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animasolaoriginal · 9 days

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(4) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 4: The Truth

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.4k -- READ ON AO3

when a girl learns more than she can handle

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

Additional warning: there's sexual assault ⚠️ in this chapter, just a small scene, but I'll tag it nonetheless. Nothing too graphic, but the implication is there! Read at your own risk!

There are eleven people in this camp, Nebbia included, but there are more than a dozen horses, and she's only managed to take care of half of them before Ben beckons her into the shade near the tree line, close to where Thunder grazes, and presents her with food.

And only then does she notice that she's starving. She takes the steaming bowl with shaking fingers, not caring how dirty they are. Horses can be surprisingly dusty, and she can only imagine them running through sand storms or muddy terrain.

The mountain of a man sits on the ground, leaning against a log, his long legs stretched in front of him, one knee angled, his own bowl in one large hand while he pushes the soup's contents around with a spoon in the other. She settles next to him, bringing the stew to her nose and inhaling deeply. Vegetables, some sort of meat, a hearty broth, all so savory and delicious smelling, she feels her mouth watering just staring at it.

“So Ginny is the cook?” she asks with a side-glance. “And Milly the washer, the Stacys work in the supply tent, you are the horse guy,” she keeps listing. “Mitch runs the place and Steve... helps him? What do the three other men do?”

He watches her with an amused glint in his dark eyes. “They mostly sit around and drink,” he says with a deep chuckle. “They're more useful on... well, for other things, outside the camp.”

Nebbia stares at him, so many questions burning under her nails. But for now she focuses on the food, bringing the bowl to her lips and taking a cautious sip. Humming softly, she closes her eyes as the warm liquid runs down her throat.

“Also we do switch our chores, you know?” he adds while she enjoys her food. “I cook sometimes, or provide the meat. And I can stack boxes, too.”

She looks at him as she lowers the bowl and smirks at him. “Have you ever washed clothes over a washing board?” she teases lightly. “Or in the creek?”

“Milly never let me,” he replies with a wink. “And I do not want to mess with that woman!”

A laugh spills from her lips before she rolls her eyes. “Sure, Ben,” she says, holding his amused gaze. “You're afraid of a tiny little lady?”

“Those are the worst,” he chuckles, gently poking her with his elbow. “Right, short stuff?”

She shoots him a dark glare, but can't keep the smile down. It feels so easy to joke with him. “Oh, right you are, mister mountain! We're ankle-biters, after all!”

He nudges her again, giving her another wink before he goes back to eating his soup. She keeps looking at him as she does the same. They eat in comfortable silence, surrounded by the buzzing of insects, the neighing and snorting of the horses, and the bird song in the trees behind them. It's so peaceful, and she still wonders what the catch is.

How did she go from worrying about doing her job right and not dying doing it, to casually sitting on a meadow with this large man who is still technically a stranger to her – and despite it all, it feels right. Feels good. And she realizes she has missed being so... carefree. She hasn't been carefree since the day the Madam has told her she had to start serving men now.

Without training, without proper warning. That first night, with her first cock in her throat, she has wanted to die, to never do this again, because it had hurt so bad and was awful and dirty, and she has been so ashamed of it, disgusted by it. So much so she has scrubbed her tongue afterwards until it has bled.

And even though she has endured it, it never got easier, she always cared about it, about trying to make it better for herself, about doing a good job, about holding it together until the customer was gone. Then she would worry about the next one, and the next... An endless cycle of worries, and she only learned to hide her true feelings better, to pretend she didn't care.

But now she is here, worry-free, for now at least, sitting in the shade, eating a hearty meal, next to a nice man for once. And it all feels too good to be true...

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ben whispers beside her, leaning towards her. She flinches and almost drops the bowl.

“Uh, nothing,” she replies, giving him a weak smile, trying to focus on the stew in her hands.

“Really?” His voice is a low hum in the air.

She takes a deep breath. “What's the catch?” she then blurts out, putting the bowl to the ground next to her as she turns to him, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in worry.

“The catch?” he asks, deep lines on his forehead.

“This is all... well, it feels so different, so nice, so easy. And life isn't supposed to be that easy, is it?” She fidgets with the hitched-up part of her skirt, pulling her knees to her body and hiding them under the wide material.

“You sound awfully bitter for an eighteen-year-old,” he muses, scooting a little closer to her until she feels the warmth of his hip against hers. “But you're right, life isn't as easy as we sometimes wish it would be. But it's easier here, I promise. You're not alone, you're not forced to do things you don't want to do,” he adds, tilting his head to her as she cautiously turns hers towards him, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes are gentle, warm, inviting, she can't look away. “You can ask for help here. You can say no...”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating his words, still fixated on him, and the elephant in the room. “What do you do, Ben? Outside the camp?” she then whispers, watching him frown slightly, before he looks away with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Trying to make a living,” he then says quietly, his eyes wandering over the camp and the house in the distance, while hers wander over his body, the gun on his belt, the cowboy boots, the muscles in his exposed forearms. “With any means necessary,” he adds, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

She stares at him, torn between wanting to feel scared of the image that pops up in her head (Ben holding a gun to another man's head, his face hidden behind a bandana, his other hand closed around a sack of money or other loot) and wanting to justify his actions, wanting to see reason, to understand it. Making a living... by taking it from another? She remembers the supply tent, how well stocked it was, his room full of little boxes and trinkets, how much money he's spent on her last night.

“So, I was right?” she then whispers, licking her lips as she looks him over. “You are the type I would encounter on a Wanted poster?”

He looks at her, his face unreadable, eyes hard and slightly darker, his jaw clenched. Without saying anything, he tilts his body to the side and puts his hand into his back pocket, fishing out a folded piece of paper – that he hands to her.

She frowns, takes the paper and slowly unfolds it. The page is weathered, yellowish, crinkled. Its edges are sharp and rough as if it's been looked at a lot. And there it is, Ben's face, pencil drawn. He looks a little younger there, his hair a bit thicker, the beard less full, the shape of his jaw more defined. The eyes are the same, hard and deep, only with less lines around them.

There are words over and under it, but she can't read them, yet she assumes this is a Wanted poster, maybe it says Dead or Alive, listing his crimes in dark font she can't make out. She traces a finger over the picture of his face, trying to process what this means. He's an outlaw. A criminal. Wanted by the law. What did he do?

“I have another one,” he says quietly, watching her closely. “It's even older than that, about twenty years old.” She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows. Wordlessly he fingers another folded piece of paper out of the chest pocket of his shirt and holds it between his index and middle finger, asking her to take it. “It might surprise you...”

She doesn't know what to expect, but she takes it, unfolds it, looking between him and the even more yellowish paper, even more used than the other one that lies on her knees, Ben's drawn face looking up at her while the real one has his eyes fixed on her hands.

Inhaling deeply, she flattens the paper, more words on the top and the bottom, but this time there are two pictures on it. One of Ben, looking even younger, with just the shadow of a beard, nothing more than stubble, hollow cheeks and a straight nose, his face hard and his eyes even harder. And next to him, in the other picture, she sees...

Herself.

Her eyebrows furrow. It's a girl, with long wavy hair in a side braid (just like she has now), draped over one shoulder, a round face with a pointy chin and high cheekbones and a small nose, beautifully arched eyebrows and full lips, and eyes that pierce her soul. Even in the sepia tone of the aged paper and the fading black print, they are lighter, almost shimmering in the way they're drawn. Her eyes.

She looks up at Ben in slight surprise. “Is that...”

“Your mother,” he says softly, gently taking the paper from her shaking hands, now tracing his rough fingertip over the edges of the girl's face on it.

Nebbia doesn't know what to think. Seeing her mother on a Wanted poster does nothing to her. Somehow it fits the image she has of her, an outlaw would also abandon her child in a brothel, right? Something hot twists inside her stomach, something bitter at the edge of her throat.

“We were... a good team,” Ben continues with a smile, oblivious to her lack of reaction, as he stares at the drawn face in front of him. “They never got us, not for long anyways.”

“What did you do?” she whispers barely audible, leaning slightly closer to him as if the horses could listen in to their conversation. As if the camp surrounding them didn't already know what they were discussing. The camp of outlaws.

Ben looks up at her, quiet for a moment as his eyes wander over her face, the same face as on the paper in his large hands that he slowly, carefully, lovingly, folds up again without looking at it. “Taking from the rich. Sharing with the poor.”

He makes it sound so... poetic. “You've been robbers. Thieves,” she says, not even putting it as a question. “You're outlaws, wanted by the law...”

There's a twinkle in his brown eyes, before his lips tilt into a smirk. “Yes,” he replies quietly, holding her gaze. “Does that scare you?”

It should.

But then she thinks back to her initial thoughts about the man sitting next to her. Good guys, bad guys, does it even matter? In a world where a sheriff can treat her like the whore she's been, leaving her bloody and bruised, while an outlaw like Ben has treated her with so much respect she almost wishes he'd be a little rougher with her. Does it make sense? Probably not. Does it matter? Not really.

“No,” she says, as steady as she can manage. “You've not given me any reason to be scared.” Yet.

His smile is dazzling, his lips curl up over straight teeth, one very visible dimple on his bearded cheek, the lines around his eyes deepening. “And you don't have to worry about anything, sweetheart. No one's gonna harm you, me included.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, and she can't help it, she smiles back, her cheeks warming up, before she slowly lowers her eyes back to the poster on her knees, Ben's stoic face looking up at her. “What... what does it say?” she asks after a moment of silence, her finger tracing the letters she cannot understand.

He watches her, his smile fading. His hot breath hits her cheek as he exhales loudly while leaning over her, his arm draping around her shoulder before he takes her hand into his gently, guiding her finger to the top text. “This says WANTED,” he whispers, and she shivers as she feels the roughness of his beard against her cheek, while he moves her finger along the edges of the large letters. “That's my name,” he continues, showing her the line of letters beneath the title.

She holds her breath, the warmth of his touch making her feel dizzy. Her eyes wander from how his big hand holds her smaller one to his drawn picture. He moves their joined hands lower, to the lines below his face. “That's the reward.”

“How much is it?” she breathes, not daring to move much.

He huffs a laugh, his jaw moving against her cheek. He's so close, his touch gentle, his body leaned over her as he holds her hand, embracing her comfortably. “$1000.”

“Is that a lot?”

“Yes, quite the sum,” he replies, almost sounding proud. There's smaller lines of text below that, and he slowly drags her finger over each word as he lists them. “These are my... felonies,” he says quietly. “Stage coach robbery, train robbery, bank robbery, horse theft, trespassing, property destruction.” He pauses, her finger pressed to the last word. She can make out six letters.

She waits, breathing shallowly against him. “What's the last word?”

He inhales deeply, slowly letting go of her hand and leaning back, retrieving his arm. She watches him as he takes the paper from her, folds it back together, then slips it into his back pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. It still chills her to the bone when he stands up, looks down at her with dark eyes and replies: “Murder.”

A little gasp escapes her. Her eyes wander over his hands, those large hands, long fingers, with veins and tendons moving under tanned skin, the calloused feel of them, full of scars and scratches. And she hears the crack of a nose as he's slammed the same hand, a brutal fist, into the other man's face. Because he's called her a whore.

She doesn't know how she feels about it. He's a strong man, she's seen his muscles, felt his strength, witnessed his brutality, violence, but when she looks into his warm eyes, she cannot picture him murdering someone. Her mind still gives her possible images.

Bullets flying through the air in quiet hisses, wood splintering, meaty thuds when they hit their target, shouts, yells, cries of pain. Blood seeping into the dirt.

Her eyes move to the pistol peeking out of the holster on his hips.

The barrel of a gun pressed to someone's temple, a strong hand holding them in place. Whispered threats, wide eyes of the victim, and then a finger on the trigger, bending, pressing down. Muffled cries, the echo of a gunshot, then sudden silence. Blood everywhere.

She swallows hard and looks down, hugging her arms around her knees. A shadow looms over her, and she lets out a little shriek when Ben crouches down in front of her, his large hands on her knees, his eyes boring into hers.

