#while still taking care of myself

[ghostlycod]

.

[scificrows]

Okay, my brain refuses to think about anything other than Murderbot, so I looked at every use of the word "friend[s]" in TMBD and... created some pie charts. Normal human activities.

Some Thoughts™ I had while putting this together (under the cut):

In All Systems Red, Murderbot notes that the PresAux crew are all close friends (twice! and goes on to explain their internal relationships which I think is very cute). This is pretty much the only use of 'friends' in ASR, except for when Murderbot says that SecUnits can't be friends with each other.

It seems that this may be one of the first times Murderbot has ever really been around a group of friends before? Murderbot notes that this is not the norm for its contracts and admits that the fact that they are all friends and the way they interact with each other make it actually enjoy that contract (before!!!! the hostile attack, so it already enjoys this contract before they start seeing it as a person etc ghghhhh). [Inference: Friendship seems enjoyable.]

The first character that calls Murderbot its friend is ART in Artificial Condition. Murderbot immediately refutes this (and then goes on to call ART its friend to its clients for the rest of the book). [Inference: Maybe ART is Murderbot's friend. And maybe that is... agreeable]

Rogue Protocol has more than twice as many instances of the word 'friend' as any of the other novellas. Why? Miki. Friendship and its implications for non-humans are a central theme because Miki is friends with everyone. Murderbot initially scoffs at the notion that Miki and Miki's humans are friends. At the end of the book, after witnessing how desperately Don Abene tried to stop Miki from trying to save them, and her grief after its death, Murderbot has to admit that she had in fact been Miki's friend. [Inference: Humans can be friends with bots and can sincerely care about them]

In Exit Strategy, Murderbot tentatively uses the word "friends" for its humans for the first time (several times actually). It questions whether it can actually call them its friends or not and later realizes that it had been afraid what admitting that the humans are its friends would do to it. At the end of the book, Mensah tells Murderbot the PresAux crew are its friends, which is the first time a human has directly said that to it (at least on-page). [Inference: Humans can and want to be Murderbot's friends]

In Network Effect, Murderbot seems to be more habituated to the word 'friend', confidently calling ART and Ratthi its friends, like it is no longer just trying the concept on unsure if it fits. There are many instances in which other characters refer to MB as ART's friend or the other way around and Murderbot's humans refer to Murderbot as their friend several times. Generally, there seems to be less hesitancy, because yes, all of them are Murderbot's friends, why wouldn't they be. [Inference: SecUnits can have friends. This SecUnit has friends. They care about it a lot.]

Conclusion: The Murderbot Diaries tell the story of a construct that does not seem to consider the possibility of friendship for itself and is fine with that - until it accidentally starts caring a little too much and suddenly more and more people annex it as a friend (ew) to the point where it can no longer deny that this is happening and has to begrudgingly admit that yes, it has friends now and maybe that is actually not a bad thing.

[rudnitskaia]

White Chrysanths for the Swallow

Rocky was waiting for her at the table at the Little Daisy, but this time he was especially eager. Even Ivy had stopped teasing him about the way he lighted up and hummed to himself as he waited for Mau to show up at the door of the café, and just smiled, refilling his coffee whenever it ran out. He almost daydreamed of handing Maura two tickets to tomorrow's musical: of her eyes sparkling, of her taking his hand and telling him he was the best in the world.

But time passed, and Mau wasn't coming.

In those few hours, Rocky had replayed the fantasy in his head hundreds of times, changing the lines and the scenery. At first, imaginary Maura was beaming with happiness, calling him affectionate names, melting in his arms like all those heroines on the stage of a musical theater in the arms of their beloved ones, but every time the fantasy became darker and darker. More disturbing. Mau no longer rejoiced, no longer smiled. Her bright lively figure was becoming more and more dim, and she more often sighed, frowned, did not accept the gift. She asked him to return the tickets, scolded him for wasting his money carelessly, told him some news, one worse than the other, and finally said she didn’t want to see him again. Never again.

It was getting unbearable to sit still, and Rocky abruptly moved away from the table, threw on his coat, and headed for the exit. Maybe a walk would clear his head a little…

“Miss Pepper, I have a very urgent task to attend to. If she shows up on the doorstep, don't let her out of here on any pretext. Lock the doors, board up the windows, show her every fashion magazine you can find, but don't let her leave here until I get back. I'm counting on your wit and exceptional charm.”

The way he looked intently into Ivy's eyes before he left looked almost threatening. He wasn't even aware of the desperation hiding behind that look. But Ivy saw it.

