting at the entrance. The latter grinned and waved a friendly hand. The former smiled a bit more visibly than he’d have liked to when BOYD ran out to him.

“Dr. Gearloose!” BOYD called out, immediately throwing his arms around Gyro’s knees.

The gesture pushed Gyro to hide his previous smile by putting a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. But his tone wasn’t harsh.

“It’s nice to see you, 2BO—er—BOYD.”

He had no idea how to greet Doofus Drake, however. He groaned with his mouth closed, awkwardly, and looked away, but Doofus had nothing to say either anyway.

“Are we going to the lab right away?” BOYD asked with bright eyes.

“Well I have an errand to run in town first, but it shouldn’t take long.”

Fenton chimed in;

“We could make a fun outing of it! Uh—nothing that would deviate from the plan, of course,” he said drawing back once Gyro side-eyed him, “Just something to do while Dr. Gearloose is busy.”

“Yeah, like find a local landmark to learn about!” BOYD did some drawing back of his own when he noticed his brother pout, but did so more graciously than nervously as compared to Gyro’s assistant. “Or maybe there will be a park nearby!” He smiled more when he noticed his brother’s frown fade a small amount.

“Whatever we do,” interjected Gyro, “Stay close to me. I do not want everyone running all over and taking up too much time.”

BOYD’s sunny smile remained as he put his hands behind his back, determined to be well-behaved.

“Yessir, Dr. Gearloose!”

About twenty minutes of walking had led the group of four to an obscure electronics store. Gyro needed a special kind of copper wire before going back to the lab and his odd specifications were hard to meet. While he spent his time inside, Fenton and the boys went to the adjacent shop to buy ice cream. Gyro had told them not to wander off, so once both kids had a cone of their own, they walked out to wait for the doctor.

It had taken several minutes longer than usual for the store owner to fetch what he needed, but by the time he had his purchase in hand, Gyro pondered over taking another minute or two to browse recreationally for spare parts. However, the thought was suddenly halted by the sound of a piercing shriek from outside.

“BUT I DON’T LIKE PISTACHIO!”

Gyro’s whole body jumped at the sound before he bolted out the door to see what the commotion was.

Oh.

Of course. Doofus Drake was throwing another tantrum, shaking his ice cream cone violently.

“Then why did you ask for it?” Fenton asked, confounded.

Gyro ground his teeth and rubbed his middle and index fingers against his temples. But the eyes he’d at first squinted shut opened back up when he heard the screaming stop at a kind voice.

“It’s okay, big brother. I’ll eat yours and we’ll trade!”

BOYD had a warm little grin on his face, holding out his hand.

“Fine!” snapped the spoiled drake, fuming as he thrust the treat into his brother’s hand. “You wanted to try a new flavor of ice cream anyway!”

This caught Gyro’s attention particularly. That little brat shouldn’t be forcing something on a robot who wasn’t built for consumption. He approached, and took on a less-than-pleasant tone that now commonly became him.

“Ice cream?” the chicken asked, twisting his face, “2B—er, BOYD, doesn’t eat.”

“I don’t need to,” answered BOYD, “I like to! My big brother told me about all the different kinds, and now every time I eat a new one, I add it to my memory. It’s fun!”

There were so many words in there that Gyro had to take a moment to think over. First and foremost, it was still mystifying why someone like BOYD and someone like Doofus Drake would consider eachother brothers—leaving aside that the former was much older than the latter. But he chuckled mentally a bit at the association between ‘memory’ and ‘fun’. The only other boy he knew who thought like that was Huey Duck, and it was nice that he and the android had found someone like the other. It felt nice too that such a thought could soften him back up again and make his migraine go away.

But Gyro wondered what eating must really be like for BOYD—he didn’t remember programming BOYD specifically to eat, but on a technical level, he supposed it was possible, given the way he’d built him.

“Can you taste it at all?” he said looking down at BOYD now, curious at the answer.

“Yeah! It was actually only recently I first had ice cream. I didn’t know I could taste anything until then, but it seemed to register, and I really liked it! So when I got home, I asked about it, and now I get to have it every day!”

Gyro didn’t realize how much he’d been missing out on the little boy’s life. Even the very first tests he’d run on him didn’t experiment with things like taste, or smell. Body temperature, vision, maybe—but those were comparable to how a computer would run. Gyro had made BOYD with sentient, behavioral programming, but he supposed he never put any of it into practice, in a real-world scenario. Part of that may have been Dr. Akita’s fault, but… Well, Gyro didn’t want to make excuses for what he did and didn’t do back then.

It was strange—and a little sad; BOYD went twenty whole years unaware of whether or not he lacked the sensation of taste, and Gyro wasn’t there when he finally tried. Gyro knew every single robotic modification BOYD had—from the USB drives in his fingertips, to the blasters throughout his body—he’d put every one of them to the test, but how often did he actually take the child outside the old laboratory? Did the small creature have any memory of Tokyolk before his core was overridden?

Quickly Gyro shook any dwelling thoughts from his mind. No matter. He was making up for it now.

At least he hoped so.

All of a sudden, Gyro felt someone bump against his side, sending him back into the conscious world with a jolt. He made a startled squeak, which embarrassed—and therefore slightly angered him.

“Can’t you watch where you’re—Oh.”

The scientist wrinkled his face with annoyance when he turned and saw a slightly younger man on a self-balancing scooter.

“It’s you.”

There was no mistaking it. Sleek cardigan, large overconfident eyebrows, phone in hand… It was Mark Beaks.

Mark Beaks blinked when addressed. He had no doubt everyone knew who he was, but the lanky chicken facing him seemed to be acting like he’d met him before.

“Oh heeeeey… Uh, do I know you? Probably, right? You see so many faces every day when you’re this famous, they kinda all just blend in, y’know?”

Gyro looked up at Beaks with half-lidded eyes.

“Dr. Gyro Gearloose? Scientist of Scrooge McDuck? You’ve stolen and modified my tech about four different times?”

Beaks looked up and narrowed his eyes, stumped.

Gyro sniffed. Mark Beaks had pointed him out in public several times; This was quite obviously being done to wind him up. “Perhaps he looks familiar to you?” he said, throwing a hand out to gesture at BOYD.

“Ohh yeah! You built that guy? No wonder he went all terminator on me!”

Again Gyro responded sarcastically, with more of a scoff this time.

“That is not my fault. Likely you reprogrammed his hard-drive and rewrote his memories so many times, one simple question overwhelmed him to the point that he couldn’t even tell a person from a flyswatter.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Beaks said, waving his hand, “If you make faulty robots and don’t wanna keep the improvements I put in there, that’s on you. Kid was pretty popular online though. I mean, come on!”

Mark Beaks pointed back and forth between himself and BOYD with both of his index fingers.

“He looks just like me!”

When Beaks acknowledged the android a few feet in front, suddenly two yellow eyes stared back. A little gasp emitted from the little black beak that was previously opened to eat ice cream. BOYD hadn’t seen his older doppelganger since the day he met Doofus Drake. His whole face suddenly beamed with cheeriness at a familiar face.

“Da—”

He bit off the word ‘Daddy’. That was a memory overwrite, he knew now. Still, he was happy.

“Mr. Beaks!”

BOYD instantly ran over to the addressee to jump up and hug him. Beaks just as instantly wheeled back with his scooter board, holding his palms up.

“Woah-ho-hooooh, don’t like touching, remember? What was the number one rule?”

Oh. Right. Remembering that made BOYD’s smile fade.

“No hugs?”

“Exactly, see? You’ve still got some of the good ol’ Beaks programming clunking around in there somewhere!”

Gyro rolled his eyes at a statement like that, but for BOYD it started to set a certain train of thought in motion; Mark Beaks had programmed him to be like his son. At the time, he had felt like it, not simply had it wired into his head, but… now that he thought about the standoffish way the young adult was acting, was that all he was to him? Like a son?

That couldn’t be true, could it?

“Um, Mr. Beaks?” BOYD said, voice starting to grow more shy, “I know things are different now—the two of us living separate lives and everything—but even so, would it be okay if I still spent time with you once in a while?”

Beaks sucked his teeth at BOYD.

“Ooh, no can do, sport. See, if we’re not family, there’s kinda no point anymore. Nobody looks at pics of me just hanging with some rando kid, y’know? Outside that, I’m like super busy all the time, sooo…”

“But… Didn’t you have fun with me?”

“Sure, I did all kinds of awesome stuff in a whole day! Took lots of great selfies!”

BOYD faced the ground at that response, trying to process it. All the words were simple, but slowly, they triggered the most complex of memories… ______________________________

The first memory he had after the incident in Tokyolk was the faint recognition of someone’s voice in the garbage dump he’d evidently wound up in. He didn’t know what was going on, and had no recollection of where he came from, how he worked, or hardly even who he was. All he could bring to mind was an assigned identification number—2BO—and a gut feeling that he was a definitely real boy.

But when the voice came closer, BOYD felt his OS booting up again—his processor bringing things back online. What life he may or may not have had before, he knew not. He only understood that there was reason to be up and running now—alive. These feelings hadn’t manifested into thoughts at first—and then he heard the moving figure above him make a noise. When BOYD parroted back the mimicry of lasers, it was purely instinctual—technological sounds, technological creature. But it made someone notice him. It made someone marvel at him. It made someone give him a real name. It made someone want to take him home. That someone was Mark Beaks.

Even if he had only programmed into him the title of ‘father’, the wealthy parrot was the first person he knew to give him somewhere to live. With or without his original memories, BOYD had never really had an actual home before. He’d never had anyone so willingly look after him like a normal kid—like their kid. In many ways, both literal and figurative, Mark Beaks was the first person to be a parent to BOYD. Even lacking the memory of Akita’s cruelty and Gyro’s hesitance, when BOYD was around Mark Beaks, he felt like someone’s son with no hint of abandonment for the first time in his life.

Yet some underlying doubt lie buried, deep down in one of the many corners of his mind that BOYD didn’t have access to—only this one wasn’t blocked by another person’s override. Anytime he called out ‘Daddy’, Beaks didn’t always turn around right away. He might look confusedly around the room, or take a second or two to respond. And even then, he didn’t seem to say things other than ‘Hey you’, or ‘Need something?’—they were happy, but one-sided. BOYD didn’t think about that then. He was just glad to have family, and to have anything a kid could ask for.