“Don't be afraid of me,” he whispers, eyebrows furrowed. “And don't trust these words. There's always more to a story than a simple word...”

Tell me then, she thinks, her lips trembling, unable to get the thought out.

“I'll tell you another time,” he says softly, as if reading her mind, one hand moving up to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping over the corner of her mouth. She holds her breath, her heart thundering inside her chest. “Okay?” His question hangs in the air.

Are you okay with not asking any more questions for now?

She nods into his hand, and he smiles slightly, then leans up and presses his dry lips to her forehead before he straightens and holds out his hand to her. She looks up, confused, flustered, not sure how to act, but she grabs his hand and lets him pull her to her feet. He holds it for a moment longer, watching her closely.

“Alright,” he then says, letting go of her, rolling his shoulders. “Let's get back to work, hm?”

The sun is setting behind the house, tinting the whole camp in an orange hue. The horses have been fed and brushed, some of them have braids in their manes and tails now, and she looks back at the fifteen horses and recites their names in her head. She's always been good with names somehow.

On the other side of the meadow she sees Ben carrying a sack of feed towards the troughs. She gives the little chestnut girl named Foxie, who snorts and bows her head as she smiles at her, a last pet, a last praise (“Good girl, Foxie.”), and then makes her way to the tall man who dumps the sack with a low groan to the ground.

“Looking good,” he growls in his deep voice, rolling his shoulder as he takes a look around the meadow and the happy horses. “Not sure Bill will appreciate what you did to his Libby, though,” he adds with a smirk, and she looks back to the tall mouse gray mare whose black mane is decorated with little wild flowers and braids.

She huffs a little snicker, blushing slightly. “Might make his ride to the brothel more pleasant,” she says under her breath, and Ben looks at her and barks a loud laugh, his large hand coming up to pat her back playfully, causing her to stumble slightly.

“Good one,” he croaks out, shaking his head, his hand still resting on her back. “You're a feisty one, eh, Miss Nebbia?” he jokes with a wink.

Her cheeks burn up even more as she looks away, feeling the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“You'll fit right in here with us,” he says softly and leans slightly over her, his hand sliding down to her lower back.

She turns her head to him, giving him a timid smile. His brown eyes glow in the light of the setting sun, causing her to stare at them longer than is necessary. Appropriate. He nudges her side with his fingers and smirks at her, then lets go and walks past her.

“Come on now, I think you deserve a wash,” he tells her.

Her heart skips a beat as she thinks back to last night, sharing a bath with him. Even if it has been rather innocent, with both of them on either side of the tub and only the occasional touches (You had your foot on his cock, she remembers with a little gasp, is that considered innocent?), it hasn't left her mind, and the want is still there. The want for more.

Nebbia follows him back to the house, but instead of entering it, he takes a turn to the left and rounds the corner. She can see the sheets and clothes billowing in the soft evening breeze near the creek, a little behind the house, and Milly walking between them checking if they're dry already. What she hasn't noticed before is another area further to the left, fenced off with tarps, nestled between two large pines.

Ben stops in front of it, watching her closely. Once she approaches him, standing small before him, looking up with a curious furrow in her brows, he gives her a smirk and raises one corner of the tarp, showing her what's behind them. She frowns further. It's not what she has expected.

It is like somebody took a wooden barrel, sawed it in half and presented the new pieces as tiny bath tubs. She might fit into it if she squatted, but she couldn't see Ben fitting anywhere near those tubs, unless he'd use it as a foot bath. Her disappointment must have been visible on her face.

He laughs softly and leans closer. “Sorry, darling, looks like you gotta do that on your own this time.” Her head snaps to him, her lips parted. It's almost creepy how easily he can read her.

His large hand closes around her smaller one as he pulls her past the tarps, letting them fall behind them. The area is small, only the barrel tubs and a small fire-pit between them with a large pot full of water on it. It smells like soap and flowers.

“Looks like Milly has it all ready for you,” he says softly, testing the water with his pinky, raising his eyebrows in confirmation, nodding to himself. “Just get in the tub and use the ladle here,” he points to a large wooden ladle hanging from the pot, “to pour water over yourself to wash. Leave it in the tub when you're done. You think you can do that?” he asks with a teasing smirk.

She stares at him, then at the set-up around her, ignoring the tease in his voice. Her eyes wander to the second bath tub. “Will you... join me?” she whispers quietly, stupidly hopeful.

He scoffs a laugh, his hand on her shoulder. “No, this is for the ladies only. Us filthy men will wash in the creek. Milly's made that very clear.” She looks at him, smiling tightly, trying to hide the pout threatening to take over. He seems to notice the struggle and squeezes his fingers into her collarbone gently. “Have fun, sweetheart.”

With that he leaves her standing there, beside the steaming pot of water and the strange little bath tubs. The tarp flaps down again after he's gone. An unsteady breath escapes her. She feels strangely empty without him, alone, cold despite the fire burning beneath the pot. Somehow she's gotten used and accustomed to his large presence, and without it, she can barely breathe.

And it hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

She's spent the entire day with him, or in his close proximity, and last night has been... so intimate, even though nothing has happened (sexually), but he has been there, treating her right, being nice, giving her hope. And he took her with him, allowing her a chance, letting her sleep in his bed, inviting her to meet his people, fighting for her honor, giving her something to do, making her feel like part of something.

But she isn't part of anything if he's not here. It's a strange revelation, and she wonders how she's become so dependent on him, on anyone, when all her life she's been alone, despite being surrounded by so many people. The girls at the brothel haven't been friends, nor family, Madam Claire was not like a mother, more like a... mistress, not giving praise, but demands. Mary has been the only one who's looked out for her, at least a little over the last two years, checking in occasionally, and Nebbia realizes with a heavy heart that she may never see her again.

She wonders what she's doing right now, but then she knows what she's doing, or going to do this night. The same as every night.

It feels unreal to be away from there. Inhaling deeply, the warmth of soapy, flowery steam filling her lungs, she starts undressing, layer after layer, thinking about what she would be doing if she were back at the house.

Preparing for the night, making herself look presentable (knowing it wouldn't matter after the first client who will leave her covered in cum and saliva, her hair messed up from being gripped so hard, her rouge and lipstick smeared from being handled so roughly), and she'd wait, kneeling in front of the armchair by the fire, listening for those footsteps, waiting, waiting for the door to open, for the next customer to walk in.

And she can't even imagine how she would wait lying on the bed, waiting to be claimed, trying to fulfill her new role as a real lady of the night now that she's of age and ready, or expected to be ready. Luckily she may never find out what it will be like to have a random stranger take her however he wants, doing absolutely anything with her just because he's left some dollars in the greedy hands of Madam Claire.

She's been so lucky that the first man to barge through her door on the night of her initiation has been Ben.

Exhaling deeply, she feels a shiver rushing down her spine as she thinks of him, the mountain of a man, so much bigger, taller than her, the gentle giant, his large hands holding her safely, everything about him gives her peace, calms her down, except for the little throb between her legs and the rapid beat of her heart whenever he's close to her.

With her mind occupied with his brown eyes, his handsome face, the sound of his beard scraping over her skin, the strong twitch of the muscles in his arms, she steps into one of the wooden tubs, kneeling down in it, and starts pouring warm water over her stiff neck and shoulders, calming under the warmth and smell of it.

She doesn't notice the flap of the tarp being pushed back until it is too late.

⚠️ A large hand presses to her mouth, and she gasps against it, eyes wide as she stares up at the intruder. It is not Ben. Her heart beats so hard it hurts in her chest, panic gripping at every single nerve and muscle. She flails, struggles, writhes in the strong hold, tries to kick and get away, but the tall man (what's his name, one of those three?, she can't remember) grips her, lifting her up effortlessly, dragging her out of the tub.

Her feet scrape over the ground as she sinks her nails into his wrist, blinking rapidly, trying to see who the attacker is, she's usually so good with names, but she can't remember, can't think. Screaming into the hand on her mouth, she keeps kicking, until she gets kicked in the stomach. All air leaves her, all fight gone as she convulses in pain, stars dancing behind her eyelids.

She's thrown into the dirt, chin hitting the hard earth, causing her to groan, not immediately noticing that the hand is gone. A heavy boot presses between her shoulder blades, pushing her flat on her stomach, before a big hand grabs her wrists to hold them behind her back, the grip brutal, unyielding. She can't move, only kick her legs helplessly before she feels a knee pushing them apart.

Panicked wails escape her, and another hand grips her hair, twists it, almost rips it while the braid comes undone, presses her cheek into the ground, keeping her still, but only for a bit, as her attacker realizes he might need a hand to do what he wants to do. She's not stupid, she knows, she feels her hips being lifted, ass up, her knees pressed into the soil beneath her, hands held behind her back, a body pushing between her thighs, something hot and heavy slapping against her sex.

Whimpers, silent cries, hot tears streaming down her face. Not like this, she thinks. Please... not like this... “B-Ben...” she gasps, trying to think of him, imagining how he would take her for the first time. Definitely not like this, pushed into the dirt, held in an iron grip, exposed and helpless. A body to use, and nothing more. He'd treat her right... “Ben...”

“Shut up,” a low hiss comes to her ear, a rough voice, she has no idea who it belongs to, and then suddenly, a sharp pain on her butt cheek as a hand like a branding iron snaps against her soft flesh. She screams into the dirt, squirming helplessly. A grunt fills the steamy air, it's gotten darker around her, not just because she can barely breathe in her position, with the pain of the slap throbbing through her body, but the sun is gone. It's dark and hopeless. Something hard pokes at her entrance.

“Ben!” she cries out through a curtain of tears, with the last bit of strength, courage, she can muster. The person behind her pauses, curses, and suddenly she's being pushed further into the ground, dirt scraping over her bare breasts, then hurried, receding footsteps, the tarp flaps, cold air brushes over her raised ass.

She falls to her side, still in that awkward position, massaging her hurting wrists behind her back, breathless, unable to do anything else. /⚠️

And suddenly he's there, his large hands picking her up carefully, lifting her onto strong arms, pressing her to his warm chest. “What happened?” she hears his deep voice. “Who did this?”

She blinks, feels him scraping dirt off her cheek, wiping at her tears. Her arms wrap around his neck as she holds onto him. “I-I don't kn-know...” she stammers, shivers. He inhales deeply, a rumble through his chest.

He sets her down for a moment, on trembling legs, it's cold, but her skin burns. Wrapping a blanket around her, covering her up, he picks her up again, cradling her in his arms as he carries her out of the bathing area, towards the house. “Are you hurt?” he whispers, his voice strained, as if he's holding back his anger.

A fist in another man's face. She flinches at the memory.

“N-no,” she breathes, leaning against him, cocooned in the blanket, unable to touch him. “They left before –” they could soil my innocence, she thinks in both terror and relief.

Her eyes wander up to him. Even in the dark she can see the muscle moving beneath his skin as he clenches his jaw tightly. He brings her to his room, not saying anything, sets her down on his bed, covers her in even more blankets. She tries to free her hands, and when she manages to slip one out of her cocoon, she grabs his wrist, holding him back, looking up in desperation. “Don't leave,” she murmurs under her breath.

He stares at her, his face hard, like the one on his Wanted posters. Murder. The word echoes in her head, and she can see this man looming over her doing just that. But she isn't afraid of him, she's... glad. In a twisted sort of way. Knowing what he is capable of. The strength in his arms, his body.

But when he closes his long fingers around her hand and sits down on the edge of the bed, she's relieved he doesn't follow the urge to repeat the crime she has yet to learn more about.

Struggling out of her blankets, she breaks free and throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, presses into him, desperate to feel his warmth, his strong hands on her, comfort, ease, reprieve. He slowly curls his arms around her, one hand holding onto her waist, the other cups around her shoulder, as he embraces her tightly, leaving no room for sorrows.

A tiny voice in her mind complains already. Nothing happened. Stop whining about this. You're fine.

But she doesn't feel fine, because something did happen. She was attacked, inside the camp that was supposed to be her new home. In the rare moments where she was alone, without Ben. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since she left the safety of the house to live in the real world...