“Don't worry, I'm an expert at this,” she winked at him encouragingly.

The cold air blew across Rocky's face, and he shivered, pulling his scarf over his nose, the same funny skewed scarf Mau had knitted for him last Christmas. Sometimes, like now, Rocky thought he could still smell on it the very same scent of coffee and pastries that wafted from the Venza family's eatery. It didn't help distract him, though. Quite the opposite. After walking a few blocks in an attempt to escape his doubts, he spotted a small flower shop — Rocky's imagination immediately conjured up a lovely picture of Maura cradling a fresh spring bouquet on this cold, cloudy evening and he didn't notice himself stepping over the store’s doorstep. The frail old woman behind the counter put aside the newspaper and immediately chirped, offering him different flowers, and finally convinced him to take a few white chrysanthemums. She tied the flowers with a delicate pink ribbon and also wrapped them tightly in the newspaper she had read before.

“They mustn't be overfrozen. Or they won't last long,” she explained sternly.

Rocky walked back much more briskly. He was warmed by the thought that now he would be able to give Mau not one surprise, but two. Hiding the bouquet from a gust of cold wind, Rocky lowered his gaze to it and pressed the flowers closer to himself… when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the headline of one of the newspaper articles.

“Shootout at the small Italian eatery Casa di Rondine shocked the residents… a bloody showdown in the neighborhood… occurred on the night… police identified the bodies of two…”

Rocky couldn't remember how he reached the familiar alleyway. How he threw the bouquet to the ground, swung over the barrier tape, and rushed to the entrance — a gaping hole instead of a small blue door. Shards of glass littered the floor, the formerly cozy, cramped hall was a real mess, the furniture was riddled with gunshots. Even the old tabletop radio was now on the floor, shattered to pieces.

“Stop right there!” a panting policeman grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “What the hell are you doing breaking into a crime scene?”

“I… uh…” in his panic Rocky couldn't think straight, but nonetheless he blurted out: “I'm from a newspaper. Wanted to visit the crime scene myself.”

“A lousy reporter you are, then. Your buddies sniffed everything around here a long time ago.”

“I was just hired today and immediately assigned to this very intriguing case. So…”

“There's nothing intriguing about it. This Bianchi guy…”

“Who?”

“The renter, Augusto Bianchi, if that's his real name at all, apparently had a huge debt to pay someone. And for that, he got pinned down. There was a scuffle in the night, at least four assailants. The two guys we found here have a couple priors, but they're not in a condition to tell us who hired them. The amount of such cold cases we have…” the man hummed and passed his hand above his head. “We've already explained it all to your fellow scribblers this morning. And I highly doubt the landlord would want to tell the same story tenth times over to another newspaper weasel. The only thing he's interested in right now is getting money from the insurance company.”

“And the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The waitress. Who worked here. What about her?”

“Considering how much blood there is, they're probably both either in a ditch, scattered in pieces, or feeding fishes somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi… both father and daughter, if you meant her,” boredly remarked the other officer, who had quietly approached them, lighting a cigarette. “There's nothing for you to do here, boy. Henry's right — there's absolutely nothing of interest in this case. People might have chattered about it in the morning, but the very next day they'll forget all about it. Go home, don't add to our workload. And quit the paper that sent you here. If your editor doesn't realize that news like this must be broken in the heat of the moment, believe me, their business will burn out faster than a short match.”

Rocky tried to get anything else out of them, at least a little bit, to look in the kitchen of the eatery, to slip upstairs to Mau’s and Augusto's apartment, but the policemen were adamant. On unsteady legs he made it to the nearest bench and collapsed on it, staring blankly into the dark November sky. He could have screamed, could have destroyed everything around him on a single painful impulse, but the emptiness that engulfed him was far more frightening.

His silence was more frightening.

Years would pass. Would flow, as before, from night to night. The world won’t notice his loss. The world won't notice any loss at all. In the place of his beloved swallow house, other birds will build a nest. Freckle and Ivy will eventually stop opening that wound with their questions. And one day, perhaps, he will stop gazing into the crowd, hoping to find among the unfamiliar faces the features dear to his heart, and stop flinching when he hears someone say amore mio. He knows how it happens — it was not the first time. All he has to do is smile and everything will work out. It'll wear off, getting back to the way it was. One day.

But the bouquet of chrysanths will still remain rotting on the cold ground.