But that was another thing that suddenly made BOYD think. The two days he’d spent with his new father were the best of his whole life; He spent time at an office filled with apparatuses to play on, candy to eat, and places to nap everywhere—even if he didn’t need to nap. Then for the rest of the day, the two Greys went all over Duckburg having fun—eating, playing, exploring… And still, through everything, there didn’t seem to be a connection. When BOYD and Beaks spent time at a show, flew kites, or wore novelty hats, the latter was always taking pictures with the former in them, but seemingly never with him. BOYD was too distracted by the thrill of spending time with someone he considered family to notice before, but now that Beaks worded it the way he did, only mentioning the fun he himself had that day, the signs were becoming obvious. He never once touched him—never once looked at him when he took those selfies—BOYD might as well have been a part of the background.

Come to think of it, did Mark Beaks ever touch BOYD? His biggest aversion, which he’d made clear several times, was touching, after all; The hopes of the first hug BOYD thought he’d ever had at the time were straightaway brushed off. Maybe once or twice, when he needed to be kept from getting wet or from going haywire… But otherwise, the man hardly paid physical attention to him. He didn’t want to feed into the worry that was always secretly there, but the recollection of everything made it impossible now. It hurt BOYD so badly to consider that he was only there to serve a purpose—as he had been his whole life—after all. He couldn’t remember Beaks saying his name, he couldn’t remember Beaks saying something gentle to him… Sometimes if he didn’t act the part he was made to, Beaks would scold him. He tried to avoid calling to mind that once, Beaks struggled to even remember the familial title under which BOYD was programmed.

“Yeah, I love this… What was it again? Uhh, uh, son!”

Oh no.

Mark Beaks never even said the words, ‘I love you’.

But no. No, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t at least care about BOYD, it just couldn’t. It was painful all the same, though, no matter how trusting and unassuming a child BOYD was.

He had to know. He wanted just a little word of assurance that he was wrong, that it was all in his head, that it was just worry that came with twenty years of feeling unloved. Even if Mark Beaks saw him as means for attention first, surely there was some sort of fatherly instinct left over from caring for someone made to be for all concerned his family.

BOYD was feeling some sort of physical discomfort he couldn’t pinpoint when he made his next inquiry, as if he was swallowing something down.

“Mr. Beaks,” he questioned, blue irises still fixed on the ground and fingers toying with one another, “Do you…”

He swallowed physically this time.

“Do you love me…?”

Mark Beaks’ face froze, and before answering made a noise somewhere between the word ‘I’, and an ‘Uh’.

“Kid, what kind of question is that? I don’t do the whole affection thing, okay? Much less with someone who’s not even in my entourage anymore.”

Oh, that hurt. That hurt far too much. Normally with Dr. Akita’s overriding, emotional triggers like this would have BOYD glitching. But that wasn’t there anymore. He was open to feel whatever a boy would feel any time he wanted now, without malfunctions and without something to block his true childlike wiring—too open, perhaps, because now instead of his mind going blank over spiritual pain, his mind would take in every single thought that set him off, and fester. What Beaks said to him now was festering. It made him feel vulnerable. Even if it didn’t hurt or scare him as much as when Gyro told him he was going to shut him down for good, or when Gyro constantly put him down, there was nothing to keep BOYD from blacking out afterward anymore. The feelings over Mark Beaks’ statement were flooding all throughout him.

“But…” BOYD persisted still, wanting some sort of kindness—at least for a fresh start. “Couldn’t we at least be on friendly terms? Isn’t there anything you like about me?”

“Aw come on, little man, it’s not like I was letting you get close to begin with. You’ve got other rich people and tech geeks to be with now. So you don’t need me and I don’t need you.” The man crossed his arms.

If any justice could be done, it might be stated here that the biggest reason Mark Beaks was beginning to act more and more bitter with the small child was out of a sour-grapes mentality. Visible weakness wasn’t characteristic of the young trend-chaser, but in a situation like this, where something he genuinely found impressive and thought he’d made his own had been lost to him, and had been left in the hands of someone else he barely knew—knowing that a technological wonder like BOYD was something he could no longer have—Beaks was annoyed, and he would never dare let it show through. Instead he increased his shallowness ten-fold.

Poor little BOYD’s eyes went wide, wanting so terribly not to believe what he was being told, wanting so desperately not to be outright rejected by someone he’d let himself previously grow so attached to. He looked into Beaks’ black eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance in spite of only hearing cruelty. He wanted so much to hear something that would make the building pain he’d never understood before shrink down.

“But,” he said, voice more quiet and in disbelief than he could ever remember expressing, “You gave me a name. You took me home with you. I was like your family.”

Mark Beaks rolled his eyes back, looking only more annoyed that the little creature almost forced him into guilt with such words.

“No way, kid. I just scooped you out of the trash because I thought I could make something out of you. But four-eyes over there took out all the mods I made to begin with—the new voice I gave you isn’t even there anymore. Hate to say it, but without any of that, you don’t mean anything to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, talking for a minute more so to himself than anyone, but nonetheless just as aloud as before.

“Guess all the time I put into you was a waste. ‘Least with everything else, I got some money or permanent attention out of it.” Beaks blew air out through his nostrils almost like a laugh when he thought about it. “Jeez, kid, you were my worst investment.”

BOYD didn’t know what the feeling was, but those awful words broke something within him. His face tensed up. The tightness in his chest started to swell. All that desperation to disprove his first proper parent didn’t actually care about him, all that pain welling up inside him the more said person shot down attempt after attempt for requited affection… And now he’d dealt him a blow like that? Mark Beaks had thoroughly destroyed his spirit—he might as well have slapped him in the face. And incidentally, his face started to burn. BOYD had no idea what this meant, but the reaction was involuntary. It hurt so much, he couldn’t understand. The heat concentrated in his eyes. His nose and mouth trembled as he faced his former caretaker. A warm, salty liquid began slowly to fill his eyes and then roll down his cheeks.

BOYD was crying. ______________________________

All the time Beaks had been talking, Gyro and Fenton had been narrowing their eyes in anger and darting them back and forth between the two parrots facing one another, the taller one saying nastier and nastier things to the smaller one. Neither Fenton nor Gyro knew quite what to say or do, or how to intervene—for Fenton in particular because he also had to keep an eye on Doofus Drake, who any second could stop being content licking the inside of his ice cream cone and go ballistic again. It irritated him that he had to keep his mind on such a small matter when clearly there were bigger fish to fry at the moment—and also a little bit that BOYD’s adoptive brother didn’t seem to be noticing how much he was hurting.

Gyro wanted to speak up at some point, but couldn’t bring any words into his head.

And then out of the blue, when Mark Beaks had finally pushed innocent BOYD to a breaking point, the tiny thing cried. He cried.

Gyro’s heart stopped dead in its figurative tracks.

His eyes went wide and dropped their gaze to the ground. This was something he had no idea was physically possible. An invention of his had been, through instinct alone, pushed to actually cry. He didn’t understand. He didn’t specifically write that sort of thing into BOYD’s coding when he made him—certainly Akita didn’t put that in—so then what? BOYD was a definitely real boy, but, to this extent? Gyro wanted to react, to do something for the boy, to get angry at Beaks, but everything failed him. He was stock still, frozen with a horrible blend of shock and concern.

Meanwhile, BOYD continued to stare up at Beaks as tears stained his face, disbelief and utter heartache consuming everything from the waist up.

The first reaction was when Doofus Drake turned and took notice of what he had been sure was a robot his parents adopted, somehow leaking sadness out of his eyes. The Drake boy physically reeled back, socially perturbed.

“Agh, he’s broken!” he yelled, unable to understand, “Do something and fix it!”

Fenton reacted second, clenching his hands into fists, intent on indeed doing something to ‘fix it’, but not the way Doofus imagined. He held back solely on the basis that Gyro was going to say something.

But Beaks was the immediate one to react next.

“Yikes, buddy,” he said to BOYD, backing up uncomfortably. He didn’t mean to make anyone cry, but then again, he didn’t think BOYD could feel anything that real. “It’s not my fault a lack of Beaks tech makes you basically worthless.”

Where Gyro normally would have gotten angry, this time Fenton stood in—he saw that the doctor was too dumbstruck to do so for now. But Fenton was certain both of them were equally as angry.

“What on earth are you thinking saying that to his face,” he snapped, “He’s a kid!”

Mark Beaks shrugged, as if his next reply was a matter of fact.

“Well I mean yeah, but like, not a real one…”

Each adult’s face in present company sneered at Beaks. That was the final straw. With that, Gyro Gearloose was finally able to pull himself out of his stunned state and draw up the emotion to straighten his back and snatch BOYD’s hand, dragging him away. Whatever he was thinking or wasn’t able to think at the moment didn’t matter. This child wasn’t going to be tortured by being here any longer.

“Cabrera, you take Doofus Drake home and get rid of this…” He struggled to find the words; “this, while I take BOYD back to the lab.”

Fenton nodded, determined, as Gyro stormed off, leaving Beaks to be thoroughly dealt with. ______________________________

The walk back to the underwater lab wasn’t a long one, but when Gyro wasn’t seething mad, he would look down at BOYD and notice a look on the boy’s face not dissimilar to his own from earlier—it contained surprise, the fearful kind, as if he didn’t know he could shed tears either. He didn’t look up at his creator, even though he followed the aggressive tug of his arm compliantly, and he didn’t try to wipe at his face. He seemed, again, to be having the same sort of shock that tried to question what in the world was happening to him.

When the two finally did make it inside, Gyro relinquished his tight grip on BOYD’s hand, picked him up by the waist, and sat him down on his center loft work desk.

“BOYD,” he said directly, but not ungently, “Keep your face still for a moment, okay?”

Gyro cupped the little creature’s face in his hand, taking a moment to peer into the huge ovate orbs that were wet as ever. There was nothing physically wrong with them… Nothing functionally wrong with them… Lightly touching the substance that had wavered within them didn’t seem to prove this was some sort of fluid leak. As far as Gyro could tell, these were tears, plain as plain.

So then how was that possible? It wasn’t as if the scientist had actually sat down and built a mechanical version of every single organic function an ordinary person had when constructing BOYD—he and Akita wanted a defense drone—but he knew the little one had an approximation of a heart, and bones, and lungs, and other such things; He was an android, which meant he was deliberately supposed to resemble other people in addition to all the access ports and ribbon wire. Still. Things like tear ducts, taste buds, the need to sleep? Gyro didn’t physically install those things into him. Now a possibility occurred to him. He decided to address BOYD again.