A new wave of hot tears spills from her lashes, soaking into the collar of his shirt, her tiny sobs swallowed by how she presses her face into his neck. She feels him inhaling deeply, his grip on her tightening, trying to squeeze every bad thing out of her.

“Shh, it's okay,” he hums against her, his rough chin pressed to the top of her head. His voice and words sink into her cold skin, heating her up from within. “I've got you, baby girl.”

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

END NOTES: Oh the trauma (and all of it just so I could make Ben call her baby girl)!

I gotta say, I love me some dependency and hurt/comfort, even though I'm sorry for what I make happen to poor Nebbia. But it's needed to have these lovely bear hugs...

By the way, I was debating back and forth about the reward sum (again something that comes up once and doesn't matter but I still fixate on it every fucking time): When I played RDR2, all those bounties only ever gave $100 tops, and when looking at the Wanted posters of Dutch and Co. they had much larger sums, but they've been at it a long time, and ooh the stuff they did. But Ben? I didn't want him to be as cold-blooded as the people in the game, but still a criminal worth something, so in the end I settled on $1000. Might make sense, might not, does it matter? Not really. Just sharing my thought process here again, forgive me.

Anyway, back to the growing relationship between Ben and Nebbia. The plot is finally thickening and more things will happen! Stay tuned!

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

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imtryingmybeskar · 1 year

Text

Come Home Chapter Eight

Joel Miller x F! Reader.

Some soft moments with Joel and Ellie that are interrupted by ever-expanding memories of the past. Warning for description of a panic attack.

Word count: 4975

There is a slight spoiler for how Ellie chooses to cover her bite in the second game. Nothing major. I also want to re-iterate that this work is primarily based on the games. The outbreak here occurred in 2013, not 2003. Pop culture references are of that time.

Come Home

Chapter Eight - Hold On

The grumbling is helping you to feel slightly better about your arduous and slightly disgusting task. Rather than visit the laundries in the centre of Jackson, you had decided to stay in and wash your clothes free of the blood and gore that killing the infected had splattered upon you. The repetition of soap-scrub-rinse-repeat was helping to relax your mind, and every time a wave of grime was added to the water in the tub, it added to your sense of satisfaction.

“Goddamn…fucking…urgh. Fuckinnnng piece of shit…”

The body had been burned at the front of the outpost building, the room put back together as best could be, though the carpet had some stains that were probably permanent. After logging your visit and the fact that one infected had been killed, Joel had insisting on sweeping a wide circuit before heading back to Jackson to try to establish where the victim had been taken down.

“Look, see?” he had said as he raised the trouser leg of the corpse. You saw. The blistered bitemark was in the meat of the calf. “Woulda taken a day or so to turn. Let’s try to see where he came from.”

“Least he gave as good as he got,” Vanessa had murmured before beginning to collect up the more useful items that were lying around.

A forlorn little camp was discovered a little over an hour later half buried under the snow. When you uncovered the scene you discovered the tent partially burned, possessions scattered and a dead runner lying in the middle of it all.

The sky had been a deep lilac and swirled with grey cloud as you had re-entered Jackson, barely beating nightfall over the town. Luke had taken the horses to be stabled, Joel had gone to report to Maria, and Vanessa had briefly come to visit your house for a cup of tea before pleading tiredness and bidding you farewell. You had turned your lamps on again and built up the fire, bathing the living room in a comforting glow before deciding to do something productive and wash your clothes from the day. The gloves and jacket had borne the worst of it, and you’re just hanging them close to the fire to dry when a knock comes at the door.

When you open it you’re greeted by the welcome sight of Ellie, almost hidden behind a large cardboard box in her arms. You take it from her and bid her come in.

“Thanks,” she gasps gratefully. “That thing was kinda heavy.”

You place the box carefully on the couch, curious as to what’s inside.

“Go ahead. Look,” she says with a small smile.

Sparkles. Glitter. Frivolous beauty. You can’t help but mirror her smile as you draw out a long string of silver tinsel.

“Christmas decorations? Where did you get these?”

“They were in the garage when we moved in. I kept ‘em around. Wasn’t really sure why but I just liked ‘em. And when I saw you at the tree the other day I figured maaaybe you’d wanna decorate?”

Her voice is hopeful and her eyes more so as you look up at her.

“Well… you’re right. I used to love this stuff. But don’t you wanna decorate your place? Or Joel’s?”

She makes a dismissive huffing sound as she sits next to the box on the couch. “I already picked some stuff out to put around my place. And Joel’s a grumpy old man who doesn’t know how to have fun.”

“He did.”

“He said no?”

It is fun. You forget the dark corners, the bloodstains that won’t come out. You ignore the bad memories lurking out of sight upstairs. For a long while it’s just you and Ellie and warmth and laughter. She’s incredibly smart, with a sense of humour that spans from terrible puns to dry wit and everything in between, and before long the house is a glorious mess of mismatched decorations. She’s also eager for stories of how Christmas used to be, and you find that the memories aren’t so painful when she reflects their joy back to you.

“-and office parties. Oh Christ, they could be bad! Someone would always get too drunk or hook up with someone they shouldn’t or both and then they’d have to face the music come the next work day –“

Another knock at the door interrupts your reminiscing, and when you open it, Joel is on the other side.

“Hi,” he says, looking effortlessly handsome with one arm casually leaning on your doorframe. “You seen-“

“I’m here,” interrupts Ellie as she comes to the door too. “See. Someone appreciates the decorations!”

“I can see that,” he says, eyes twinkling as he steps inside and looks around with an amused expression. “Like a goddamn Christmas shop in here.”

“They had Christmas shops?”

“All year round in some places,” you smile.

“Well, I hate to break up this party,” Joel intercedes before Ellie can gush excitedly about this new piece of information. “But it’s time for dinner. And I think you’ve disturbed this poor woman’s evening enough.”

A rush of eagerness for them not to depart seizes you.

“Actually if you guys wanna stay for dinner here, I can offer…uhhh canned peaches. And also…canned…peaches?”

“Well now lemmie see if I can add to that fine selection of food.”

You can practically feel Ellie’s pleading gaze directed at Joel, silently begging him to accept your invitation, which he does with a low chuckle.

The fire is in its embers when Ellie begins to yawn hugely, and Joel insists it’s time to finally leave you in peace. After they depart you realise that the soft smile upon your face isn’t going anywhere soon, and rather than battle with your demons tonight you resign yourself to a bathtub sleep again, not wanting to disturb the peace and happiness that this evening has brought.

He brings some homemade leftover chicken noodle soup and a half loaf of bread back with him and with the absence of a dining table you instead sit cross-legged on cushions around your table near the fire. Conversation is light, frothy. You talk more about Yuletides past and discover that Joel firmly believes Die Hard to be a Christmas film whereas Tommy disagrees vehemently. The subject of the upcoming winter dance comes up when you mention that you’d seen it advertised on flyers around the town, and you learn both that it’s a staple of the calendar in Jackson and that Ellie is looking forward to going to her first one. At one point she retrieves a battered old book from an inside pocket of her jacket to much protestation from Joel, and he and you groan together at the terrible puns that emerge.

The next morning dawns steely cold and grey as flurries of fat snowflakes rain from the heavens and you debate what you want to do today. Staying in by the fire seems like the best idea, but you wonder if you would be imposing if you called on Ellie. Maybe to cook, or read, or just chat. You assume Joel will be busy, but their company had been so welcome, such a balm to a wound that had been open for so long you had near forgotten it was there, and you already missed the spark of warmth that had been ignited within you by their presence.

You bundle yourself up and open the door to traverse the brief distance between the houses only to startle back when you find Joel right outside, hand up as if to knock and with a look on his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh. Hey,” he says, bringing his raised hand around to rub the back of his neck instead.

“Hi,” you reply, the warm smile from last night returning easily to your lips. “Come to try some more of my gourmet cooking? My can opening abilities are second to none as you know.”

He returns your smile and snorts a small laugh. “Actually, I-er-I was wonderin’…”

He trails off and you get the impression that he’s anxious about something. Seeing him that way causes you to frown slightly with worry. He’s always so in control, so self assured. Something must be up. You wait patiently, wondering what could have got him worked up, but he seems to be struggling to articulate what he wants to say.

“You wanna come in?” you ask, thinking that might help.

“Naw, I gotta go down to see Tommy for a bit. But thank you.” Another pause, and then he draws himself up more fully and takes a breath. “Actually I need to see him about you.”

Your frown deepens as worry begins to sneak into your own stomach. “Nothin’ bad,” he hastens to add. “I was just wonderin’ if you wanted to go and scout that town we were talkin’ about yesterday. Since you’re so new I gotta clear it with Maria, but I think it will be okay. This particular place has been investigated twice already. Once before I got here and once at the end of summer, so we already have a fair understanding of the layout. But it might have some new “residents” by now, y’know? And there’s a clock tower in the centre where we’d need to drop off some supplies. But it would mean a coupla days away from Jackson instead of a coupla hours, so I understand-“

He's babbling. Much as you had when you first had a conversation with him, and while you didn’t really understand why given that he was usually so sparing with his words, you had an urge to save him from himself.

“I’ll go.”

He stops, looks up at you as if seeking assurance that you mean what you say. “You sure?”

You lean against the doorframe and steel yourself to answer. You don’t want to offend him, but you do want to nip this need for constant affirmation that you can actually do what you say you can in the bud.

“Joel, you keep asking me that. And I get that I didn’t make a great first impression with you here, but I promise you, I can take care of myself.” You look down and scuff the wooden planking of your porch with your foot before deciding to take the plunge and elaborate. “Its…easier out there, somehow. Mentally at least. You expect the shit. You know something’s gonna happen so when it does you just…deal with it. Here…I guess…I guess it’s a place I should feel safe but I don’t entirely. Yet. And the last actual house that I actually lived in…well…it was mine. Before.”

His brow furrows in mild confusion. “You never lived in a QZ?”

“Oh I did, but it was small. Very small. We all lived in tenements. Squats, almost. Lots of people all crowded in to each apartment. No real room of my own. I haven’t lived like this“ - you gesture behind you – “since I was in my twenties. Before I met-“ You break off abruptly and take a shuddering breath of freezing air. Too much. That was a step too far.

Comprehension dawns over his handsome features and he nods both his appreciation of what you’ve told him and acceptance that you can’t finish your sentence.

“Well…that makes some stuff a lot clearer. Gotta be weird to be alone after so long.”

“You can say that again.”

You smile sadly at him and he returns it, his handsome, whiskered face full of soft understanding.

“So,” you continue more briskly “Yeah, I’d like to go scouting. Well actually I’d like to go to Disneyworld but this will do. Christ,” you add, wrinkling your nose. “Can you imagine Disneyworld now?” A shudder creeps down your spine at the thought.

“Well, I like to imagine Mickey’s kicking ass somewhere. In full costume, you know, for protection. I bet those things are hard to bite through.“

Your shudder transmutes to a chuckle at the thought.

“Sometimes I like to guess which famous people survived,” you confess. “I bet Woody Harrelson made it.”

“Hell yeah, man’s a badass,” Joel agrees. “And that girl who played Arya in Game of Thrones. Man, I wish we’d got to see the end of that. It was gettin’ good.”

You chortle softly, and a slightly awkward silence falls between you. There’s a sense that Joel hasn’t quite said all he wants to, but before you can ask him about it he’s bidding you farewell.

“Well I’ll let you get on. And come back to you with what Maria and Tommy say about the trip out. See ya.”

And with that he walks down your porch steps and away. You suddenly remember your half-formed plans for the day and call after him.

“Wait, Joel?” He turns back, shielding his eyes from the falling snow. “Would you mind if I went over to see Ellie? Is she in?”

Even from this distance you see the warmth of his smile. “Man, you’re a glutton for punishment,” he jokes. “Sure, go right on through the backyard. Gates unlocked. She’s in there.”

He raises his hand in a final farewell and departs properly into the hazy, freezing grey landscape.

When Ellie flings open the door to the garage after you knock, she appears to be partway through a conversation.

“Jesus, Joel! I said-! Oh hi.”