[mysticalcats]

fellas. my friends said they ACTUALLY want to watch cats 2019 with me and i was SHOCKED because like. who would. want to do that. i am delighted. HOWEVER it will take everything in me to not pause it and clarify every five minutes about my opinions on the movie

[lexosaurus]

I know that was a shitpost for the latest Danny Phantom fandom meme, but I'm genuinely impressed and how authentic it sounds. How much of Dash's monologue is real advice, and how do you know all of that? Do you work out?

Yes I'm so sorry to inform my good people of Tumblr that I've secretly been a part of the gym fandom for all this time. I've only recently come out as a gymbro in this phandom via my creation of the current dp gym bro au meme that I've forced upon everyone in this good holy christian space. I mix whey protein into my overnight oats, I track my macros, and I have a closet full of Gym Girlie Outfits™️.

And just know it's a badge of honor that I carry to be able to say I've converted multiple members of the Danny Phantom phandom into regular gym goers as well 💪

[navxry]

Hi! Former reader from your writing blog, I just saw you had a main account here after you left. How did you develop your writing style?

Hiiiiii, as for that, I think that's. a bit of a lengthy answer so. uh. let me just put this on a 'read more' before you start wondering why its long hehe

I'm going to be realistic here and say my writing style isn't exactly something I can say that's 'developed'. After all, any signs of me actually writing for real (or, rather, for fun) started in my Undertale phase (2016 - 2018) and it was for an AU.

(Don't look it up, because it is bad. Gastertale I love you, but... 2016 - 2018 Navi didn't do you justice. I'm sorry.)

I think back then it was... Really rough around the edges. Overuse of caps, punctuations, things you'd see in a novice writer. Actually, I only wrote for it back then because I was so invested in the fic, and when the main author said they wanted help from a co-author, I jumped at the chance.

Back then... Writing was something I do for fun. Something to not take seriously. Something that I can simply drop because it's just words on a paper, or in this case, on a digital book.

But when I began to write for that book, people began to.. Love it. They were commenting, some yelling at my choices, others celebrating and giving me compliments for my writing. It made me feel warm, happy; it made me feel that, despite my writing style not being on par, people love it as is. Flawed as it may be, it had character, and I think that's what gets people to enjoy it so much.

It's genuinely something you can look back on and go, "this kid doesn't know how to write well, but they're enjoying it".

I think after that, I began to branch off and write for more books and fics. I actually started in Quotev (shocker, haha!), and one of the fics I starter were just co-authoring Undertale ones. "MINE" was one of them (a Chara x reader one-shot collection), and its funny looking back on it.

Then there was "This is my world", "Life in the Underground", "My World", "How...", "Puns and Laughs", (embarrassingly but funny on hindsight, don't laugh at 2018 Navi here) "Human! FNAF Boyfriend Scenarios" (2 million reads!! Let's go 2018 Navi!!), "Ocean Eyes", "It's Complicated", and finally, my recent works since 2021, "Deception of the Abyss" and "Poisonous Thorns".

I became a co-author and an author for majority of them (the exception being the boyfriend scenarios, I was an editor), but I remember loving to write. I remember fondly on how I'd look at what people are saying, how they're commenting, and what they have to think about each chapter. It wasn't much now, but back then... It was more than I can ask for.

Hell, it even pushed to greater heights because I took it to a new form: roleplaying. Even back in my Undertale phase, I was roleplaying with a few people, and I made friends that way. Sure, some weren't great (my ocs especially, they're hella broken), but it was fun. My fun. It was also how I met some of my long time friends too (hi, Fifi!)

But then... Life happens. Things change, and suddenly, I'm not the same as I used to be.

I remember checking on my old works and then going "huh... things changed. And my writing... doesn't feel the same."

I remember getting on Tumblr because of Food Fantasy (2019 I believe? Or was it 2020...), and being friends with a few people that, on hindsight, I shouldn't be associated with. I remember being involved in drama, in consuming other people's works, becoming the reader that would talk about them to the author and even down to reblogging some.

There were ups and downs, and yes, I still remember them. I remember how it made me enjoy so much of other people's content, and how it made them feel. I remember so fondly of seeing people so... Active.

That... Unfortunately changed when I left Tumblr.

I won't get into what made me leave the first time. It was just... A sudden change that I couldn't put to words. So much in my life happened, so much stress, it began to affect me and how I see myself. It began to affect how I see in writing, how I began to disassociate and pull away from it. Hell, it even made me dislike running ask blogs, because both of my passions couldn't bring me out of that stump.

For the first time, I felt.. Really dissatisfied. Like something I did just won't fix it.

So I left.