“Can you tell me… Can you tell me everything you’ve been feeling since you talked to Mark Beaks? I know it might be hard, but I need you to try for me.”

BOYD felt Gyro place both hands on one of his. It was the first time the doctor had engaged him like that, and it brought on a warm confusion in spite of the pain he still felt at his core. BOYD’s teary eyes were trained on the floor when he started to analyze what kind of things that pain entailed.

“I’ve… been feeling…” he began, voice thin and shaky, “Sad… and overwhelmed… and afraid… and alone, and… and confused… Before, when I had programming issues, I would start to malfunction anytime something hurt me. But now instead of glitches coming on that I can’t control, it’s more like…”

BOYD’s whole body started to shiver. “It’s more like something my heart can’t control, I guess? Not literally, but, I…”

His vision grew blurry and his voice shakier than ever. “I don’t have anything holding me back from losing emotional control, and I don’t understand. What Mr. Beaks said really hurt, but… I’ve been told things that made me lonely and sad before. I don’t know why I’m only reacting this way now.”

BOYD shut his eyes, rubbing at them as he made a little whimper. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gearloose. I know that doesn’t help. The only other thing I know when I think about all this is that it scares me.”

Gyro felt choked up. He wanted to react beyond keeping his hands palmed over the one BOYD wasn’t wiping his own face with, but twenty years of distrust and cynicism had clouded his ability to be as kind as he used to. But that answer actually helped Gyro a lot. Before, he remembered BOYD saying something about eating—he didn’t need to, but he liked to—that he wondered whether or not he was able to taste, but it ‘seemed to register’. Gyro then supposed while he didn’t build BOYD to eat, it wasn’t impossible given the way he was made; He likely found some sort of place in his structure to double as a stomach, being that he was basically the same as any other boy.

This was what made it click in Gyro’s brain. He had programmed BOYD, for all intents and purposes, to be a living child. Even if the actual hardware wasn’t there, even if Gyro hadn’t thought of specifics when creating… Akita called it ‘real boy programming’—there were things within BOYD that could adapt, and apparently had adapted, themselves to become a part of his sentient reactions and behavior—there were things inside him that manifested because at the end of the day, BOYD was… well, BOYD was a boy.

BOYD wasn’t crying because he was built for it. He was crying because all boys were built for it.

Oh god. A realization like that sent a heavy weight into Gyro’s chest. This wasn’t just some invention that was child-like he’d made, as he initially thought two decades ago. He had brought a life into the world.

He was responsible for every bad thing that life would ever face, because he was the one responsible for ever having made something that could feel, could want, could hurt. Why hadn’t he once considered that when wiring sentience into a body? Gyro felt sick to his stomach.

Yet here was BOYD sitting on a desk, afraid because he wasn’t ever told what would happen if he was sad enough—as if crying was normal, but not for him.

“Dr. Gearloose…?” The timid squeaks in BOYD’s broken voice coupled with glumness on every part of his face made Gyro feel pain in every inch of his body. “Is there something wrong with me?”

Shocked as he was still, an automatic reaction came on that brought Gyro to dry the small creature’s eyes. This reaction, too, shocked him.

“No—no,” he answered nonetheless, just as reactionary.

“Really?”

The nervousness in that inquiry pushed Gyro on. What he was grappling with wasn’t important. There was a child in front of him, needing to be consoled. And while he normally was awkward with children—with people in general, really—Gyro knew about BOYD at least from a technical aspect. He wasn’t a medical doctor, but he did have a doctorate in mechanical engineering. He could work from there—he knew hardly anything about children from a biological standpoint, anyway. In a way, BOYD being an android worked to his advantage here. Gyro sobered up mentally and placed both hands on the little one’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he replied, surprised with himself that he was able to sound so matter-of-fact so quickly. He tried as hard as he could to sound gentle too. “Besides your internal structure, you are otherwise indistinguishable from organic life. You have thoughts and feelings, wants and needs. It’s inherent for you to be sad just as any normal boy would—because that’s what you are.”

BOYD looked back at the ground for a moment, then up at Gyro again, putting his tiny hand over the fold of the man’s thin elbow. There was something he wanted to know—there was still pain in his chest that was building up beyond his control.

“Then…” he asked with teary, pleading eyes, “Can I cry a little more?”

Gyro wished that he knew just what to say—his heart ached so much to hear such a little boy ask for permission to feel—but he simply gave a pitying, guilty, yet mostly obligatory, “Yes.”

That one word of acceptance sent BOYD over the edge. A little hiccup escaped him, and what had previously been only silent tears that fell on their own turned into a full-on fit. BOYD covered his face and wept.

Gyro tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat when he saw BOYD truly cry for the first time. But in under a minute, his creation said something that brought him to accommodate without a single thought.

“Dr. Gearloose? I know you said back in Tokyolk that hugging was just for that day, but—”

BOYD was interrupted when Gyro immediately drew him in with a one-armed hug, bringing him close and holding him tight. BOYD in turn drew himself closer to his creator, no longer holding back.

BOYD’s little cries then were soft and whining, innocent and unhinged in the way that became any child. Any time he needed to sniff or dry his eyes, he buried his face into Gyro’s chest, and sunk his tiny fingers deep into his vest. The length in each wail that came on now and again reflected the fact that BOYD had never cried before, and that he was discovering in the moment just how much he needed to all this time.

Poor BOYD, Gyro thought, barely ever allowed to simply hug anyone before. He was the sweetest living creature Gyro had ever known—always smiling so jubilantly and talking politely to everyone and everything—and yet so many people met him only with malice? That was far too unfair.

Oh.

But then, that was exactly what he’d done, wasn’t it? He’d so readily assumed when Inspector Tezuka brought BOYD down that he’d created something evil—he’d thought the evidence was everywhere, quite literally. But couldn’t it have been just as easy to think that someone like Dr. Akita who’d turned out to be a known criminal could have been responsible? Couldn’t Gyro have at least considered for a second that it wasn’t BOYD’s fault and defended him more? But he hadn’t. Instead he’d let his young mind believe everything his former mentor drilled into his head; His inventions were weapons, plain and simple, and nothing would change the fact that that would be a part of him the rest of his life—that he would always know somewhere in the back of his mind that he was just a big screw-up. And Gyro had taken that out on BOYD. He’d turned his anger and fear over himself and projected it into anger and fear over his first real invention. He’d defended inventions like Lil’ Bulb to the last ditch—even when the evidence they were turning evil was just as seemingly apparent, if not more so. Even they weren’t referred to as failures. All that bitter sarcasm and unkindness that became a part of who he was had all been based on nothing. When they’d reunited, he lashed out at BOYD over and over again, scornful whenever he even looked at him, refusing to call him anything other than an ‘it’, saying he was dangerous to his very core, saying he didn’t have feelings—even when the sadness and frightened tentative motions in his expression and body were clear as day—he even said straight to BOYD’s face that he was going to ‘fix’ his malfunctions by essentially flat-out killing him.

Gyro was furious when Mark Beaks made BOYD cry. But the first person to ever treat him inhumanely, was Gyro himself. It made him feel so unbearably guilty he almost couldn’t breathe. No matter what his eyes would look like anytime Akita’s programming kicked in—those things weren’t even there anymore. Anytime Gyro thought back, those big eyes were always so full of light—light of happiness, of sadness, of kindness, of intelligence, of innocence. How could he have ever looked at eyes like that—eyes that were capable of producing tears—and thought BOYD was evil?

Even if the child wouldn’t say so, Gyro knew there must still exist an ache within him over being rejected by the person that gave him life. He owed it to him to make it known just how sorry he was for it—even if the words kept getting jammed in the middle of his throat.

“BOYD,” he faltered, though it was now becoming easier to call him by his real name, “I need to apologize for the way I treated you back then. I know Mark Beaks hurt you when he told you that you weren’t worth his time. But the awful things I’ve said to you… they’re no different.”

BOYD calmed himself down a little to be able to speak. He didn’t face Gyro when he answered, but it wasn’t out of unacceptance—his answer was simply an automatic one.

“It’s okay…”

Gyro let go of BOYD for a moment to stare at him gravely in the face.

“No. It’s not okay.”

Gyro couldn’t remember when he’d talked so seriously before. He’d talked sternly—talked angrily—shouted several times… But as far as he knew, nothing compelled him to speak so straightforward and strict and deadpan as this in his life. He wasn’t going to let anyone make excuses for him ever again—not BOYD, and most certainly not himself.

“I said I’ve spent my whole life trying to live down my first invention being evil. But you were never made evil. I made you out to be evil. And now I’m going to spend the rest of my life living down ever having damaged you like that.”

Gyro found himself astonished that he was able to say what he did next, but nonetheless let it be said; BOYD needed to hear exactly what he was deserving of.

“And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to do right by you. Because after everything that’s happened, I am so proud that a boy like you does right by me.”

In spite of BOYD’s constant shivering and whimpering, he was able to smile comfortingly just for a moment, nestling his head further into Gyro’s scrawny arms.

“I of all people know what it’s like to be new to Duckburg and down on your luck with nothing—with nobody. But I was fortunate. I met Scrooge McDuck and he gave me a place to work, and to make my way up the ladder. He was the only one to give me a second chance—to trust me.”

Gyro sighed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you—as if I didn’t learn. How you stayed the same as I built you this whole time is beyond me. I’m nothing like you.”

“That’s… That’s not true,” BOYD sniffed, rubbing his eyes again, “If I make you as proud as you say, then some of that had to come from you—where else would I get it from? The only other person around me then was Dr. Akita, and then I spent twenty years asleep in Duckburg. I’m like this because you made me. And if I’m still like this, that part of you has to still be in you too—doesn’t it?”

Gyro couldn’t respond to something so kind. He couldn’t. Gyro didn’t deserve merit like that. Instead, he turned to another question that he’d been thinking of as BOYD stayed settled under his arm—something more technical, but still in reference to the android’s feelings and his sentience.

“When you shiver…” he asked with difficulty, “Is it because you’re cold? And if you overheat, do you feel feverish?”

“I do feel sort of sick when something overheats inside me… At home, it’s treated like I have a cold, which usually helps. But… when I’m cold, I operate at peak efficiency, so that’s never uncomfortable.”

BOYD’s voice was still full of quiet hiccups and characterized by the hurt within him.