“Hi,” you repeat. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh no, you’re not! Its just that Joel kept on about me coming out to Jackson with him today. “You ain’t been outside for a while, Ellie. You need some fresh air, Ellie!” Its fucking snowing for Chrissakes, who wouldn’t wanna be inside?”

Her mimicry of his gruff tone is entirely accurate, and you chuckle as you answer.

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over and hang out. But inside, for sure! And if you’re busy, I understand.

She beams at you and shakes her head. “No, no. I was just sketching. Let me get my stuff.”

She closes the door softly as you turn away to look up at Joel’s house. The snow is still falling softly from a dove-grey sky, a gentle blanket covering the backyard and the rooftop and the world beyond. The silence is peaceful rather than eerie. No cars running, no crunching of the snow underfoot, no children playing-

Your thoughts suddenly enter a new track and a sly smile curves your mouth as Ellie reappears behind you.

“Hey, what did you call Joel yesterday cause he wouldn’t let you decorate the house? A grumpy old man?”

“…Well he is!” she said, defensively.

You hold up your hands in mock surrender. “You know him better than me, I’m not arguing. But what if we made another kind of decoration? Although…it would mean being outside for a while.”

Ellie’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What did you have in mind?”

A couple of hours later you’re standing proudly in front of your handiwork. Ellie’s cheeks are pink with cold and exertion, and she steps forward to adjust the scarf that had been retrieved from your upstairs closet and that now decorated the neck of one of the snowmen on Joel’s front lawn.

“Not bad for my first try,” she remarks as she steps back in line with you and scrutinises them.

“I think they look really good,” you reply. “If only we could make them look a bit more like you and Joel. Though I don’t think he’d appreciate us digging around to use his clothes on them.”

“Probably not. But maybe…”

She breaks off as she rips up tufts of grass from the exposed patches where you had rolled the snow together and pats them on to the chin of the larger of the pair.

“It’s got a beard. Now its definitely Joel.”

You relocate indoors to the welcome warmth of your fire, your fingers tingling even within their gloves. Ellie lights the lamps to combat winter’s gloom, and you take stock of what you could whip up to feed a hungry teenager and yourself. Some vegetables, some milk, some tins and not much else. You’d have to get some more supplies soon.

“Sorry to make you eat out of a can again, but I’ve not got a lot. Does stew sound good?”

“It does, actually,” she says as she comes through to your kitchen.

“I’ll make some mashed potato on the side to make it marginally more interesting. If only I had some cheese. Cheesy mash is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

“I think Joel might have some.”

“Much as I’d love to treat Joel’s fridge as my own, I don’t think that’s okay given that I’ve only known him a few days. Let’s give it a week at least!”

Ellie helps you to peel and chop the potatoes, and while they’re boiling away and the stew is heating up you chatter about everything and nothing. You ask her about her artwork and she coyly mentions that she’s getting better and that she thinks she would like to design a tattoo for herself one day.

“There’s a tattooist here?!”

“Kinda,” she says, and to your surprise a blush surfaces on her face, tinging her cheeks and the tips of her ears pink. “Her name’s Cat. She’s an artist, but I know she’s tattooed a couple of people around town. And herself. And she’s given me some guidance on how to get better with my drawing. She’s…she’s pretty cool.”

A small smile surfaces on your lips at the obvious crush Ellie is harbouring on this person. “Well, I’d like to meet her at some point. Might be nice to add to some of mine if I can ever find a way to pay her.”

“Did they hurt?”

“Some of ‘em. Depends where you get ‘em. The one on my back is pretty big and it hurt going over my spine. Not so much over the muscle.”

“Do you have any on your arms?”

“Chosen your spot already, huh?” you ask with an indulgent smile. To your surprise she clams up, her body language closes inward, and you wonder what you’ve said wrong.

“Yeah, I…yeah,” she mutters non-commitally.

To cover her awkwardness, you pull back your sleeve to reveal cascading patterns of concentric circles and lines spiralling around your forearm and disappearing upward.

“Oh cool!” she exclaims. “…What is it?”

“There was a TV show I was very much a fan of about a time and space travelling alien. This was the written language of their species.”

“So…this was a quote?”

“Yes, but not from the show. This is by John Keats, one of my favourite poets. If I ever find a bookstore or a library that isn’t totally wrecked I’m gonna try to find a collection of his work.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s from a letter he wrote to his next door neighbour. He was very much in love with her. It says 'My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you. I am f-forgetful of everything but-' "

Your breath catches. No, you can do this.

“ 'But s-seeing you again. M-my life seems to stop there. I see no further.' ”

You clutch the kitchen counter top, grip it so tightly that your knuckles whiten. You hadn’t thought about these words for a long time. Such a long time. So many years, so much pain in between. They had hung in some dusty corner of your mind, covered with old cobwebs and half-forgotten until this moment. Deep breaths. Get through it.

“ 'You have absorb’d me.' ”

Your voice is a husky whisper and you realise you’re staring blankly at nothing. Those words. So much meaning then. So much more now. Your throat is tightening with tears and your heart is racing. Fuck. You let your guard down. Too fast. Too far. And now you’re falling.

Dimly you can hear Ellie calling your name and with an effort you swivel your head to look at her. Her mouth is forming words, but that buzzing is back in your head and you can’t make them out properly. “I’m sorry,” she seems to be saying. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s..not…you,” you rasp out. “I just…I can’t. I haven’t for…And I can’t. F-fuck.”

You dazedly push yourself away from the kitchen counter and stumble to the living room where you sit down heavily on a chair. In your peripheral vision you see Ellie pad over, soft and skittish as a feral cat and sit on the sofa opposite you. You put your head in your hands and try to regulate your breathing. From your left, you hear Ellie speaking again.

“Hey. Stupid question, but are you okay?”

The dark corridor

“Y-yes…no.” Yes and no. Not with this. Never with this.

Torchlight shadows cast upon a wall sprayed with blood and bullets

Oh fuck, no. Not now. You don’t want her to see you like this.

Poor kid. You can hear her panicked tones even through the rush of the blood through your ears. She sounds so very far from you – on a boat bobbing out to sea. Your breath is shallow again, an elastic band tightening its grip round your head.

Your eyes roll back in your head and you close them.

“I’ll be fine,” you gasp as you raise your head from your hands and try to focus your vision, desperately wanting to reassure her. “Panic…attack. Just let it…pass.”

The lanyard.

The lumpen, misshapen figure ahead.

The clicking...

The clicking.

Something is slammed with force upon the table in front of you and your eyes spring open to see a glass of water.

“Drink” demands Ellie, and you recognise the wisdom in her suggestion.

You reach for it with shaking hands, slopping some on the tabletop and down your clothes before the ice cold of it washes through your mouth, over your teeth and down your throat.

Again.

Breathe.

Settle.

Breathe.

Shaky, fragile, tenuous calm.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” you stammer out. “I didn’t want you to s-see…I h-hate when-“

She soothes you, her calm child-like voice finally breaking through your layers of panic and worry.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You think I’ve never freaked out? That Joel’s never had to wake me up from nightmares? You think I’ve never had to wake him?”

A weak smile touches your lips. “Never thought…he’d be one for them,” you joke feebly.

She doesn’t smile. “He mumbles in his sleep sometimes. About…well we’ve all been through a lot. Have to if you’ve made it this far.”

“True. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Look, I’m gonna deal with those potatoes. Just…sit for a while, okay?”

She shouldn’t have to do this. She’s just a kid. She shouldn’t be taking care of you. As quickly as you’re able you stand and go back to the kitchen where Ellie is mashing the potatoes with some force. As you enter she turns and holds out the fork toward you in a mildly threatening way.

“Don’t apologise,” she commands, as if she somehow knew that would be your first response.

Nodding, you join her at the counter again. “Okay. Thank you. Again. And I just wanna say…” Be brave. Take the plunge. “Obviously that quote was very dear to me once upon a time. Me and my-my wife.” A half formed thought crosses your mind of a bloated, disgusting shape and you shove it away with as much force as you can muster to focus on Ellie, to try and put some distance between what has happened and where you are now.

Her head snaps up again from where she had resumed her task, a tiny crease between her brows. “Your wife? So you’re-“

“Bi. But…I understand what it’s like to navigate certain feelings. So. If you want to talk about anything, I’m happy to listen. I uh…I dated my first girlfriend when I was about your age.”

Ellie’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow with guarded suspicion. Clearly she hadn’t thought you had picked up on her earlier behaviour.

“Hey, its okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Not even Joel?” You’re taken aback by the force at which she hurls the question, and make sure your voice is gentle when you respond.

“Of course not. I won’t say anything you don’t want me to. But…why don’t you want Joel to know?”

She drops her head to avoid your eyes, scuffs her shoe along the floor and you worry that you’ve pushed her too far, that she will close down completely.

“I dunno, I just…worry what he might think? I don’t know how he’d react.”

“You know he loves you right?”

“Shut up,” she huffs in an embarrassed way, a slight flush grazing her upper cheeks as she begins to shove the fork into the potatoes again.

“He does. And I don’t know how you two came to be here together, and I don’t know him as well as you do, but in this case that doesn’t matter. Love like he has for you is acceptance. I’m not saying you should tell him anything if you don’t want to. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t stress too hard over his reaction.”

“Any time.”

Ellie looks up and holds your gaze firmly for a moment, seemingly searching for any trace of falsehood, then visibly relaxes and looks back down at the countertop. “Well…thanks. I guess it’s kinda good to know there’s someone who understands.”

Dinner is served and conversation drifts back into the banal, the easy. You hope that you didn’t freak her out too much, but she seems to be more comfortable with the aftermath of your panic attack than discussion of her feelings toward Joel or Cat or anyone else and you can’t really blame her. In a small community like this, stakes were high in that regard. You couldn’t up and leave if a relationship went south. And while you held on to the belief that Joel would love and accept her no matter what, the same might not be said for everyone in town. Though you wouldn’t put it past Joel to kick someone’s ass if they were cruel to Ellie. You wouldn’t put it past Ellie to get there first either. There was steel at the core of the girl, you could see it in her eyes. The protection of Jackson’s walls (and presumably Joel himself) was allowing her to be a teenager as much as anyone could be in this world, but it was obvious too that she had seen some shit, been through the wringer just as much as anyone in her short life.

You sigh as you survey the sad bed in the bathtub and then climb in, too emotionally weary from keeping those memories at bay to wrestle with anything else. The bed could wait.

She departs a couple of hours later with a promise that she wouldn’t tell Joel about what had transpired and though you hadn’t asked for any such vow, hadn’t wanted to burden her with any kind of secret keeping, you were secretly glad. After having told him you could take care of yourself, hearing about this was NOT the way to cement that notion in his mind.

The house seems a little suffocating again the next day and you decide to go into town, to pick up some supplies, to take a walk, to partake in a small change of scenery. The snow has stopped again, but the sky is still grey and heavy with its promise. You visit the stables, check up on your horse and stroke over the velvet of his neck, bury your face into his comforting scent before brushing him down yourself. You visit the blacksmith, marvel at the rendering of metal that seems like such magic to your uneducated fingers. You stop off at the town’s library, peruse the small selection of DVDs and books and ancient magazines that tell of mindless frippery that is long dead. There is no Keats, but you do find a copy of the Hobbit that you gladly borrow. The person who had filled your bookcase had either really loved romance novels, or had been desperate to get shot of them. Either way, it wasn’t really your first choice of genre.

As you stroll along the main thoroughfare, clutching your precious book to your chest with your gloved hands, you see Maria coming the other way and stop to chat with her.

“Morning. I hear Joel’s planning to take you out once the weather permits,” she says without preamble, vaguely gesturing with her head in what you assume is the general direction of the town outside the walls. Her eyes rake you downward, assessing, calculating, though for what you cannot tell. Its slightly disconcerting and you stumble a little over your words.

“Uh yeah, he mentioned that supplies need to be delivered to the clock tower there.”

“Yup, and to check its not gotten overrun again. If it has, it will be a short trip for you. You’ll have to come back with a larger group.”