I took a break for a while, which helped me see things differently. It was still too much for me to handle back then, but it felt easier. And when I returned, I had done a few changes: ask blogs were put in either archives or hiatus/es, new ones began, old ones were discarded...

I even started running @oletus-manors-log back then because I was in a constant state of returning and leaving. I remember how I only started the blog because I thought, "hey, my writing changed and improve. I might as well do something worthwhile."

And... That's where I met a few of my friends. Yuu was one of them (hi, Yuu!), and it made me remember how it felt... Nice to have someone see them. Requests weren't a lot back there, but it was fine—it feels the same as it used to.

Though, during that time, things.. Changed.

I think my feelings with writing is the same as I felt back at my first rut. If anything, me leaving and returning made me slowly realize that there was one thing that changed.

User interactions... Were smaller than I remember.

I wasn't okay when I returned. I still feel that way, and even with that blog, that grew into something bigger.

In some days, I began to doubt myself, and my ability to even write. There were even moments that I felt that my ability isn't even on par with what I did in 2016 - 2018, where it was fueled by my own feelings, my passion, and what makes me me. It made me dislike myself because it feels like, little by little, I'm unlearning about myself.

I LITERALLY could not sit down and write in my drafts without thinking, "why do people bother to stick around anymore? what do they see in my works? what do they see that they enjoy, when I can't see it myself?"

I think those years were my best, and even if I was critical of my writing style, it wasn't bad. It was fun. It was something I enjoyed.

So… What happened? What made me dislike writing so much?

Truthfully... I don't know. I don't know what made me detest it.

But I think I have a few thoughts. An assumption or two, I guess. And I think its because I rely so heavily onto what others see in my works that it... Bled into what made me me. It bled into my life, my expectations, my own self-worth.

In my venture to get better, to return to the hobby I loved, I became my biggest critic, my worst nightmare, and the flame that snuffed my passion.

I know you used to read my works, but there were so much I put that many ignored. My old writing blog (sfw) for genshin was an example. I used to write for SFW (aka @dxy-drxxm), but it stopped because I noticed so little were seeing it.

I noticed that so little bothered to say something about how they liked my works. My style. It began to eat at me and make me think that what I did isn't enough. That my own drive isn't enough.

I tried it over and over with different characters. With different plotlines. With different AUs. Hell, in EBG hosted by a friend of mine, I had it based off of IdentityV, which I loved.

But... No one see it that way. No one bothered to tell me the things I wanted to hear.

So... I stopped writing.

I thought no one actually cared. I still do, unfortunately. It was how I also saw my recently archived writing blog, which was @yxstxrdrxxm-a. Don't get me wrong, I do not regret meeting my friends there. I don't regret meeting Brynn, Jessamine, Avalon, Harmony, Yuu, Fifi, Cal, Tae, and many more of my mutuals. I don't regret becoming a writer, because if I didn't, I'd never meet the wonderful people I know now.

But...

Engagement is... A slippery slope. One that can take you so deep to your darkest thoughts. Some that make you question if you're human. Some that make you wonder if you're a machine to others. Some that make you truly think, "do I deserve this fame? when no one tells me what I achieved?"

I still have those thoughts sometimes. I still think... I'm not. You know. Worthy of everything.

I think, if I put this in an MV, Beaver comes to mind. There's so much that makes it feel that I can relate to it. The shots, the lyrics... It made me feel that I was heard in that video.

It's stupid. I'm aware. But... It's the only thing that made me go "god, this is me."

I think, in that regard... I don't know how I feel with writing still. I don't know how I feel with my works. After leaving those blogs, after ditching them because I feel worthless, I'm at a standstill.

...

I'll be real with you, anon.

I don't know if I can rekindle my unbridled passion for writing anymore.

I don't know if people can still see the same passion that my younger self did. And I wish, for once, someone could.

The biggest irony is... I have experienced what's called an 'artist effect'. Don't know the term? Here's what it means:

Artist Effect Where an artist is only recognized once they are gone, usually by death.

... Do you know the saying, "An artist is only appreciated after he is dead"? If so, this is what it means.

When I left, I left tumblr. I left that space for a good while because I was at my lowest. I thought no one will recognize what I've done, and only my friends will. I coined that term because it feels right. It's something I experienced, simply because I was focusing on the wrong thing.

Fame is nothing to me now, though. I don't desire to be famous of my writing. Don't take what I say as though I'm chasing for attention from readers; that's not what I want you to take away from this.

I refuse to return to that thinking. After all, it's specifically that thought that ruined me.