“I guess I’m shivering because of how sad I feel. There are a lot of things I’m scared of—and things I’m so glad of, they hurt—but mostly, I just keep thinking back to what Mr. Beaks said. He brings up this little voice in my head that tells me people don’t want me. Like I’m making it hard for them.”

Gyro surprised himself again by stroking the back of BOYD’s head lightly. Nevertheless, he responded with defense and firmness in his tone.

“You should make it hard for people like that to want you. If you’re a waste of energy to someone like Mark Beaks, then good. The more you keep being yourself, the less they’ll stick around to hurt you.”

BOYD looked up at Gyro once more with his wet, shining eyes.

“But you won’t do that if I’m myself around you, right?”

That question pulled Gyro into a riptide of guilt so strong that it almost drove him to cry. But he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the urge for BOYD’s sake—this was about him. He made it clear to himself he’d never let his little creation down again when he hugged him in Tokyolk—and now he was going to make it clear to BOYD, say it out loud to his face so there was never any doubt again. Gyro rested the hand he had on BOYD’s head, held him just a tad closer with his arm, and said,

“I’m only saying this once; There is nothing you could do in front of me that wouldn’t make me want you. Ever. You can come to me for whatever you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gyro watched as that sentence prompted tear after tear to fall down BOYD’s heated face, nearly every part of his insides nagging uncontrollably at him when the little creature encircled his puny waist with his arms.

“I’m so glad!”

The sobs that BOYD let loose figuratively jabbed the scientist in the gut as he thought of the fact that were it not for his sheer irresponsibility, the poor little thing would never have had to be born into a world that presented such harsh treatment.

Still, BOYD wanted to cry. Didn’t the need to cry come from getting to let go—to feel better—to be alive?

Gyro thought as he instinctively continued to stroke the small head under him with his thumb. If he had brought a life into the world that was going to have bad moments, that meant that the same life was going to have happy moments too, didn’t it? Well—he already had! BOYD might as well have been built as a bluebird. Gyro should be glad BOYD was finally allowed to have this kind of release. It meant he could finally, truly, feel like the definitely real boy he was. The pain of fault and responsibility still wracked Gyro—he figured it always might—but at this point, he was relieved the poor thing he held close in the underwater lab wasn’t going to be mistreated any longer—not if he could stand to help it. ______________________________

BOYD sat in Gyro’s lap, beginning to feel better as he allowed himself to let everything out in the embrace of someone close to him. He could cry as much as he needed around Gyro. And he was going to take that allowance for all it was worth.

Part of his crying now came from the warmth he felt knowing that the old Gyro he thought he’d lost was still in there somewhere—that he hadn’t gone after all—and that even though he’d through no fault of his own gotten it lost, he had brought its return as well. That restored a lot more of BOYD’s self-worth than he fully realized.

BOYD was so grateful—so, so grateful to have that Gyro here again. He didn’t understand why at first it hurt so much to be called an ‘it’ by his creator—he didn’t remember Gyro was his creator at the time—but to think that someone was afraid of him and that someone hated him just for being himself stung so badly. He didn’t cry then—he didn’t know he could. But he cried now, over the cutting things Mark Beaks said, over Gyro’s hand at his back, over anything he could think of that needed crying over—mostly however over the knowledge by now that Gyro didn’t see him as nothing more than a destructive machine—as ‘evil down to his core’ any longer. He could tell that even if Gyro didn’t say it, he loved him; He risked his own life just to hold him in his arms, to save him and others from himself. Now BOYD really did have someone who loved him the way a father would a son. He could hug Gyro if he wanted—as many times as he felt like it—and never be brushed off. That thought brought such relief to him, his processor couldn’t take it all in.

But he didn’t tell Gyro any of this; He noticed all those looks on his face—they gave away just how terrible he felt over not being able to do as much as he wanted for him right away. So he kept any more words from leaving his mouth in order not to burden his guardian with any more guilt. BOYD simply let himself release all the emotions he could which he didn’t know he had before, as if he were wringing himself out—and as such, began soaking up all the comfort he was being given like a dry and thirsty sponge.

BOYD learned some wonderful things that day as he clung so strongly to Dr. Gearloose in that lab—much as it hurt to tremble violently, and bleed out feelings until one’s eyes burned, and let out enough raw noise fit to make one’s throat sore. He learned that being allowed to feel so sad was rewarding, and cleansing. He learned that tears were something he could produce no matter what he felt. And he learned that everyone in the world would make mistakes, no matter what or who they were, but that it was never too late to grow from them.

~ Holy shoot, wow, this is the first serious fic I’ve ever posted on here before.

I really wanted to share it, because it took so long to write—although I didn’t think it would turn out so long… 8k words! It’s the lengthiest thing I’ve ever written.

Anyway, this is a story that is very dear to my heart, not only because I put the most into it out of anything, but because studying Gyro Gearloose as a character and loving his dynamic with BOYD has been one of the most amazing things to think of through the hiatus that came after Astro BOYD.

I always loved BOYD, of course, but once I started seeing all the art and fanfics that others had started doing out of the emotions that came with his and Gyro’s backstory, I got swept up in it too, and wanted desperately to get out all those feelings into one story.

The idea came from the concept of whether or not BOYD can cry. We’ve never really seen him do it before, and it’d probably be hard because he’s normally so happy—but I kept wondering if he, as an android, even could. So it hit me; What if BOYD could cry, but Gyro wasn’t aware of it? What if even BOYD wasn’t aware of it? I kept playing with what would possibly make him cry, because even when Gyro was threatening to shut him down or was calling him ‘it’, BOYD only frowned a little. Suddenly I got the nasty idea of Mark Beaks showing up and telling him he never wants to see him again, and it built from there—I started also thinking that maybe what brings BOYD to cry is just a long enough buildup of pain, and maybe he couldn’t feel as much because Akita’s meddling with him had gotten in the way before.

On a sidenote, Mark Beaks was pretty hard to write at first; I had to make sure his confidence was switched on all the time or he’d come off a little out of character. But much as this is about Gyro & BOYD, Beaks being awful is so deliciously fun to write. I think it’s because he makes you love whoever he’s being mean to even more.

Anyway, after I’d written that part out, I spent a lot more time than I initially thought I would focusing on how all this would make Gyro feel—that is, how much guilt his responsibility would bring on. I’m really desperate to see for myself how they interact in canon from now on, but I always imagine that Gyro’s feelings which are most associated with being a father are of guilt; They make him protective of BOYD, they make him sensitive to BOYD, and they might drive him to treat BOYD—again, be more like a father. Pretty much all Gyro’s niceness comes from wanting a do-over.

I never post my serious writing publicly—mostly because I’m really tentative and shy about showing my literary ‘skills’ and the kinds of raw emotion I spill out in words sometimes—but this fic slowly became something I wanted really badly to share with the DT fandom, as a thing that could both be a way to show my own interpretation and thoughts of Gyro and BOYD, and could maybe even be liked by people as much as it is by me.

I know a good few episodes have aired since Astro BOYD did, and that it’s been a long while since the episode has been talked about, but I’ve only now been brave enough to decide to put this story out there for all to see.

I really hope you enjoyed it.

(Incidentally, I wanted to be sure to post it before Let’s Get Dangerous! airs, because I know this fic would get swallowed up by all the emotions to be had from that episode… ^^; )

[dikiyvter]

23 & 31? :eye: for either or both

Of course aid anything 4 u <3

Uncommon Questions [ accepting ]

23. How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

For Gio: Envy is... kind of a scale of ugliness for Gio, to be honest. First and foremost his envy is typically not something ugly; It's typically something that turns more into a hopeful longing other than any sort of truly resentful behavior. Just because he wants what someone else has doesn't mean that he needs to take it from them necessarily; the world is not a pie to be split among it's inhabitants. He views the world as an endless wealth, and if he wants something someone else has, all he has to do is work to get it himself. Ultimately his longing to be human and to take a quiet role in human society spawns from envy of the lives that humans lead.

... And then there's the far uglier envy. Gio is a rather childish individual who experiences emotions very strongly; In part this is subconscious acting, and in part it's genuine truth; He's really never been good at things regarding emotions primarily because he's never been taught a whole lot in regards to control of ones emotions or ways to manage them. He's a bit... emotionally stunted but more in the 'seems like an erratic mood swing-y mess because he feels very strongly' sense and less, you know, [gestures at Baal and Zhongli]. There is thus always a chance that when Gio becomes envious of something, his first reaction is that of intense resentment towards whoever it is that has what he doesn't- This is partially true even for his love of humanity. Even though he starts off with the thought of "this is beautiful" it was still interlaced with a lot of bitter resentment that he would never really have that; Coming to terms with his worldview is what got rid of that. But it's a bit harder to have a mentality of 'the world isn't a pie; someone having a bigger slice than me doesn't mean i can't have more if i want it' when its... say...

A person whom you love whose fallen for another or is having all of their time taken up by them.

For Riga: ...Riga gets a much shorter paragraph and for that I apologize, but I have a lot more thoughts regarding Gio on this subject considering that lil clowns got a lot of conflictions and nuance to ramble about. Riga, on the other hand, tends to be far more simplistic in the things he is feeling and how he is feeling them; though this isn't to say he feels any less strongly or erratically than Gio does.

Rigatello typically feels envy as a genuinely ugly awful emotion that typically results not just in resentment but in a very, very intense form of frustration. A major part of his character is that he is someone who wants very little, but the few things he does want are things he perceives more as needs; Case in point being he doesn't perceive wanting Gio to care about him as being a want, he sees it as a need, and when your needs are denied you become... what? Angry. Frustrated. Depressed. Envy turns him violent, because why should others have what's rightfully his? Why are others entitled to the few things he truly needs? Why is he not deserving of these things? There's a tangible cycle to a lot of Rigatellos emotions, and it's that he is confronted with something ( or someone ) he wants; He becomes reliant, he thinks he needs them ( using gio as an example; He cannot imagine who he is without Gio nearby. He cannot imagine himself in the hierarchy that is set between them both and Dottore without Gio there, because Gio has always been the one to provide a release of tension, even if the relationship the two of them shared was at times very far from healthy; The change of something he sees as being integral to his identity and his place in his little corner of society is something that throws him VERY badly; Rigatello is someone very afraid of any meaningful change because the fear of what comes next and that change leading to potential failure is one that haunts him ) ; They move away from him, and he panics, because he has very little and thus clings desperately to what few things he has; Cue the cycle of seeing that which he 'needs' with someone else, being angry, being frustrated, falling down the rabbit hole of wondering why he isn't worthy, arriving at depression, resparking that frustration, and... repeat.