You feel the incomprehension clouding your face as you frown. “Well obviously if there’s a swarm we wont be taking them on, but even with a small team of us we can at least try to-“

Your eyes grow wide and she grins more widely as she departs, wishing you luck on your journey, and leaving you standing in the middle of the crowded street with excitement shrouded in apprehension in your heart as you watch her go.

A tiny, knowing smile graces her lips as she interrupts. “There won’t be any team. Joel said it should just be you and him.”

Next chapter

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yasminewestbank-archive · 1 year

Text

some yasmine upbringing lore

he's born in dino valley in a community of yakut horses herders/breeders, which are mainly used for meat. (or a jorvik version of yakut horses idk). in jorvik horse meat is illegal/controversial but it's part of life in dino valley. he was raised around horses and grew up with them and taking care of them and he loves them. but he never saw any other horse breed besides this one. he especially always loved riding his horses, as fast as possible. ofc he had his 1 yakut horse he loved the most and loved riding.

youtube

one day he encounters in the forest a pure black russian-arabian horse. he hasn't seen a horse like this before. (not sure yet where the horse came from). he befriends it and is blown away by how athletic and fast it is. and when the horse finally lets him ride it, it's so incredibly fast and it's the best feeling in the world. he completely falls in love with this horse.

but something happens that eventually forces him to kill the horse. at first i thought that maybe theres a hunger and he needs to sacrifice the horse for his family to have food, but if they have many horses it doesnt rlly fit. so idk yet what happens but something that makes him kill the horse that ill think about eventually. its a big deal for him ofc, and he cant stop thinking about this horse. hes way more heartbroken than he wouldve liked to admit. and riding the yakut horses is not the same anymore. eventually he pushed his "childhood friend" yakut horse to the limit to try to match the russian arabian he lost, and it died.

so he makes a contract with a pandorian creature. in dino valley people are kind of aware to pandoria, not very clearly, they dont know the name of it but they just know there are those supernatural things that come from this supernatural world and they try to keep balance with it. they use pandoria energy for light beacons for example, just a little bit, and give back to pandoria and try to keep the harmony.

so yasmine wants to bring back to life the horse he lost. he wants to feel what he felt when riding it. the pandorian creature asks yasmine to eat him. so basically like in howl's moving castle: yasmine swallows the creature, and then his chest hurts and his heart comes out of his chest surrounded by pandoria pink light. he holds it and the heart becomes a horse embryo. so yasmine starts taking care of it. he doesnt have a heart now, his heart is inside the horse.

im not sure if he hides the horse away bc he knows ppl would be suspicious of it and feel the pandoria energy, or if he takes care of it with the rest of the horses.

he also notices it hurts him to be apart from his horse for too long or too far. its unbearable.

when the horse matures he runs into difficulties with it, the snow and ice are a problem to ride fast and he also doesnt know how to train horses for racing so he has to leave dino valley and go to jorvik to learn more about training and all those stuff. then to sustain and support himself he needs to find odd jobs, and starts working for GED. when miss drake finds out about him and the horse, she becomes interested in him.

#yasmine #ssoblr

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scienceoftheidiot · 9 months

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Hi there! I know you have a collection of skulls and bones, i'd like to ask what is your favorite piece (and why)?

Aaah ahaha well I don't have one favourite but I can share a few. First I need to say I just counted how many skulls I had and

I counted 58 right now and that's forgetting there is one macerating since uuuhhhh last year that I should probably go bac to

Also since I guess not all of my followers knew about this other obsession of mine, I do not hunt, and all my skulls have been either found, purchased on yard sale, given out of school/museum/university collections, or indeed given by hunters but the animals were hunted legally and eaten for their meat.

Also I'm a biologist so handling dead animals and chemicals is basically something I'm trained for. I'm not telling you not to do it at home, but teach yourself safety and beware. I've been patronised enough by people who didn't know I handled FAR MORE DANGEROUS stuff at work than fucking acetone daily when I started doing this and it made me so angry guys I'm not going to do that to you. Just know chemical burns are no fun, especially if it happens in your lungs (didn't happen to me because safety)

This disclaimer done here is the pieces I like the most in my collection, and the reason why :

First roe I found, somewhere in Alpes-Maritimes. I was living there for my PhD at the time. Like most of the skulls I have found, it was when I tagged along while my husband fishing. Somewhere in 2015 I think ? My collection was already started but I had yet to find a buck.

First cat! Same, my husband found it in the river and I was nearby. Same as the roe, it was all clean already. I love cat skulls. You get to see how big their eyes are. This one has spent a lot of time in the river, has no teeth, and I never could get the patina off, but I think I love it because of it too.

My poor husband doesn't really sit well with the idea of picking up dead stuff but he's always been very supportive, and this is a skull he bought for me, as a tongue in cheek joke. We had almost a row because he told me there were raccoons where he lived, and I didn't believe him, because we're in France, and those are North American animals. We have a habit of taking the car at night to go and look for wild animals (fun thing is that it's a childhood thing for both of us) and one night... You got it, I saw a fucking raccoon happily shuffling on the side of the road. Mindblown. Got this skull next Christmas lol. Since then I've learnt there are raccoon everywhere.

I'm just proud of this one (beech marten) because it's the first I cleaned through by myself. A friend gave me a dead beech marten. Fur and all. And now I find this skull is perfectly clean, sometimes cleaner than some that were professionally cleaned. So.

Dream skull ! A young male horse, and considering where it comes from I might even be able to tell the breed (Camargue). One of my biggest, and I just love horse skulls. I own 3 😅 it's the only male.

Last but not least ! I think I told you about this one. Not a skull per se, but eh. It's a mouse that has been found in one of the beehives I worked with during my thesis. Mice creep into beehives during winter because it's warm and full of food, but bees usually kill them. Then they cover them with propolis, that is an antibacterial and antifungal agent, basically mummifying the mouse. It's not fully mummified here, but I didn't do anything to clean it. It smells like propolis and beeswax, even. It's a little sad but also I'm glad the beekeeper who knew about my hobby just saved it for me.

Here you go!! Sorry for the amount of personal information lol. Thank you for asking 🥰

#skulls #dead animals #replies #asks

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chalkrevelations · 1 year

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So, I’ve been catching up on podcasts about TLOU during the commute to and from work or while I’m running errands. And I’ve developed this habit that I subject spouse to on a regular basis, which I call “Today On ‘How Dudes On Podcasts Are Wrong About The Last Of Us.’” And this week, I just feel really strongly about a couple of things re: Ep 8, and so all y’all get to be subjected to this week’s installment, too.

(I definitely need to go back and watch all of the show again, because I feel like it’s going to unfold beautifully on a second watch, but I don’t actually have the patience to wait until I get all the way around, back to Ep 8 again, before hashing through this particular stuff, so fuck it, we ball.)

I just feel like I’m listening to a lot of guys 1) being weirdly precious about the cannibalism and 2) missing the point of the cannibalism.

I mean, all of this is with the caveat that I realized a long time ago, I’m kind of missing the automatic cannibalism squick that most people have. I’m not down with killing people specifically to eat them, and I wouldn’t particularly want to eat another person, but I do appear to be more pragmatic - at least theoretically - than about 96.5 percent of the population about the idea that dead bodies are meat, that living people take precedence over dead people, and that if you’re in a starvation situation without other options and Joe next door kicks it, as long as he wasn’t carrying any communicable diseases, I don’t have a lot of practical or ethical compunction about you looking at Joe as a source of protein. All that being said, I’m listening to people acting not only like the cannibalism in Ep 8 is some freaky weird shit - which it is! don’t get me wrong, being in a situation where your only option is to eat people is inherently fucked up! - but that it’s a narrative choice that illustrates a moral and ethical vacuum in this group of characters, which completely misses the point? I’m hearing things like the fact that they didn’t immediately butcher the horse while people are neatly strung up for storage shows that they’d rather eat people, and how voraciously they were eating their “venison” stew shows how they are indelibly marked and changed by eating human flesh - even when they don’t know, I guess - and I’m like, no, they’re HUNGRY. They’re literally starving. That’s why they’re sucking down that stew. And I’m sure they’ll get around to butchering that horse as soon as David’s done terrorizing and molesting Ellie, which brings me to my first point:

The cannibalism is not what makes these people monstrous. What makes them monstrous is that they allow David to openly prey on children the way he treats Hannah and Ellie. What makes James monstrous is that he knows their raiding party attacked Joel and Ellie without provocation and Joel killed their guy in self-defense (don’t start none, won’t be none, m’fkr), and yet he still wants to revenge-obliterate Joel and Ellie. What makes David monstrous is the way he preys on the people in his care and particularly on the children in his care, like Hannah and Ellie. “Freaky cannibalism” is not what makes any of these people monstrous, it only means they’re starving and desperate. What makes them monstrous is their other behavior, that they could control, unlike starving to death if you don’t eat Jim-Bob when he kicks it and all you have otherwise are three cans of stewed tomatoes for a group of 25+ people.

Also, I realize I’m coming at this with hindsight because I’ve finished the season, but particularly if you’ve played the game, I feel like you should see this coming: The narrative point of the cannibalism isn’t about these people at all. It’s not even really about David. The cannibalism is about Joel. Joel has to see those bodies strung up in the back of the steakhouse, Joel has to understand that David and his group are - in Ellie’s words - cutting people into little bits, Joel has to understand that this is likely what they’re going to do to Ellie, and Joel has to see that he wasn’t able to rescue her from that, that he failed her again, that she only survived because she saved herself. Joel has to see those bodies stripped down to meat because it literalizes what’s going to happen in Ep 9, when he wakes up in the Firefly facility and Ellie is gone, and Marlene tells him she’s already headed into surgery - they’ve washed her, prepped her and are getting ready to expertly butcher her, to kill her and strip her down for parts, cut her into little bits, just like those bodies he saw hanging back at Silverlake would be, just like Ellie would have been if she hadn’t saved herself. He’s failed her again and again and again, he told Tommy, back in Ep, what? 6? 7? He fails her again in Ep 8, and she is fucking traumatized. You think he’s going to fail her this last time, if he can help it?

And that’s why, sure, people can argue the ethics of his actions all they want, but the overall story is so very VERY narratively satisfying, because Joel was never going to do anything other than what he did, and that’s what the story is ABOUT. This is the most cohesive story I’ve seen, on a character level, in a LONG damn time.

But I do think part of the ethical argument of whether you do or don’t agree with Joel’s decision should be informed by the fact that David’s group and the Fireflies are paralleled in Ep 8 and Ep 9. Maybe Ellie would have said yes to Marlene, but Marlene didn’t ask - she doesn’t care any more about Ellie’s consent than David did. Is Ep 8 repulsive because it’s happening in the back of a steakhouse and Ep 9 OK because it’s happening in an operating room? You’re going to be all “Ew, cannibalism, beyond the pale” when it’s about desperation and survival, and the meat is (usually, at least) already dead anyway, and a lot of other people would starve to death if you just let it rot, but you’re OK with Ellie, who’s still alive, being butchered to keep other people alive? No - to maybe keep other people alive, because this is all hypothetical, the Fireflies don’t even know if it will actually work? So, if it doesn’t work this time, how many teen-aged girls are you willing to butcher on a possibility? At what point does it become too many? Do we rebuild the world on the bodies of dead teen-aged girls? I submit this is part of the moral calculus that has to be considered at the end of S1, and it’s put into stark relief by what we see in Ep 8.

And that is the point of the cannibalism.

#the last of us #tlou #joel miller #ellie williams #joel & ellie #tlou ep 8 #tlou ep 9 #today in 'how dudes on podcasts are wrong about the last of us'

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aurora-313 · 3 months

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You know that I love WH40K, I also grew-up with 80' action movies, love them and their testosterone macho-over -the top feel. I do not mind even zero female characters in my reading, movies etc, it depends.

But every time I criticize shonen someone jumps me and tells me it's for boys. AND? To stuff for boys should not have good their girl characters well written?

I know, it's not about that it's about the narrative contract, when you put in fighting women, and no one is making you, and you give them promising starts, then they are lucky if they can beat some fodder latter on, feels like a broken promise. Then the author says he's not good at writing females, even if people just ask why aren't they winning any battles, not why they don't talk about their feelings.