Nowadays, I'm... At that standstill. At the fork in the road, so to say. I don't even know if I can return to loving myself, and my works. I've spilled my guts so much in them, it feels a part of me has been torn bit by bit. And if people won't appreciate them, then that is the truth of the matter.

Maybe I'm too much of a pessimist, but... Such is life. People only see writers as machines and content creators, but I saw each of my works as pieces of myself that I've spilled.

A starving artist fits me better, I guess. But maybe, someday... Things will change. And maybe I'll love it again, just like what 2016 - 2018 Navi did.

I don't think this answered your question, and for that, I apologize. I'm not... Used to being completely honest about myself. There's so many things I need to resolve, demons I have to fight, and I think this will never be over for me.

What is helping me little by little was my friends. They are the ones that keep my passion ignited, even for just a little longer. If I didn't meet the people that would tell me I'm more than what I do, that I shouldn't pursue the thing that'll ruin me, I wouldn't be here now.

So, I hope from this answer, you understand how I see things. Although my reasoning can be rather out there, I know some also feel the same as I do with theirs. And I hope that they feel validated, in some way.

Because chasing for something as fleeting as 'engagement' will ruin them, just like how it almost ruined me.

[mactiir]

The very funny thing about having finally recovered from depression after being depressed for literally decades is. Even though I'm no longer depressed. My kneejerk initial reaction when I get overwhelmed is like "fuck it time to die" and then, because I have spent a lot of time and intention and money on therapy, my IMMEDIATE next thought is "no you won't babe, eat some broccoli. Go for a run. Go see ur friends" and the moment I've done any combination of those things I'm like singing showtunes about how good life is. Like ok brain i understand you spent the last fifteen years in a critical state but maybe we can do the broccoli first next time. Vegetables before defaulting to Habitual Symptoms please.

[ace-lost-in-motherfucking-space]

okay obviously Saiki loves all his friends to death even though he'd never admit it but let's talk about how he has favorites and those favorites are Kaidou and Mera.

[corpsentry]

at the asian american studies sponsored movie screening i run out of my seat to press a button for the presenter and you look away, not in shame, but in anger

go make your own movie.

One where you’re the star

and everything’s my fault

the way you want it to be. I know, it’s easy

to let someone else hold this grief

and sit in the bathtub,

all dressed up to go to the party.

Maybe in this movie it’s your party

and I the party crasher,

holding cymbals and a baseball bat, et cetera.

But we don’t stop getting older when we’re angry

and you’re only twenty,

can’t listen to lullabies at night,

can’t sleep without a blanket

over your head like you’re scared

of your own shadow. God, go

write your own movie.

You could do it,

you’re still

pretty. Angry? Me too.

The bathtub’s overflowing,

the bathroom’s flooding

with whatever you couldn’t say

to the poet with their palms glued shut

in a cheap simulacrum of prayer.

Didn’t you say you were tired? Angry? Me too.

Upset? Unhappy? Me too. Hungry? Lonely? Me too. Me too.

Standing barefoot in the grass

I remembered the month of bad weather.

How I parted the fog with broken hands each night,

looking for your voice.

Oh, I will not forgive you.

Not like this.

With your fingers splayed

against the brute February sky,

lips cracked open like windows,

waiting, like you always are, for me to say the first word.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay

[fatehbaz]

.

[pose4photoml]

So Ive been a tad overwhelmed and stressed by all that I’ve had to deal with in regards to the ex and having to work so much to play catch up with all the bills that were not paid 🤬🥲 (I’ve now paid back the mother in law with interest mind you for the water heater, the fridge is paid off and now to start on the roof payments) Actually proud of myself for getting things done !!!

So can I ask a small favor? Could y’all please spam me with some BL hugs 🤗

[bisexual-horror-fan]

*Don't have to answer*

Your support is appreciated and loved and felt🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thank you Bex💙🖤

Seriously, I have been going through so, soooo many fucking emotions, like it is unbelievably disgusting this is happening, AGAIN! My thoughts and heart is much more with the people who are going to be affected in America, of course, and I know we don't talk much about Canada's issues and shit, but we are right above and the stuff that happens in America's politics has spill over that does end up effecting us. SO a big part of the sadness and anger and the rest is also for sure being worried about my family and friends, fellow women and queer people and immigrants, and my own country, it seriously sucks how much it can end up having an impact on our country when I obviously have no say in how the election goes, it all sucks for all of us.

But.