A lot of his envy spawns almost purely from a place of this frustration-depression loop of wondering why he isn't good enough-- something that ties in heavily with the way he was 'raised', where threats of being scrapped were thrown freely, and any failure could potentially result in his literal destruction.

Wait this wound up being longer than Gios. Whoops.

31. Who are they the most glad to have met?

Okay here's where we ease into me being able to make coherent sentences again bc i'm not bound purely by my muses emotions <3

For Gio, It would be Venti, in more ways than one. First he had technically met Barbatos. The ideal Barbatos gifted to Mondstadt that rubbed off on the freshly-created and quite impressionable Gio; It was Mondstadt and their talk of freedom that lit the little fire that eventually turned into Gio pursuing his autonomy and humanity. Then was the archon; Barbatos gave his vision to him, and without that Gio never would have managed to escape Dottore, and if he didn't currently have it he wouldn't have been able to evade capture for this long. It also served as a constant reminder of Mondstadts ideals -- And not just that, but the special shape that the vision takes has always been a symbol that although Snezhnaya was his home-- Mondstadt was where he belonged. Then came Venti; Someone who made him feel welcomed in Mondstadt when he was initially very nervous about being there. He and Venti became dear friends ( possibly more ) and now that's someone he looks forward to every time he's on his way back to Mondstadt. The city truly feels like home to him now, and that's mostly because of Venti-- and even if his friend doesn't wish to be seen as Barbatos the archon, Gio cannot help the appreciation he feels for those previous actions, nor for the general ideals that Venti / Barbatos inhabit.

For Riga, that would be Lio, no contest. It.. it would take me ten years to explain all of Rigatellos feelings towards Lio there's so much shit at play they mesh so fucking well together their traumas and mentalities are such similar echoes, Lio is literally the only person in the world that Rigatello has felt genuine love and affection for and not in some way panicked and tried to burn the bridge before it could burn him; He feels genuinely safe and happy with Lio, and the fear that constantly haunts him is eased in their presence; He trusts not just Lio but himself, the fear he typically fears when he touches others is gone because they trust him so thoroughly that in the midst of their love it's hard to be afraid of himself. He feels for once that he can be something that protects instead of something that exclusively does damage; He feels cared for, wanted, loved, when all his life he's felt rejected and constantly on the brink of destruction. Where he once was told his wants and thoughts don't matter he has now found someone who cares very much for what he wants and what he thinks and FUCK I have a lot of thoughts about these two.

40. How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Oh god, here's another thing I can't fully explain.

For Gio: Immensely. Gios current mentality is essentially that if he just closes his eyes and refuses to think about it then he doesn't have to deal with his flaws, and if anyone points them out he can just get mad about it and avoid them until he dies because he does. not. want. to. think. about. it. He HATES feeling bad, he hates feeling negatively about himself, he doesn't... know how to genuinely change things about himself; And I think that. That itself can be very much shown in how he treats the fact that he's not human? A person? Yes, he's a fully sentient person with his own thoughts and expressions and free will, a human? Not exactly. He's made out of metal and circuitry and artificial materials, and this is simply a factual statement, its not opinion; But he almost treats it like it is. He sees this idealized version of humanity that he wishes to be a part of but he cannot fathom how he can be apart of it if the core thing about himself isn't changed, but its NOT something he can change; Instead of accepting that, however, and still going on with his goal to pursue his autonomy and humanity despite this, Gio would... honestly rather stick his fingers in his ears and go "lalala" because he doesn't really have the toolset to mentally deal with the contradiction of "I want to be human but I can't". He perceives a need to change that isn't there, and instead of trying to address it he ignores it entirely in hopes that... it'll just stop being an issue that he needs to address with himself at some point. The same mentality applies to a lot of his flaws. Does he know hes being avoidant of his problems? Does he know that it's going to cause more issues in the future? He does. But he can't even address it with himself because it makes him feel bad, let alone with someone else who could actually provide him with skills that he needs to change his behaviors and mentality.

For Riga: Okay he genuinely gets a shorter paragraph this time because in short? Rigatello doesn't care. Admittedly he kind of wears his flaws on his sleeve. He's a "says it right on the tin" kind of guy most of the time, where he's typically mostly open about the less positive parts of himself-- If not exaggerating them as a means of keeping people away. There are of course the flaws that he hides due to them stemming from traumas, and his general desire to hide all things relating to his personal thoughts and feelings-- But this in and of itself could be perceived as a flaw, though one very unexplored considering Lio is his first close relationship with another person where he's been in any form open about his own thoughts and feelings, away from the influence of Dottore or the Fatui.

Rigatello does have... slightly less healthy perception of what counts as flaws in himself, though, such as having his own thoughts and emotions. He perceives his traumas as weakness, and weakness is a flaw, to him-- So too, then, are his traumas. He's not sensitive about this in the sense that Gio is where he's willfully ignoring something he's doing wrong; Riga doesn't... know that this isn't a good mentality. He.

Riga is kind of hard to explain this regard because of how severely impacted Rigatello is by the traumas hes endured, the people he was 'raised' by, and the current lifestyle that he leads. His emotional understanding is extremely limited and always has been, and I'm not entirely sure how to put it in coherent wording; Because typically when I try to talk about Riga and emotions it devolves into word vomit because his thoughts are just... nonsense screaming pain mush that he doesn't know how to cope with so he tells himself to toughen up, shoves it in the closet, and goes on with his day until he can lay down at night and have a meltdown--

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Honestly? The general rule of thumb is that I don't typically write people that I myself would get along with, if only because I know way too much about my own characters and their flaws? When. I look at people that I get along with, its primarily people who are patient enough to deal with my memory issues and my general lets say... low iq, to be nice. They're mostly laid back people who don't give too much of a shit one way or the other, but are friendly and fun to talk to because they have interesting ideas to contribute to a conversation, give room for others to contribute, and don't mind a bit of chaos when things inevitably devolve.

When I look at the characters I write... They all have some sort of flaw that directly contradicts the core things I typically find in someone I get along well with?

Gio is someone who I think I could get along with for a while; But inevitably his flaws, his distress regarding those flaws, and his subsequent refusal to acknowledge them in any meaningful form would inevitably stress me out and it would start to get tiring.

Bluntly put Riga is scary and I feel like I'd be stressed out 24/7 that I'm going to irritate him... And his general mindset of emphasizing his own flaws to push people away would just make me angry and I'd probably wind up letting him isolate himself because, having once been someone who was very much that way, I no longer deal well with that degree of self-pitying behavior b/c it pisses me off.

Outside of this blog, Ku Shen and I could probably get along pretty well, but I think the issue is that he's a massive introvert who would go Weeks in-between texting, and I have the memory of a goldfish and i'd inevitably find myself in a position where i have a text from him that's been waiting for me to answer for the past week and I'm too nervous to reply because I feel awkward being like 'hi i have untreated adhd sorry', and then suddenly three months has passed and I just can never talk to this man again.

...I'm going to include my Morax on here as well even though it's blog isn't super active; Look I might actually be able to chill with Morax if only because we vibe in either 'i am listening to you ramble for 3 straight hours with occasional questions or commentary' or 'we have both been dead fucking silent for the past 3 hours' and these are both my ideal ways to exist in someone elses presence. Also I feel like it'd wanna do fun shit and likes going on walks or smth. 10/10 I think I could get along with Morax.

H) What trait do you admire most?

Ah fuck okay. Uh. For Gio... I admire his optimism and hope. I consider myself to be a generally hopeful person but I'm not typically the kind of like... ~ * direct action * ~ person, and Gio VERY MUCH IS in most regards. He's generally super fucking ambitious and if he WANTS something he will GET IT and you cannot STOP HIM and I just wish I had that level of

I. Dedication II. Energy III. Optimism in actually completing the goal

For Riga? I guess it would be his general tenacity and endurance. He goes through. A lot of shit. Constantly. And he just keeps trudging on forward without pause. He does what he needs to do, and if you get in the way of him and what he needs to get done, then he'll make you fucking regret it. Top tier shit 10/10 good for him.

[xx-autmnlvr-xx]

Is this embarrassing? Chapter 1

PAIRING: KEVEDD (Kevin x Edd) [Ed, Edd n Eddy]

Rating: T (for cursing and violence)

This is really exciting because I have been working on this story for almost a week now and I didn’t want to post the first chapter until I finished the whole thing. I’m so happy to finish such a long fanfiction! I hope you all enjoy!!! If you like it please feel free to reblog so others can read it!

    It was a cool autumn day and peach Creek high was out at the football field for a pep rally. The Ed's, who are now in 10th grade, were on the top of the bleachers. Edd shifted in his seat in discomfort. Eddy was sitting, leaning against the back railings and Ed was laying down beside Eddy.

    "so, I said to Rolf 'I know where you should stuff your salami' I mean, it wouldn't have hurt for some of it to be sold! I was gonna give him 25 percent of the profit!" Eddy yammered in a huff. Edd shook his head with a slight smile before looking out at the football field. His eyes raked over each player until he saw him.

   With the number twelve spread on his uniform, Edd knew that underneath was a tall and slightly muscular Kevin. Kevin has grown a bit since they were 12. He began talking more to them in a friendly way and has stopped the bullying. He still calls the Ed's dorks, but now it's in a kinder way. Double D's smile widened as he watched.

   "Hey! Earth to sock head! Are you listening?" Eddy yelled, waving his hand in front of Edd's face.

    Double D snapped out of it and looked at Eddy, "o-oh I'm sorry, Eddy. I must have dozed off."

    "Are you fawning over shovel chin again?"

    "Wh... what? No! I was... just thinking of quantum physics! Very intriguing!" Edd claimed, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

   Eddy rolled his eyes, "why don't you just talk to him, Edd?"

   "Oh no no no! I would never!" Double D's cheeks grew redder.

   Then he sighed, looking out at the field, "Kevin would never go out with me. I mean he's obviously straight."

"So?" Eddy asked, "why don't you convert him? Isn't that what people like you do? Make straight people gay?"

Edd glared at Eddy, "sometimes I really wonder why I'm friends with you."

"Oh, I know! It's because we all have the same name and have been hanging out since we were kids!" Ed said loudly, smiling wide.