So if the mangaka don't use the ''it's for boys'' but ''I can't write women'' excuse now, why is the fandom using it? Boys literally asked for decades for Sakura to stop being trash in battle, and they were ignored. The target audience wanted her a useful fighter and not a primarely a healer, and still teenagers today are treated as if they want exactly want their grandparents wanted? It's insulting to boys. As a teacher I can confirm that even in non-occidental countries there are changes.

Make all the women healers, non-combatants, support fighters from the beginnig write them well, make it explicit that in universe they are important, just don't sell horse manure. It is ok if you have zero women on the front lines. Just don't make them go there and suck. Or maybe they are cautionary tells for girls to not even try, let the men do the protecting.

Not even in a war series everybody has to be a fighter to be important, but it has to be well-written. I actually appreciate that Orihime doesn't have a warrior's heart, like you said she and her feelings for Ichigo not being explored it's one of the biggest mistakes of Bleach.

Even newer manga that are lauded are victims of this trope.

Sure there are exception, but the big names, the ones that remain for decades like Dragon Ball, drop the ball on women.

tl;dr If you can't handle it, don't write women fighters.

If you can't write woman at all, something is seriously wrong with you as a writer. Improve. Fan-fic writers improve over time by practice and accepting constructive criticism. Is to much to ask from a professional?Are there no writing classes in Japan?

Sorry season 2 of JJK made me bitter. It's not that the girl of the main trio was killed is how she was killed, while a bitch that uses her little brother as a meat shield and maybe more escapes to fight another day.

I wish a shonen author had the balls to say in the prologue, that women in the setting are just not as good as men at using the magic or the tech of the setting, and explore the concept as he wants.

I am so tired when any complaint I bring is treated like I have a feminist agenda, that wants to ruin fun for other people. When all I want is consistent writing.

So authors of all kind, please don't false advertise your girls as being capable to climb the power cliff, if you don't plan to do it. I feel like when Rukia was on all promotional Bleach stuff as the deuteragonist, when she barely appears in the second part of the story.

I honestly don't have a lot to say in response to this semi-rant. Beyond that I agree with the whole 'I can't write women' or 'its for boys'.

I'm sorry, there are plenty of series I grew up with where I was specifically not the target demographic but they wrote magnificent woman characters anyway.

While I dislike a lot of his stories, I think George RR Martin put it best when it comes to writing women: "You know, I've always considered women to be people."

But to play devil's advocate: there's an element of culture clash here. Eastern countries are steeped in traditional roles. This isn't a bad thing. Those roles have inherent value when one takes a balanced approach to them (and frankly I think the West needs to dial its obsessive progressive attitudes back a LOT and return to those more traditional roots).

However that attitude does influence how many writers direct their characters. More often than not, female characters are plot devices.

In most manga, women tend to be plot devices. Even in Bleach, Rukia was a plot device. Thrice over:

To give Ichigo his powers at the start.

To be imprisoned and facing execution so Ichigo would rescue her.

To give Ichigo power AGAIN in the FB arc.

Orihime, another plot device. Kidnapped by Aizen for the sole purpose of playing on Ichigo's various neuroses to get him out of the way while Aizen invaded Karakura.

At the same time, this isn't exactly a universal problem. There's plenty of manga out there where its a predominantly female cast or have strong representation. Like with everything, it comes down to the writer and their style. Two mangas off the top of my head that treat their female cast extremely well are Claymore and Full Metal Alchemist. I'd give them a read if you have the time, I rather enjoyed them.

In regards to JJK season 2. I have to contest you on that one. Nobara's death makes sense, both contextually and thematically. Contextually, Nobara dies because she is both Mahito's natural enemy (like Yuji) and thus a priority target to eliminate, and because it reinforces the theme that acting selflessly in this world is violently, vehemently FIERCELY punished. Nobara selflessly went to aid Yuuji without knowing the full extent of her opponent's capabilities, got outfoxed and paid the price.

That debate of selfishness vs selflessness is a fundamental aspect of that world. Which is why Yuuji keeps getting crushed and ground to dust until he adopted the mentality of being a cog in the machine. The world itself has taken this boy who acted selflessly to save someone else (Megumi, by eating Sukuna's finger) and relentlessly tore him down over and again. His selflessness is punished. Like with Nanami and even Gojo to an extent, no matter the intent behind it, they suffered for their selflessness.

Mei Mei, a borderline narcissist, outright states 'the only value a person has to me is my paycheck'. Her using Ui Ui to escape and for other vile ends makes all of the sense in the world. In this selfish disgusting world, the most selfish and disgusting thrive. Sukuna, the most selfish of all, stands as king of that mountain.

So I have to say I'm not bothered by it. I'm merely annoyed that Gege doesn't outright state if she's dead or not. Is she dead? Is she braindead? Will she come back? Just COMMIT to one, please.

But back to Bleach - yeah, Rukia was the deuteragonist. And it pains me to see how she was shoved away in TYBW.

Bleach was built on Death and the Strawberry... then Kubo removed Death and "tried" to replace it with Beeeewbs, the Oedipus edition.

Although I wish someone would explain to me that out of all the beautiful men in her life, past and present, how the hell did Rukia end up marrying the dog? I've never once see Rukia look at Renji with a single ounce of the admiration, affection or love she's given to Ichigo, or Byakuya, or Kaien. No philia, storge or eros - nothing of that.

But that's a rant for another time.

#Bleach #Jujutsu Kaisen

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blade-that-was-broken · 2 months

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Half Life Notes Pt. 2

So here is a bunch of notes for my Human AU, Half Life

Please note there are spoilers ahead that may be used for writing at some point. So proceed with caution!!

If you have any notes, suggestions or questions - don't be afraid to ask!

Brandy is actually one of Delta’s relatives best friends - Taylor. Spruce and Taylor kind of become friends through John. They get pretty close but not nearly enough to be romantically inclined with one another. She does start helping him get involved with stuff, whether it be with the family, school, etc. Spruce does learn some swimming from Brandy eventually but is able to float and stuff before then. Anyway, Brandy spent the semester as an exchange student abroad and came back in time for summer. Taylor talks about her and eventually introduces them, thinking they will get along. She’s right. Like very right. She becomes invested in getting them involved romantically; it’s kind of hilarious.

Floyd is actually the one who scratches Spruce’s CD. He wanted to listen to it as he got more into music and wants to know why his brother loves it so much. Spruce freaks out because it’s the only one and he can’t find the songs anywhere else.

Eugene 100% has an old stage at his place, possibly under a roof or in the barn and they do karaoke and performances there. He and Constance host tons of family friendly parties and other events for both their family and the community.

Floyd is actually a music prodigy. He quickly picks up instruments and music things far quicker than anyone expects. Does school solo and ensemble and rocks it. Features in his choirs and probably joins the swing choir.

Clay joins baseball and loves the rivalry with another school. He also likes the fact he can hit a ball as hard as he can. It helps with his anger. He isn’t bad either. He’s also big into sad books, which worries John. He’s a bit of a math whiz.

JD sometimes thinks he got all the dumbass genes.

Spruce eventually does want John to have some happiness and encourages him at some point to start dating. Clay catches on and confronts him. He’s not happy about it (he’s scared to lose the Dawn family, their support and some of his friends) but Spruce tells him John literally gave up his life for them so deserves something. They both, however, kinda want John and Delta to be together.

Clay and Spruce join 4-H. Clay learns to ride horses and shows them. He even joins one of the drill teams (this is where he meets Viva). He is keen on learning a lot of disciplines and picks up with English and Western riding. He’s one of the few boys involved in some of that (outside of rodeo stuff) and so he’s pretty popular with the other girls.

Spruce does cooking and baking, mostly in 4-H. He bonds with Sofia and Constance with baking, jams and other things. He bonds with Declan and Eugene and a few others with grilling, meats and other cooking dishes. John teaches him to fish.

Viva is in Clay’s 4-H club and also rides horses. They don’t really interact at school in the beginning but become buddies at drill team and it blossoms from there. They kind of become rivals a little. Clay picked up riding fast - as he wants to prove to everyone he can - and Viva has been riding her entire life. They become partners at drill and once it starts, it does not stop.

Poppy is a newborn at the beginning of the story, making her about a little less than a year younger than Branch. Peppy is the leader of the area (perhaps the next town since the one John lives in is so small? I’m not sure yet how that works honestly)

Sofia watches over several of her family’s kids frequently and volunteers at the nursery at church often when she is not consulting at a law firm/taking the odd case. Has considered opening a daycare. She’s a serious empty nester.

County Fair in summer.

This may be how Spruce finds out about John’s old garage band. Spruce and his buddies sneak in when it is late and minors aren’t supposed to be there. John is reunited with some of his old high school buddies after one dies and they invite him to do a performance. One of said old high school buddies became a musician and still sells their single CD and advertises them. Brandy is the one who notices and she races to find Spruce. She is one of the few that have been able to listen to the CD he loves.

John gets more involved with school activities as time goes on and he adjusts. He goes on walks with Rhonda and Branch and pretty much becomes known as the hot dad where he walks /shrugs//

One time Clay lets it slip about something his father did one time to Viva during drill and she told the most powerful and strong person she knew (her dad), scared for her friend. It was a bit early in their friendship. He didn’t go to anyone, but he confronted John at his house and pretty much openly threatened him, even though John had literally no idea what he was talking about. Clay is furious with Viva because he finds out/hears and it is so awkward.

Clay confronts Viva and almost blows up on her. When he explains, she apologizes but Clay is so upset because this could interfere with John’s custody and doesn’t know if he can forgive her.

John does tell him that it’s fine and not to worry and that he should not let this come between him and Viva. She didn’t know and wanted to help him.

Peppy maaayyyyyy go talk to JD again to apologize. As he should.

Yes, Branch’s first words are calling John dad. He learns to talk a fair bit before actually speaking anything. So it might even be a full sentence.

John does teach Floyd guitar and some piano. He takes on it extraordinarily quickly.

Spruce gets worried his new buddies will think he is weird for liking to bake. Haha, NO because they LOVE to eat and not only to make requests but LOVE being taste testers. (Literally I’ve never known a man who was upset that another man could bake/cook cause dudes love to eat. My HS cooking class was ALWAYS full.)

Floyd likes games; video games, board games, card games etc. He loves Mario especially and finds his voice hilarious.

JD can draw fairly well and might be something that Branch picks up eventually.

Rhonda loves all the boys and is protective of all of them but she hangs around Branch a lot and is protective of him, especially when he starts walking. It’s probably because he is the youngest and she knows he can defend himself the least. She also has a soft spot for Spruce (we think it’s more emotional) and he is more active in her life. John is her go to always.

JD is an introvert forced to be an extrovert.

Spruce and Clay - extrovert

Floyd - introvert/ambivert

Branch - introvert

They all bond with Delta somehow. Idk entirely how yet.

She teaches Clay how to ride and might even lead his drill team.

Floyd struggles to not see JD as a dad.

JD, even when convinced to attempt dating, thinks it won’t work with him raising his brothers.

JD and his old garage band get back together when one of them dies and he goes to the funeral. Spruce goes with him. When JD goes up to the mother, she talks about how much he loved JD and how proud she is of what he has done. She kisses his forehead and is a general sweetheart.

They end up getting together and talking. One of the guys is a musician and has used the CD they made when they were kids to help his career. He gives JD some money to try and give him a share, saying it wasn’t enough. JD doesn’t want to take it but he insisted.

Upon finding out about John’s bonds with the Dawn family, he feels replaced, especially when he walks around John’s house for the first few days. There weren’t many photos, just a few of John and Delta and a few other people.

He doesn’t realize these photos are mostly celebratory wins for John when it came to his custody battle and such.

Clay has a temper and tends to hold a grudge until he feels justice has been served. He has noticed his parent’s neglect in the form of rarely being around, clothes that no longer fit and some restriction of food. Clay has learned to eat almost anything, despite hating a lot of goods.

Clay doesn’t see a lot of abuse that went around. He has been put down sometimes but rarely hit. He has been so goofy and clumsy, his parents seemed to get mad at him less but they think he’s an idiot. He realized this and has a growing concern of being perceived that way once he’s safe.