That being said, I am here, I am not planning on going anywhere, I am gonna keep being my gay and polyam as fuck self and when I have the spoons and ability, I will keep on doing what I do here. I hope I can occasionally make you all laugh, or post some good fics, or help escape how terrible things are and are going to be for the next bit.

[angellurgy2]

^_^

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

Just speed consumed all of addison lee very much enjoyed I am waiting with my popcorn for next chapter! I did have a wonder while reading, what is Wriothesley's scope of vision? Is it like this needs to be 3 inches in front of his face? Can he see faces clearly if he's close enough? Loving the fic, keep writing!

The short answer is:

No matter how close he gets, it's still gonna be unclear. It's not quite like myopia/short-sightedness where the blurriness can change with glasses/distance. His vision is more like looking through foggy glass. If something is pressed right up to the glass, you can see it more clearly, but it will still be foggy. Additionally, the guy has always been red/green colour-blind, so that doesn't change even after his war injuries, but because his vision is worse in general, he can barely tell colours apart lol. Unless it's bright blue.

LONG ANSWER UNDER THE CUT.

HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA HEHEHHHEHEHHE WHUAGHAHA sorry. I like to infodump about my fics.

Not kidding when say this: I have a document that have notes on every single year in the 10 years between the Celestia war and current INGITAL events.

Unfortunately this was all planned before Sigewinne release, so I didn't have her canon birthday (AND I DON'T CARE ABOUT CANON ANY MORE I'm burying my head in the sand.) but it accounts for every year that Sigewinne grew up and some other random lore bits. "What does this have to do with my question?" you ask. Well, I have the 10-years progression notes specifically to keep their life events in order and Wriothesley's and Neuvillette's healing progress consistent KJNDSKJNSANSKJHASDJNJSNDKJNASJNDSAJNKSAKJ.

SO. Detailed answer is this:

At this point in INGITAL, if you stand 1-2 meters away from him and wave, he's gonna notice if he's looking at you, paying attention, and you're both indoors, or he's wearing sunnies. He's not gonna be able to recognise anything, though, he can just tell something is moving. He can sort of read regular text on a computer screen at about 2-3 inches (on a good day) using his better eye (left, so he always sorta lean that way when he's trying to look at something), but it's a struggle and he'd rather not do it. His right is worse.

There's also his field of vision. So like, his peripherals are pretty much gone, and he has some dark patches/blind spots. He's also light-sensitive, so everything's kinda painfully bright sometimes, but his vision is also bad in the dark, so he needs a happy medium, but that can shift from day to day.

Very rough idea of what Neuvillette might look like to him on a sunny day. Veeery rough idea. I'm not blind I just researched a lot.

And then, regardless of what he can actually physically see, if his eyes hurt or feel too sensitive to keep open, it's all moot anyway. And once again, usually that depends on the day.

When Sigewinne was born, he had functionally decent vision in one eye (had a corneal transplant on his right). Legally can't get his driving licence, but y'know, he still felt confident enough to drive (Neuvillette did not let him, though.) The transplanted eye deteriorates over Sigewinne's first few months, and so did his better eye. He got another surgery for his left eye (the better one) when Sigewinne was about one, and that lasted for a bit, but by the time she's two, he's pretty much considered legally blind. By the time she's four, he does most things on his own and his other issues are managed as well, which is why they decided to have a second kid, and they had Carole when Sigewinne was 5. But Neuvillette struggled a bit with that second pregnancy. I mean, his first wasn't exactly rose and rainbows, but he his mental health nose-dived with the second one for a while. It's because he's been so focused on keeping it together while Wriothesley recovers that he hasn't fully dealt with his own trauma until his second pregnancy. Because yeah, thinking your husband died while you're carrying your first baby was traumatic. They've both got PTSD. By the time Sedene comes about though, they're all good. Sedene's pregnancy was a breeze, there was just Covid lockdowns HAHAHAHA. And then, if I go through with another pregnancy at the end of INGITAL, well... That's for me to know and for you to ponder.

[By the way, Clorinde mentioned going over to their house for Wrio's birthday 8 years ago in Chapter 9, which is when Sigewinne was 3 and he was 28. His previous birthday (his 27th) was a disaster. Had a big fight with his husband. So that's another morsel of lore from the 10-years-of-plot document.]

There's a scene planned somewhere in all this, where Neuvillette shows him some of their photos on one of the days when his vision is better. Photos of eeeeveryone their kids and their friends and all. He printed them out and edited them to raise the contrast so Wriothesley can see it more easily. Wriothesley voice: Ajax is fucking ginger? [This is lore relevant. No spoilers though.]

[kirby-the-gorb]