Double D smiled and ruffled Ed's hair, "yes. That is a few of the reasons, Ed."

 Suddenly the conversation was cut short with a loud voice, "Okay, peach Creek high! Pep rally is over so get your asses home!" Sarah screamed in a megaphone at the students.

"But be sure to come by tomorrow at 6 for the football game!" Nazz cut in with her own megaphone, "Let's come show support to our team!"

Eddy stood up, "come on, guys! Let's get going." The three made their way down the bleachers and began trekking back to the cul-de-sac. Edd glanced behind him and saw Kevin looking at him. As their eyes met double D made a flustered noise and looked in front of him. When the Ed's made it to the cul-de-sac, Eddy yawned.

"Well, boys, I would say let's hang but that stupid football rally wore me out."

"Aww but Eddy! I wanted to show you my new 'poinder monster blood' movie!" Ed pouted.

"We can watch it tomorrow, Ed. I promise." Eddy patted his shoulder.

"Yeah I agree. Today was most strenuous! I'll see you both tomorrow!" Edd smiled and waved as he went up to his house. Double D closed the door behind him and sighed, looking at his home. It was just as he left it with no sign or hair that his parents came home that day.

"It must have been another triple shift." He muttered to himself.

 He walked to the kitchen and drunk some water. Double D put his bag on the table and looked through his books. He whispered a mental list of all that he must get done that weekend that includes two essays, a page of math equations, and a thesis on ancient Aztec inventions. he began to head upstairs when someone knocked on his door. He checked the time, it was 5 pm.

"Weird. Who could that be?" Edd made his way to the door and opened it. He nearly passed out.

"M-m... Marie! What are you doing back in peach Creek?" He asked, his knees shaking slightly. Marie kanker and her sisters were taken away back in 8th grade when May came to school with multiple bruises. The human resources department found out the kanker sisters were being beat by their fathers and found multiple signs of malnutrition. Marie still had her blue hair, cut so one of her eyes were covered up she wore a black crop top with some Jean shorts. She had on some fingerless gloves. Marie rubbed the back of her neck.

"Our mother got custody of us and talked to us about where we wanted to finish school. We all chose peach Creek. We're living close to the shops."

Edd nodded, "Oh. I see." He was a little confused. Why is she acting so different?

"Do you... Want to come in?" He asked, moving aside for her.

She nodded, "yeah, thanks." She sat down on the couch and looked down at the rug.

"Would you like something to drink?"

She looked up, "do you have any sweet tea?"

"Yes, I certainly do! One moment."

 Edd came back and handed Marie the cup and sat down in a lounge chair.

"Thank you, Edd."

"It's no problem. You seem different than last time I saw you. What has happened?"

She took a sip, "well after the people took us away, they tried to put us in a foster home. Lee made a fuss and we shanked some of the kids there. They called us a danger to society and threw us in a mental hospital. While we were there, they talked to us about internalized obsessive disorder and abuse. They gave us medicine and had us talk to so many therapists. I didn't even know what we did as children was wrong. I guess that's what happens. We all began to listen, and I found out something about me. I realized that my love for you was false. I didn't love you I loved your sensitivity. I wanted to be as hopeful as you. I should have realized that I wasn't straight when I started sneaking to look at my dad's magazines."

"You mean you're...?"

"Yeah, I'm a lesbian. I didn't realize because I honestly thought that I NEEDED a man."

She took another sip and put down the drink, "but that's not why I'm here." Marie looked at him. He looked back at her.

"Double D, I want to apologize. How I acted two years ago was very ridiculous and I understand that you must have been very scared. No one should be forced into any kind of romantic interaction. I understand that now. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just want you to know that I am working to improve myself."

"Oh... oh wow, Marie. That is very admirable of you! I must admit I never expected this. I accept your apology." Edd smiled.

She smiled back, "I hope we can be friends."

"Of course!" Edd nodded. Suddenly, Marie's pocket buzzed. She took out her phone and looked at it.

"Oh shit. I have to get home. I'll talk to you later?"

 After Marie and Edd said their goodbyes, she left his home and ran down the street. Double D watched for a moment and closed his door.

"Isn't that interesting. I never would have thought that someone like the kankers would work to better themselves. I'm happy for them." Edd said to himself as he walked up the stairs and into his room.

He took off his clothes and slipped on his pajamas. He even completed most of his homework. Edd laid on his bed and looked at the ceiling. He thought about how he should come clean to Kevin but at the mere thought of confessing made him shiver.

"Eddward this is ridiculous..." He told himself aloud, "what do you have to lose?"

He thought about it and bit his lip, "he could laugh at me... Distance himself... What if he starts beating me up?" Edd felt tears well up and he made a noise of desperation. He suddenly got an idea and went over to his desk.

"Of course! I'll just write a love letter and just never give it! I'll have the emotions released and I won't get rejected!" Edd sat at his chair, grabbed a pen and blue paper and started writing.

'my dearest friend, Kevin,

It may come as a shock, but I can contain this no longer--' double D began. He smiled and kept writing the letter, letting out all his hidden desire. After he completed the whole thing he felt better. He folded it up and put it in a tin can. He debated throwing it away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he decided to put it in his pants. He slept well that night.

Edd awoke at 10 am that Saturday to the sound of his alarm blaring. He sat up with a stretch and turned it off. He groggily went to his closet and grabbed his toiletries before going to the bathroom. After his shower he was brushing his teeth while trying to avoid looking in the mirror.

'why hasn't it gone away? I've tried everything but the scar is still there.' Edd thought. Finally, after he rinsed his mouth, he looked up in the mirror. There, in the middle of his head, with a haphazard pattern was a large scar. No hair grew around it so there was just a bald spot. The scar is a constant reminder of the worst point in his life. He sighed, rubbing a pea sized amount of cocoa butter lotion on the scar before putting on his hat.

Eddward left his house after doing his chores and locked the door.

"Hey, double D! Finally, you came out!" Eddy yelled from across the cul-de-sac. Eddy and Ed began bursting into a fit of laughter. Edd rolled his eyes and chuckled, walking up to them.

"You know, I may stop hanging out with you if you keep up with the gay jokes, Eddy." Edd teased.

"Aw puh-leese sockhead you know I'm just teasing." Eddy smiled, lightly nudging Edd.

Ed lifted the other two and hugged them tightly, "guys are we gonna watch the movie now?"

 Ed was sitting cross-legged in front of his couch, his eyes glued to the TV. Eddy was spread out on one side of the couch, typing on his phone. Edd was on the other side of the couch with his ankles crossed, watching the movie. After Ed's parents bought a new couch, they threw it down the basement for Ed since double D and Eddy are always over.

Edd tilted his head, "so the monster is literally a sentient glob of blood? Who comes up with these things?"

Ed turned toward double D and smiled happily, "I know! Isn't it awesome?? It could roll and wobble and gobble everyone! And it would grow each time!!! What if it happens?"

Edd smiled and patted his shoulder, "it's highly impossible, Ed. They said in the movie that they made it using 'a vial of hubirous' and there is no such thing as a hubirous. You have nothing to be worried about."

Ed nodded, "yes! You're right, double D! If it was real Godzilla would probably eat it anyways!"

Edd shook his head and smiled, "you're so imaginative."

Eddy stretched, "if I had that vial, I wouldn't waste it on some stupid experiment. Science is lame. Oh! Hey, guys, that new game came out last night! It ended up being free! Do you wanna play it sometime this week?"

"Ooh ooh yeah! That sounds cool!" Ed said, jumping up and down in his seat. A loud noise came from the television and Ed went back to watching it

Edd rubbed the back of his neck, "I don't know, Eddy. We have a big test coming up this week. Maybe we can do it next weekend."

Eddy groaned, "sockhead, you're too uptight. One test won't kill us."

Double D raised an eyebrow, "Eddy, you didn't pass the practice ACT two weeks ago. You NEED to take school more seriously."

"School is for chumps! I'm gonna make a NAME for myself! I don't need no damn geometry!"

"School is the beginnings of all business and careers. You won't last."

"WATCH ME, SOCKHEAD!" Eddy huffed, crossing his arms. Edd rolled his eyes and continued watching the movie.

 After a while Edd remembered something.

"Remember the kanker sisters?" At the mere mention of them, Ed and Eddy looked at Edd with wide eyes.

"W-what... What about them?" Eddy asked nervously.

"They came back to peach Creek!" Ed was about to scream but double D covered his mouth, "BUT they aren't like they were before! They changed!"

"How do you know?" Ed asked behind being muffled. Edd cringed and took off his hand, wiping it off on his shorts.

"Marie came over to my house last night and apologized for what happened when we were in jr. High."

"Woah you serious?" Eddy asked, shocked.

"Yeah! They got help and now they aren't obsessive or aggressive like they were."

"Cool!" Eddy and Ed said in unison. The movie ended then, and double D looked at the time. 5 pm.

"I should take my leave now."

Ed pouted, "aww but why?"

Eddy smirked, "isn't it obvious? He wants to go see Kevin throw a ball around."

Edd's entire face went red, "n...no I'm not! I just have homework!"

Eddy raised an eyebrow and shrugged, "whatever. It's your life. But you know you don't have to keep denying it, it's pretty obvious. Even lumpy can tell when you're drooling."

"Yeah! It's as clear as the little ant trying to sneak off with my cheese!" Ed chimed.

Edd looked down at his hands and fumbled with them, "you guys think it's that noticeable? Oh, my what if Kevin knows? Is he going to start avoiding me?"

"Dude, it's not that deep. My father always says, 'sell it quick before they notice' which basically means 'just go for it or you'll miss it.'" Eddy said. Double D nodded and said goodbye before climbing out Ed's window.

 The autumn wind whistled past Edd's ears. The chilly air causing fallen leaves to land near his feet. Double D looked at the ground as he walked, thinking about what Eddy said.

'maybe he's right. I mean we have lived by Kevin for years. Maybe he would accept me?' Eddward smiled a little and imagined what it would be like. Kevin pulling him close and kissing him behind a tree, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Edd wasn't looking where he was going and bumped into someone's back. He fell backwards onto his butt.

"Ngh! Oh, how humiliating." Edd groaned in pain, rubbing his lower back.

"YO, NERD!" A voice yelled. Edd looked up at two stocky-built guys in football uniforms.

Double D's face went pale, "I'm sorry! I... I didn't mean to--" The one on the right got close to Edd's face. His name was Kyle, he had bushy eyebrows and an Auburn colored buzz cut.