Floyd can be sensitive and hates conflict. He loves music and dreams of being a musician but has learned quickly his parents do not think he is capable or are supportive of that route. He has also learned things are okay when he is quiet, small and unnoticeable. He does not make a ruckus. So unless he is with his brothers, Floyd does not talk a lot and has never told anyone his inclination for music since he was very young. Clay knows, only by accident until it is revealed when John gets custody of them.

His mother has hit him twice, each time apologizing profusely that he has accepted.

He is a bit gullible and forgives easily because he doesn’t like being upset with loved ones, since he doesn’t have many.

Spruce was furious when he found out his parents were pregnant with Branch. He didn’t say anything until Branch was born and when he let his displeasure slip, he got hit and wasn’t allowed near the baby for six months. Spruce didn’t care much, as he wasn’t happy about the baby and he was angry at John who was not sneaking visits and phone calls anymore.

It was late one night and his parents weren’t around and the baby was crying. He went to the crib and Spruce picked him up and brought him to his room. The baby crawled around and eventually found a pair of JD’s goggles. He seemed to like them and Spruce started telling him about their older brother, as well as some of the theories why John hadn’t contacted them. “He doesn’t know about you. He might not ever know about you.”

Spruce became the caregiver for the baby after that. He knew it wouldn’t be long until Branch was in the same boat as the rest of them. They liked the new baby smell and the cute little children.

Spruce is called Bruce by his old friends who are embarrassed by his real name. This leads to him having negative thoughts and feelings about his name. But then he remembers his brother is named after a fish and he feels better.

#half life au #human au

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nonbinary-octopus · 1 month

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my internet went out last night so instead of getting liveblogged rimworld stuff you get all of it in one post

first off: had some visitors with a nice matched pair of names

next: there was a warg that kept eating my small animals, so I had Val, Nostil, and Gransier go kill it. Nostil sustained a few injuries, including one of his toes being ripped off entirely.

I thought this would be a good opportunity to give him a body mod as he has been pleading for, so after he was patched up I asked Dr. P to give him a peg leg

she. failed.

Somehow, despite being a very skilled professional doctor, instead of amputating his leg, she stabbed him in the torso and destroyed a lung.

Doctor Pugoik, what the fuck.

also how is that a minor failure. the lungs are nowhere near his leg and the boy is now bad at breathing, which lowers his consciousness, which has a bunch of other bad effects on him.

around this time I sent our new guy, Christian, off to do some peace talks near where we rescued Dr. P, and on the way back he stopped at those same two towns again, and bought some medicine because we ran out. He also saw that one of those places had an anti-toxin lung for sale, though we can't afford it, so once we have enough money, we can buy one of those to give to Nos, which will have dual benefits of being able to breathe and since he's a body modder, he'll be pleased to have another artificial part.

another, because when Chris got back with the medicine, I had Dr. P try again, and this time she gave Nos a peg leg successfully. That bumped his mood up eight points, from a -4 debuff to a +4 buff.

The peace talks went well, also.

And finally! Baby Gransier!

She's three now! I had not been keeping track of her age, and this surprised me.

Fortunately although we are pretty low on materials for clothing, Val did make some kid clothes (possibly because they require the smallest amount of material and he was able to skip to those tasks first), so she's dressed at least.

She then decided to go draw on the floor in the freezer.

Child why

She's cold sensitive due to being an impid, and doesn't have a parka. She was complaining that the main house (60ish degrees at the time) was too cold, and she decided to play in the -2°F freezer.

No.

I made her come out and play in the all-purpose room instead.

Also, not screenshotted, but Dr. P has been making good headway in taming all the wild animals. Nos and Xasalt are helping (and Xasalt has a higher animal skill actually), but I've been having Xasalt sleep during the day as much as possible since, as a dirtmole, she hates being under direct sunlight. So most of the time that she's outdoors the animals are asleep, and she can't tame them then.

We've got a decent number of farm animals now! A couple muffalos, some ibex, two turkeys, one mare (they're trying to get the other horses but no luck so far), and a yak we bought from some traders so we could have yak milk

and several squirrels and rats and guinea pigs. I have those set in the autoslaughter to just keep one male and one female (non pregnant) adult, because I don't want them to increase in number to the extent that keeping them tamed is a full time job. They're mostly for a meat supplement anyway.

Unfortunately they've only been successful in taming the male turkeys, and the singular female turkey either wandered off the map or got eaten by a predator, so no eggs for us yet.

the muffalos and ibex tho we've got both male and female, and most of the females are pregnant

#original #rimworld #gamer octopus #world 3

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the-nameless-wacky-inventor · 2 months

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past midterms so here’s some out of context unhinged quotes from my professors cause I had to start writing this down (and these aren’t!!! like even talking about the lecture I have one professor who just like. says stuff like this. regularly.)

“I like germs! Though this water tastes terrible.” (I do not. have time to explain his water bottle saga. he did have a new one by the next class)

“I fooled a lot of people into thinking I’m smart. …I should run for president!”

^ “2028 baby, that’s when my cult takes over.” (he’s referenced this several times now)

“They might take me but I’d take out thousands before they got me.”

“You guys need to get a life and watch shrek.”

“Rule #1 of Jedism-”

“if everyone was Dolly Parton this would would be a much better place.” (we were talking about ancient Greece?)

“Absolutely do not feed your guest human meat.”

“I have all different skin color Santa statues. And yoda. He’s green.”

“I have a man crush on Alexander the Great.”

“Yoda, the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed-”

“So anyway, I’m lord Farquaad and I-” (NO BUILDUP TO THIS AT ALL BTW. THERE WAS NO CONTEXT IN CLASS FOR THIS HE JUST STARTED SAYING HE WAS FARQUAAD)

“Do I need to get a bull costume? Is that where we’re going with our bedroom activities?”

“Stupid animals. Horses are not very bright. Yeah they’re a little smarter than humans but that’s not saying much.”

“Im not a boomer! Shut the hell up!” (no one. called him this he just said it)

“what do you do? nothing. your potential? negative.”

*talking about a conversation with his wife* “I was this close to getting my head chopped off and my skull turned into a golden cup.”

“What do you think is gonna happen if you shake a snake around like this? …You’re gonna break it.”

“This quarter of me is a definitely real person.”

*reading what was left on the board from the other class* “‘Apartheid.’ Nice.”

“Well the good thing is I make fun of everybody equally.”

“More like a family bush- needs pruning.”

Also one of my professors has a purge list? He won’t tell us who’s on it but he’s mentioned that three of the people are Christopher Columbus, Walt Disney, and his ex wife’s dad.

*talks about bombing all over the world for 10 minutes* “So other than that everything’s fucken fine! 😃”

#SSLDLFLSLDLFKGK #All but three of these are from the same guy btw #his class is so entertaining #though as you can probably tell the first day was. a lot #wacky’s soliloquies

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jakegooglyeyes · 2 years

Text

Emblem or Roses - Prologue

Prologue > Next

Pairings: Jake Gyllenhaal x reader, Maggie Gyllenhaal x reader (Medieval AU)

Summary: You were content with your quiet life as an illegitimate daughter of the King, hanging out with the maids and learning your craft. All that ended when your father married you to Jake of House Gyllenhaal, the Usurper, as a peace offering, a hostage. The rebellious Lord, believing you are the same as your father, has no intention of letting you live comfortably while the people suffer.

Word count: 2,800

Warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, RPF, DUBCON, angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, hate to pining, polyamory, slow burn with smut, political marriage, mean!Jake to pining!Jake, cunning!Maggie, kind!reader.

Chapter warnings: brief mentions of violence/torture/child abuse.

*** Your online experience is your responsibility. You have been warned. If any of these content upsets you, DO NOT READ!!! ***

A/N: Fictional medieval settings, not based on real history. I drank too much coffee and stayed up until 4 in the morning (on a work day) to breeze through the prologue.

@gyllenhaalstories Thank you for indulging my coffee-craze.

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics (thank you, please message if you want it removed)

"Princess, where are you going?"

You jump and almost drop the burlap sack you are carrying. You turn around and meet the head maid's stern eyes. The middle-aged woman doesn't care much for you, and there is no respect in her voice when she addresses you. None of the servants see you are the King's daughter. Some are friendly with you and treat you like one of theirs. Others, like the head maid, think a bastard like you is a disgrace to the royal family. But whether or not you are a trueborn, you are still a princess. Thus, she cannot simply ignore you.

"I... I'm going to the garden."

She scans you from head to toe with her eyes full of disdain. To her, you don't have the grace and charm of a lady of noble birth. Your hair is tied and covered like a servant who has to work in the kitchen all day. You dress worse than a maid. The fabric has faded to a horrid off-gray and is full of mismatched patches. There is always soot and dirt on your face and under your fingernails from working in the "garden," an unused training yard you repurposed into a place to grow your herbs. And when you are not digging up dirt, you bury your face in books and your rusty cauldron, cooking up god-knows-what. Not only do you look disgusting, but you also smell awful, a mixture of burned herbs and fire smoke. And those are the days when you don't hang around with the servants at the horse stable or the pig pen.

"What are you holding?"

She wrinkles her nose as she yanks open the sack in your hands. There are a few pieces of bread, a couple of apples, several slabs of smoked meat, and a half-eaten pie. Leftover. The head maid sneers at you. The King never allows you to have meals with him and your trueborn siblings. They won't let you starve, but you can only eat with the maids. That is, you can have whatever is left by them. Even the head maids and other high-ranking servants have better food than you.

"My lunch."

You reply curtly and grab your stuff back from the woman, hoping she will let you go soon. You know she really couldn't care less even if you trip and break your neck in front of her. But you're still afraid you'll get caught bringing food for that person. You hear the head maid laugh through her nose as she turns her heels and leaves. You sigh in relief and take your sack to the old shed. This place is on the far side of the garden, and no one comes around here. It used to be a place to store firewood for the winter. But the thing has been abandoned along this training yard for a long time. It's the perfect place to run away from your cruel half-siblings and their maids or hide an injured dog.

Speaking of dogs, it's what you called the man inside the shed. He refused to tell you his real name no matter how many times you pried. Not that it matters. As far as your concern, he looks like a filthy wild dog with tattered and bloody clothes, an overgrown beard, and shaggy hair like a crow's nest. And he smells like the last time he bathed was when the midwife cut his umbilical cord. So, you named him Jackal. He was pretty upset when you called him that, but the alternative was Racoon or Rat, so he ceased his protest.

You found this man bloody and unconscious, lying on (and ruining) your white sage bush. You thought he was a thief running away from the guards or maybe a servant who was beaten by his master. Either way, you knew if the guards were to find him, he would be as good as dead. So, you dragged him all the way to the shed to treat his injuries, which you soon realized were from being tortured. There were bruises, cuts, and burns all over him. Some of the worse wounds had started to fester. Not only that, his eyes were impaired from infection. He was lucky the damage was only temporary, or he could have lost his eyesight.

It took you two days to clean all of the puss and a whole week to stabilize his condition. But instead of a thank you. He almost killed you the moment he opened his eyes. You were spared only because the man was still too weak to strangle you. You've let him stay and recover in this shed for a month, bringing him food and changing his bandage daily. More importantly, you get a living human on which you can test your absolutely safe healing salves and potions. But, of course, you never told him that.

"Hey, Jackal, look what I brought."

You wave the leather sack at him, only to earn an irritating stare from the man. His eyes have recovered, but he is still unable to see clearly. But, at least he can make out where he goes. You shrug and ignore his sour mood. He always has had this terrible attitude ever since he woke up. It reminds you of aggressive dogs who are aggressive because they've been chained up for so long.

You start taking the food out and put them on a piece of clean tablecloth like you're preparing a feast. The man sits still and squints at the meager food on the ground. Honestly, this is much fancier than the usual stuff you bring here.

"The King is having a feast. The guards said the Usurper will be executed by noon tomorrow, so the King and his council are celebrating."