"You didn't mean to WHAT, loser?"

"I was- I was deep in thought and I didn't know you was there. I'm sorry."

The one on the left smirked and went behind Edd. He was named Larry and he had blonde wavy hair with a goatee. He pulled double D to his feet and locked his arm around Edd's neck to prevent him from leaving.

"What were you thinking about? Were you thinking about math? Hey, Kyle, do you think if we bust his head open, we will get a cheat sheet for school?" At the mention of a busted head Edd started squirming, gripping Larry's arm that was nearly choking him.

"Plea... please just let me go! I'm sorry!"

"Oh, you'll be sorry alright." Kyle smiled, he punched Edd in the nose. Edd screamed in pain while the two laughed. They spent the next five minutes punching and kicking him. Edd felt himself starting to pass out from the pain. The last thing he remembered was being shoved in a trashcan and them digging in his pockets.

"Shit! Doesn't the nerd have any money? I thought his parents made a lot of money!" Kyle grumbled. Double D only saw black as he passed out completely.

[secret-engima]

Ah! I was also Stars! which, you’ve already answered. There we go. Also, just thought of one last title: (I Weep for the Last Dying Spark Yet) You Call Me Demon in the Dark.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm I could make this horribly, HORRIBLY angsty and depressing but instead I’m going to yeet this into the comedy angst territory.

FFXV Dimension Hopping AU.

A much more fantasy version of FFXV with mythical races and such that has been plagued for YEARS, since the time of King Mors grandfather, by an immortal Accursed no one has ever seen, who wields forbidden magics and brings darkness and commands the things of the night.

Noctis, Chosen King, King of Dawn, he who fulfilled his destiny, wakes up very, very confused. He expected to be DEAD after all. Not … alive on the throne he’d been stabbed on.

Check that.

This was NOT the throne he had been stabbed on. It was a throne, but it was a melodramatic thing, draped in Behemoth and Coeurl furs and with a Behemoth skull centerpiece above the top of the throne. It was also in a Throne Room so- so STEREOTYPICALLY fantasy evil Noctis has to wonder if he’s dreaming.

He is not.

He nearly beheads the first daemon (which are sentient or near-sentient depending on race and their own races rather than the result of a plague). Luckily for the daemon, he is very good at dodging sword blows and bows deeply to Noctis, who pauses in confusion.

Apparently, when he slipped between worlds (by accident), he crash landed in the evil throne room of the Accursed (by accident!), and the sheer force of the magic shockwave that resulted form his arrival in this world (by accident!!), purified this world’s Accursed on the spot (BY. ACCIDENT.).

Instead of killing him for destroying their master, Noctis is horrified to realize that … by killing the Accursed … he … is now … the new king.

Of daemons.

In another dimension.

That he hasn’t even seen yet outside this weird throne room with it’s creepy animal furs and weapon displays and floating blue balls of fire that serve as torches along the walls.

What.

What is his life right now.

Can he go back to dying nobly for his brothers and his people again?

Said brothers (plus Iris because where her brother goes she goes, and Talcott because he just got his king-friend BACK he’s not leaving) who managed to strong arm an Astral or three into yeeting them into that same world so they can be with Noctis: NO. NO YOU MAY NOT.

And that is how Noctis went from being the Martyr that saved a world to being the newest King of Night, with his brothers, baby sister, and newest bby retainer as his “evil court”.

In between the shenanigans of learning how to Deal™ with being in a much more primitive, King’s Knight like dimension, there is actually a lot of angst because- well- Noctis DIED. He died and now he’s alive, he died to save the world from darkness but now he’s the kING of darkness (if a different kind) and can’t leave because if he leaves the daemons here will run wild and destroy the world. Again. Also the Chocobros are an Emotion and Iris and Talcott are Major Emotions because they almost lost their king and, for Iris and Talcott, HE DIDN’T EVEN WARN THEM. He let them think they would get their happy ending when instead he’d gone off to DIE.

So yes, there is angst. Angst as the King of Light weeps softly for all he has lost and all the unwanted things he has gained, who sits on a throne he has no use for save to keep those who curse his name safe.

Meanwhile, Crown Prince Regis of the Kingdom of Lucis is sent out into the world to tentatively investigate why the encroaching darkness and nigh-constant daemon night raids have … stopped. The thick, magical clouds that protect the borders of the Night Kingdom, the ancient, ruined once-capital of Lucis known in the ancient manuscripts as Insomnia, no longer try to encroach onto the nearby territories of Leide, and daemons no longer scream and tear apart any who are caught out of the magically warded towns and safe zones when night falls.

The Accursed, Regis’s father insists, must be planning something Big™. Some kind of major, overwhelming strike to have gone silent for this long, and Regis is the only one Mors’ trusts to find out what.

Regis isn’t expecting the journey to be easy. And he fears being killed, or worse, his friends being killed protecting him. So when they are captured by daemons on their journey and dragged into the heart of the Night Kingdom itself, they all fully expect to be tortured and killed, possibly even cursed into horrible forms before they die.

They are not expecting the figure lounging (dozing) on the throne room to blink awake when the daemons eagerly throw Regis and his Retinue at the bottom of the ancient stairs, take one long, long look at them with surprisingly human blue eyes, and sigh, “You tried to sneak in didn’t you. They wouldn’t have bothered you if you hadn’t.” The terrible Accursed, king of Night and Daemons, stands up and limps down the stairs to crouch in front of the prone Regis, an unreadable expression on his surprisingly human face. Then the Accursed sighs again, lifts his head and calls, “Iris.” A human woman jogs into view and the daemons part way for her, cooing softly at her heels like dogs seeing a favored mistress. The woman stops in front of them and shoots a surprised and unreadable look at the Chocobros 1.0.

The Accursed stands up straight and Regis braces for dungeons, or torture, or SOMETHING.

“Tell Iggy we’re going to have five guests at the table tonight will you? He’ll want to cook extra, they look like they haven’t eaten in a while.”

…

What?

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: General Audiences Words: 1100~ Summary: Garnet helps remind Rose of what she’s fighting for. (set during the Gem War)

Another friend prompt fic! This time, the prompt was “egg.” These so-called flash fics just keep getting longer and longer... XD

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

Despite her powers of farsight, despite the seemingly insurmountable strength of the Crystal Gems’ common enemy, it is a sound fact of the universe that certain elements of the future will always be vulnerable to change.

Certain elements. This is the nuance most other Gems can’t seem to grasp without experiencing some form of prophecy for themselves, that there exists a delicate boundary between elements in flux and foregone consequences. Laying just beyond every unique junction of free will and possibility is a tipping point where that precise junction can never be revisited, can shift no longer. After all, when a heavy stone begins to fall from a cliff side there is no force of nature that can hope to reverse it. It will fall, and the world at large will be forever transformed, no matter how small the ramifications.

For this reason, Garnet finds navigating the rivers of possibility less of a disorientating force while surrounded by nature. From her observations over the past few years, much of the life of this planet seems to be driven by base instinct. Plants seek water, sunlight, the sentient organisms seek food and shelter. Choices are made, and consequences stick. While she’s stumbled upon the occasional exception to this rule, the wildlife of planet Earth largely adheres to predictable outcomes. She could trace every last potential path within the lifespan of a butterfly and be reasonably certain its ultimate future would follow one of those she foresaw.

Gems, on the other hand... Gems are complicated. Sapphire didn’t think they were, once. She used to believe futures were set in stone, that only the will of fate pushed individuals together and tore empires apart. When she still read the future for the Diamonds, all she could see was a single stream. But when Garnet considers Gems now, she’s met with an infinity of tributaries, offshoots, turns, and waterfalls, each careening down paths unique from all others. She can sense realities beyond realities. All are possible. And all are vulnerable to changes even she cannot foresee. Rubies can break protocol to push their charges out of danger. Pearls can win victory over quartz soldiers on the battlefield. Rose Quartzes can bravely rise to lead an entire rebellion.

So many segments of the future are in constant flux, and on many occasions that can prove overwhelming.

But sometimes, the path is simple.

Sometimes, that simplicity can remind one of what they’re fighting for.

The bird egg she’s currently watching with intrigue, for instance. The mother is away— most likely retrieving food. The thin shell is speckled brown, a completely unique pattern compared with the other two sharing the nest. She smiles as she gently removes the egg out of the nest, cradles it in her hands nestled between her gems. A few steps away, Rose sits down on a fallen tree, her untamable curls shifting around her face as she allows her head to sink into her hands.

“I know you said leaving base might help me think, but I can’t fathom how a nature walk is supposed to improve morale at a time like this,” she says, muffled through her fingers. As she looks up, shards of anger shoot through her dark eyes, the fringe of her hair casting a shadow over her features as she continues to expound her frustrations. “Over five hundred of us, mercilessly shattered on the battlefield, and it’s all my fault. I gave the orders, I sent them to ground the landers in facet 4! They’re gone because of me.”

She sighs, heavy and despondent, her eyelids fluttering shut.

“There’s days I genuinely wonder why I’m even fighting anymore.”

Garnet’s gaze flickers downwards, towards the life she holds between the sum of her very being. (Its warmth is comforting, in a grounding sort of manner.) There’s definitely been cycles— dark, daunting excursions into terrifying possibility— where she emerged with the same doubt. She knows it can’t be easy, leading so many frightened, angry Gems in revolution against such a daunting power while carrying the expectation of constant poise, strength, and grace. What she also knows is that her friend shouldn’t let that expectation weigh her down so heavily that she feels unable to express vulnerability around the others, to take care of her own needs. And in this moment, when she peers into Rose’s future, there are so many paths where she collapses under this strain. Where she eventually buckles to the Diamonds’ will, where the rebellion is crippled at its knees. None of these paths are certain yet— the present is still in flux, decisions still lie at their junctions— but in number, they are many.

(There’s still time, though. There’s still a chance for change.)

Garnet joins her on the mossy trunk, still cradling the spotted bird egg. “Rose, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone else before.”

While still visibly sullen, the quartz lifts her chin to listen with intent.  

“Sometimes,” she begins, peering amongst the tree canopy to admire all the wildlife flying and scampering throughout the boughs, “when I’m using my future vision in private, I become so overwrought with inner instability over what I see that I almost fall apart. When that happens, I find myself turning towards Earth. I immerse myself in nature, in all the life of this world I’ve sworn to protect.” A serene smile crossing her lips, she lets the ambiance of her surroundings wash over her, briefly quieting that instinctual drive to continuously peer into the future. “It’s calming. I hoped it might be calming to you, too.”

Rose bites at her bottom lip, her fists grinding into the thick layers of her dress as she considers. “I suppose... I can give it a try?”

The egg in her hand vibrates, a small, yet irrevocably important thread of the future just beginning to slot into place. Suddenly catching wind of an opportunity to nudge her friend towards a happier dawn on her journey through leadership, Garnet offers the still-intact shell to her.

“Here. You’ll like this.”

Confusion flooding her face, Rose extends her hands to accept the gift. The moment her fingers wrap around the egg, however, her face glows in wonder. The chick inside begins to peck at the thin shell, cracks spiderwebbing from the center as it emerges.

By the time the bird has finally shed its old home, the look of pure awe on that Gem’s face is all Garnet needs to be certain that— no matter what else transpires— the future they create together won’t be one where they allow this breathtaking planet to die.

____

Notes:

A note on the portrayal of Garnet's future vision... I imagine she is still young, and that this takes place around the first half of the war, long belong Rose fake shatters herself. With this in mind, she hasn't lived amongst the creatures of Earth long enough to fully grow to appreciate just how complex life is for them as well. I think there's a point to be made in that conscious, self-aware creatures have a far greater capacity for both more potential choices and unexpected choices, (in comparison to, say... plants), but I also think she underestimates the animals of this world. She probably still underestimates humans, too.

As the years move on, I believe her understanding of her own future vision will evolve to account for this added complexity- just as her realization of Steven's emotional growth opened her vision up to a world of new possibilities.

[quillith]

67, 68, 69 nevy

67. what makes them laugh?

Anthe’s little jokes, pocket shenanigans, dancing and live music.

68. what was the best moment of their life?

Entering her first major city, summoning Petal for the first time, a wonderful picnic under the stars, by the seashore.

69. how would they describe their party members?

Anthe: Anthe is, no pun intended, Nev’s rock. Like. She keeps her stable and comforted that there will always be someone on her side? Nev is in the process of Opening Up to Anthe in regards to her personal struggles. She’s just so used to keeping it shut up that it’s harder than she expected it to be!! But Anthe feels safe, even if they are in dangerous situations. She has a lot of feelings that she hasn’t been able to Infodump about, I think she deserves a little antherambling as a treat. But yeah. Love and lesbianism and Being a Constant Source of Joy. She wants to protect her and continue fighting by her side yknow!

Vic: That’s!!! Their guy!!!!!!! Nev is so proud of Vic for finding a new source of power and MAGIC in him. He’s gone through so much and is still in the process of recovering from it all. Nev and Vic are mlm wlw passive-but-can-go-apeshit solidarity. I think Nev considers Vic one of her closest friends. She’s excited to see what his personal pursuits and goals in life will be!! She is emotional support cheerleader friend :)

Ziggy: Ziggy has gone through a Rough Time in life. Nev thinks Ziggy is handling the whole memory thing pretty well, but she hopes they’ll be able to figure out a way to get his memories back soon. It’s interesting to see him be so, carefree? Unaware of what burdens he had on his shoulders previously. In a kinda fucked up way, Nev is a bit envious of his situation but she would Never Say That Holy Shit. Like she KNOWS that’s a bad idea and would not have wanted to be in Ziggy’s position in the prison ever. Fuck no. But that’s because there are some things she’d rather not face. She would hate to forget her time with the party and her previous adventuring experiences.

D’nou: A nice guy! He’s. He’s kinda doing the therapy thing that many others on the team do. But he’s approachable. And Nev appreciates that he checks in yknow? I think she was a bit wary with letting D’nou in about how she was feeling mostly because she didn’t even disclose that much info to her own girlfriend. Why would he get more priority over her yfm? It was a wakeup call of some sort though I think. Nev is happy to have someone else friendly on the team. She hopes they get along well at least for this mission.. and who knows!! maybe he and veil will stick around!

Veil: Veil is very closed off and reminds her of both Nol and Jhe in that sense. She’s.. peculiar, and seems to have interesting connections (i.e: her sentient whip???). Her whole deal intrigues her. Kind of gives off an intimidating aura but that’s how Nev feels about anyone who seems confident in themselves lmao. Curious!

[polarishq]

Meet PANDORA WATANABE. They are THIRTY-SEVEN years old and hail from CARDIFF, WALES . Pandora embodies the WATER LILY nebula. They use she/her pronouns. Their faceclaim is HAYLEY KIYOKO.

Water Lily reminds me of incomplete crossword puzzles, vinyl dust jackets, do you double dog dare me?, dark academia but make it pink, bad posture, the broken spine of old books, no not all shades of black are the same, dog eared pages and margins filled with chicken scratch annotations, Welcome to the Black Parade’s opening G, vodka filled water bottles, and a carefully coordinated Instagram aesthetic.

BIOGRAPHY

The first time Pandora fell in love, she was four years old. Cross legged on the floor of her parent’s living room, she poured over an illustrated copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, using her budding knowledge of letters to try and sound out the words (spoiler alert: she didn’t get very far.) After listening to her try and struggle through the first page, her mother read the story to her and gave Pandora a beginner’s level reading book to try her own hand at. Her bookshelf expanded, yet she still insisted on being read Alice every night for years, until she’d somehow committed the words to memory, until she was able to sound out the words herself from sight and the illustrations started to fade from constant page turning. From there, she discovered hundreds of worlds and went on countless adventures, falling in love time and time again with a new character every week. Thank you, Alice.

The first time Pandora discovered her powers, she was nine years old. Her dad always loved cooking, and more importantly, he loved sharing that with his family. Yet he could never quite master one of his mother’s recipes, a favorite of his since childhood, no matter how much he followed the recipe. It was delicious nevertheless, and he taught it to Pandora the very first time she asked. The recipe card was more for show than anything else, the ingredients written in a beautiful cursive that was barely legible to Pandora’s untrained eyes. But all she had to do was pick it up and look at the ingredients laid out before them, and then she asked, “Grandma put paprika in it — shouldn’t we get that too?” Paprika wasn’t written on the card, but sure enough, a dash of it in the pan and it tasted just as her father remembered. When Pandora was questioned, she said she just knew when she picked up the recipe. The Water Lily nebula appeared on her lower back a few weeks later, looking like skin discoloration to the untrained eye.

The first time Pandora felt her heart break, she was twenty-three. For the most part, she’d only ever retained information from objects she touched. Sometimes it was a bit annoying, but other times it was wonderful. Her love of reading, for one, was certainly amplified when she could appreciate the history of each individual copy she owned. People had never bothered her, but then they did. Then, her father became sick, and none of the magic in the world could cure him. Maybe it was her lowered guard, maybe it was his. Pandora isn’t sure what triggered it. She just knows that when she went to hug him one day, a few weeks before he passed, she was assaulted with grief and fear that certainly wasn’t her own. All of her father’s worries about leaving the family hit her, topping off her already existing sadness over the inevitable. When Pandora went home and cried, she didn’t know if it was for her sake or her father’s.

That first time became a second, and a third, and a fourth; soon, Pandora refused to touch anyone else in her family — not if it meant feeling their grief in addition to hers. Yet her family had always been filled with hugs and kisses, pats on the back and high fives for no reason other than a reminder that they were here. How could Pandora explain her selfishness in not wanting to do any of those? Instead of trying, she turned inward and poured more of her time into reading. Words couldn’t hurt her. They gave her a chance to be someone else for a short spell. To be someone other than Pandora Watanabe — truly a dream. Even at the expense of the growing distance between her and her family. 

To be someone other than Pandora Watanabe is to learn fearlessness. Sure, she’s a bit too careless, and yes she’ll do anything if it means getting an adrenaline rush. As much as she loves losing herself in her books, she’s never quite been able to taste the freedom that a main character has at their most pivotal moment. That was something she’d have to seek out all on her own. 

The first time Pandora walked through Polaris’ halls, she was forty-three in human years, and had been wearing her gloves for close to two decades already. They weren’t perfect, but they gave her a barrier that held up more often than not. Truth be told, Polaris wasn’t meant to be her destination. By then though, she’d spent more of her life avoiding human touch than she’d spent comforted by it, and the damage between her and her family was irreparable. She’d tried to joke with her mother, “maybe its time I get an education”, and rather than declare that she would miss Pandora too much to see her go, her mother had said, “I think it is”. How could she have said it was a joke after that?

The thing is, Pandora wasn't to do better. Sure, she can hug someone if there si no skin to skin contact, and she can touch anything to her heart’s desire so long as she has her gloves. Sex is great, that’s no lie. Being able to experience your pleasure as well as another’s simultaneously? Mindblowing. But casual touch on a day to day setting isn’t a possibility. If she can get things under control and do better, maybe one day it will be.

INCLINATION

The Water Lily Nebula, while not the most terrifying sounding of celestial bodies, has always had a certain love for knowledge. Due to this, they gift their user with a skill in psychometry — knowledge through touch, rather they want to know them or not. Its strongest with inanimate objects, but this witch or wizard is also capable of learning details of living creature. In terms of sentient beings, rather than learning their history through touch, Water Lily may instead be hit with a mix of memories and emotions from throughout their lifespan. Regardless of if they’re living or not, processing so much at once can often lead to sensory overload for Water Lily, and until they are fully trained, they are not able to control when their touch is in effect.

CONNECTIONS

Filling the role of Luca Ghorbani’s Please Choke.

Better Half: ‘Best Friend’ might be the more commonplace term, but that doesn’t really capture it. This is the one person who has Pandora’s full trust, and the only one that she feels comfortable touching in any capacity outside of the bedroom. They don’t make sense on paper, with opposite interests and contrasting personalities, but Pandora truly does believe they bring out the best in her. Around them, she feels like she just might have a shot at becoming a better person.

Bang Buddy or Bust: The only time Pandora really allows someone to touch her is during sex, but even reaching that point is a climb. This person (female-identifying, because Pandora is a big ol’ lesbian) has become a recurring visitor to her bed, and is someone who Pandora can genuinely say is a friend outside of it. She knows that they enjoy the sex as much as she does, but anytime they mention anything beyond that, it’s an immediate block from Pandora. She can’t imagine having to be emotionally and physically vulnerable on the daily with anyone, though the trust may be close to getting there.

Penned by Jeanne ★