You explain despite him never asking. Jackal looks at you with barely any interest in your gossiping. Instead, he takes a bite out of the soft bread, savoring something that's not stale or dry for once. The man patiently enjoys the food as you ramble on. He has learned to be a willing, supportive, not-at-all sarcastic audience whenever you come here. Good dog.

These days, all the gossip in the capital revolves around the General. Even if you never ventured outside, you still hear countless tales about the General and his family from the maids. Stories that, if the King happens to hear, heads will roll for sure. The royal family considers General Gyllenhaal a traitor, even though he had fought to protect the Kingdom, just as his family had loyally served the Kings before. But his righteousness and his opposition have made him an eyesore to the corrupted nobles.

"What a pity. The General is an honorable man. Things were better when he used to lead the capital guards. House Gyllenhaal still holds much power in the North, and many other old houses chose to back them too. People are worried there will be a civil war soon because the General's family won't let this slide."

He eats, not even pretending he's listening.

"The servants who have families in Goldenhall said that the peasants there are treated much better than here. I want to visit there if I can get out of the capital. But the place is too far away from here. Do you know that they let women rule in the North? I heard his sister has taken charge of the family since the General was captured. Do you think lady Gyllenhaal would avenge her brother?"

There is no response, but Jackal's eyes shift. He becomes lost in thoughts. But it goes by so fast that you only catch a glimpse of it. He quickly returns to normal, having zero interest in your rambling.

"You eat too."

In a rare display of human affection, the man gestures at the food, telling you to eat with him. He has consumed most of the bread, one of the apples, and a little more than half of the meat. You look at a single piece of bread, a side of leftover meat, and pie.

"Don't mind if I do."

You already ate before coming here but to be honest, you don't mind having a little more. You don't have to watch your table manners in front of someone who doesn't know who you are (and can't see). You can't even be this free around the servants when eyes and ears are everywhere. You grab the meat with your bare hand and throw it in your mouth. No need for fancy silverware. After a while, you finish the last piece of the pie and rub your stomach with satisfaction.

"It's almost noon."

You look outside and see that the sun is almost at its highest. You sigh, thinking of what is going to happen tomorrow. With your things all gathered, you bid farewell to your Jackal, telling him you will be back. To your surprise, he nods at you, something he never did. You wonder why he is a little different today, more pleasant. Maybe he is like a dog who gets friendly with the one feeding it.

The following day, you leave the castle and go to the town square to buy supplies with the money you earn from selling your herbs and potion.

There are more guards than usual, all of which are armed to the teeth. You suddenly remember the execution today. But is it necessary to install this much security? Did something happen? Curious, you strain your ears, listening to some chattering merchants.

"The General escaped. I heard the guards say he wasn't there when they went to the dungeon to fetch him. It was a dead guard in his cell."

"Wait, for real?"

"Yes, and the guy has been dead for weeks too. Does no one check on the prisoner?"

"Incompetence. The King must be furious."

Suddenly, a column of smoke rises from afar. One of the guard garrisons has been set on fire. The bell in the town square starts chiming, alerting the citizens to return to their homes or seek shelter. A cloud of dust coming from the North, accompanied by sounds of hundreds of metal horseshoes striking the earth. You hear screaming, and before you can even react, the panic shoving and pushing cause you to get lost in the sea of people.

Back at the castle, several capital guards on their steeds rush into the banquet hall, where the feast is ongoing. They barely have time to announce their arrival before one of the men immediately addresses the King.

"My King, the Usurper! He is leading an army heading to the Northern gate!!!"

The entire hall suddenly erupts into chaos. Things are already bad enough that his enemy escaped right under his nose. Now, this? The King knows even if the General did escape weeks ago, he is badly injured enough that there is no chance he could return home to gather his men. It takes 2 months, riding the best steed, to travel from the capital to Goldenhall and another 2 months to circle back. A tortured man can't ride a horse for that length of time, let alone lead an army. But what if it is him? The old King slams his fist on the armrest of his chair.

"Send the men to the Northern gate immediately!"

You have no choice but to follow the crowd to find safety. The people start clamoring as they see Gyllenhaal banners approaching. Nosy, you try to stand on your toes to hopefully catch a glimpse of the one they call Usurper. The army is already at the town square, clashing with the King's guards. At the front of a group of soldiers, you spot a majestic figure riding a horse as dark as night, wearing armor with the Gyllenhaal emblem: two roses, red and white, sprouting from a single stem covered in thorns. You feel a little disappointed because his face is entirely obscured by his visored helmet.

You keep pushing through the ground until you are backed into a street corner with a group of frightened children and a few others who cannot find their way through the mob. The kids must have been playing together before the army came. You, the kids, and the other people huddle together, hoping this will pass soon. Before anyone can do anything, the sounds of unleashed horses approach fast. The loud noises and the smoke aggravate the animals, and they ram and kick anyone in their path. And they are heading straight at you.

Without thinking, you raise your arms and shield the terrified, screaming children behind you. Your eyes shut tight, waiting for impact, thinking this may be your end. But it never comes.

"Back off, you beasts!"

You cannot believe your eyes. Standing between you and the restless horses is the General and several of his men. The armored warriors point their weapons at the animals. The General's jet-black stallion is much larger and more intimidating than the other horses. As a warning, the black steed flares its nostrils and hurls its front legs at the others. The General's men quickly move to the sides of the loose horses and grab their harnesses, forcing them to quiet down.

"Go home. Avoid the main streets."

The General's voice is so different from what you've imagined. You thought someone like him would possess a gruff, scary voice (like Jackal's). But his voice sounds smooth and warm, like honey. You find it a little... if you dare to say, alluring like the song of sirens.

Your attempt to thank him is cut short by another of the General's men. This person whispers something to him, and the General nod. The next moment is probably a memory you will never forget. The "General" removes their helmet, and locks of soft, dark, wavy hair fall on their shoulders. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops to the floor. A woman.

"Tell the men to retreat. We're done here."

Only after nightfall do you learn: Lady Maggie Gyllenhaal, dressing like her brother and riding his horse, led 300 men to attack the Northern gate. They deliberately instigated an enormous fanfare, with fake battering rams constructed from very light wood, that the nobles thought the whole thing was the actual General leading House Gyllenhaal's main army to lay siege to the castle.

But the attack was only a diversion. When most of the guards flocked to the Northern gate, leaving only a few defending the other places, a dozen of the strongest of Gyllenhaal's men infiltrated the Southern entrance with barely any resistance. Lady Maggie's army withdrew shortly after the Southern gate was breached, leaving nothing but a burning effigy of the King in the middle of the town square. Everyone can guess. She got what she came here for, rescuing her brother and delivering a message.

For that, House Gyllenhaal, and everyone who supports them, are now branded as traitors. As a result, the King declares a full-on war with House Gyllenhaal and their allies.

You clutch your burlap sack close to your chest and hurry your feet. You can hardly wait to see Jackal because there are so many things you want to tell him. So many that his ears will fall out by the end of the day. The escaped General. The fake siege. The crazy horses. Oh Gods, the armored lady leading an army wielding a long spear riding the most giant horse you've ever seen in your life. Are many Northern women like her. You aren't allowed to ride a horse. No, you can't even ride a donkey.

"Jackal?"

You open the shack door, but the man is nowhere to be found. Your heart sinks. The King's guards thoroughly searched the castle after yesterday's incident. What if Jackal was arrested? As you wallow in dread, you notice a scrap of paper on the ground, together with a pendant. Jackal must have left these for you and left.

You look at the paper. It is the drawing of the pendant, followed by an arrow and then what looks like a bag of gold. You want to curse. Is this a way of telling you to sell this pendant for money?

"Not even a thank you. How rude."

You murmur to yourself as you look at the pendant. The gold frame circles around a smooth, oval stone. You've never seen a gem like that. It looks black at first glance. But when you raise the stone to sunlight, you can see little rainbow-colored spots all over the surface. Even without any knowledge about precious gems, you can still discern that this piece of jewelry must cost a fortune. Not something a commoner could possess. It suddenly dawns on you that you've been harboring a criminal.

An illiterate thief!

#jake gyllenhaal x reader #maggie gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #maggie gyllenhaal imagine #maggie gyllenhaal fanfic #fic: emblem of roses #fics #nat writes #cw: rpf

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patricia-von-arundel · 1 year

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I have an ask I'm genuinely curious about and that you might also be able to speak to, given your other recent asks! I noticed in FE3H, in one of her support conversations, Hilda mentions metal allergies in the context of making jewelries. But.... I don't think allergies were known about at that time period? I'm curious how much this is an anachronism, if at all. Also can you even tell (as a person with a medieval history background) from context if there's a certain time or period that FE3H is trying to base itself in?

A lot of medical history is characterized by "well, they knew... but also they didn't." Basically: cause and effect, yes. Why something was cause, or something produced an effect, often not so much. Modern understanding of "allergies" only dates back to the mid-19th century, when it became more possible to use scientific advances to get a much more detailed idea of what and why. As far back as Ancient Egypt, and certainly documented extensively in Greek and Roman treatises, people knew that someone might have a negative reaction to something (whether it be a certain weather, foods, etc.), but not precisely why. Asthma and what we now call "hay fever," in particular, were well known (likely because they produced a clear pattern both of symptoms and causes, and didn't as often outright kill someone, like, say, am extreme allergy to foods or insect stings might). These things got worse in spring, plants are blooming in spring, there's something about plants causing this. But it wasn't until the 1800s that "pollen" could be truly tested as (one of) the culprit. You see the same in other areas of pre-modern medicine - things like "eating more red meat when showing weakness and easy bruising, because these are signs that your sanguine humor is out of balance." And it worked, because if those things were actually a sign of iron deficiency, and red meats are rich in iron, the effect was the same whether credit was given to vitamins or humors in balance: the symptoms got better.

Sooooo... I would assume an allergy to metal would certainly be recognized, because it would not have been fatal. I have a latex allergy - even if I didn't know that was what was causing it, I'd be able to see that if I slap a Bandaid on my arm and leave it too long, there are unfortunate results. 🤣 So if someone had an allergy to, say, copper or iron, they might not refer to it as an allergy, but they would be able to recognize "wearing jewelry of this make = a bad time," and avoid it. So: knowing you have to be careful with jewelry? Oh, yeah! Calling it an allergy? Less likely, but I also understand not throwing at a casual audience "ah, yes, copper is clearly causing the phlegm to collect in your wrists, and you can only rebalance it with liberal application of aloe leaves boiled in mare's urine under the new moon in April" (where the actual effect was entirely down to the aloe, and, uh... horse pee should be optional). It's anachronistic to be certain of why it was happening, but not to know such things happened to some people and how to avoid them (plus the horse pee). I'll let them have that one, especially since it means there isn't a monastery activity of "collect pegasus urine and boil it with blood collected from Sylvain's skull after Ingrid finally bashes it in." 😅

As for the time period - it says it right in the game! I'm almost certain the 1100s was quite deliberately chosen for a number of reasons.

1. It was the High Middle Ages - when you ask someone about "Middle Ages," and what they think happened then, all the common answers (kings and knights, ecclesiastical law, Crusades, heresy, wars on massive scale both time-wise and place-wise, even stuff like Ivanhoe and Robin Hood and Joan of Arc and all that fun stuff) are in the High Middle Ages (roughly 1000-1300 AD). (Well, okay, Joan was a bit later, but not much. Also, it's worth remembering that "Middle Ages" did not mean uniform developments even within Western Europe - Italy was already running like hell towards the Renaissance while some extremes of the North were still crossing their arms and closing their eyes and refusing to leave their pagan religions behind until people convinced them that they could still have trees and eggs and shit, just now for Jesus!) So - "medieval," someone says? They probably mean 1100-ish, whether they know it or not.

2. That period also matches pretty neatly with the major powers that existed in Europe (and a bit beyond) at that time. Without going into detail of every mentioned land in 3H, if we just consider Adrestia, Faerghus, Leicester, and Garreg Mach, we can still find parallels. (Not always geographically, but definitely culturally.)

(And I'll say here that this is my interpretation only. I've seen others mention differences here, and I respect that too! Unless we're told, any speculation has validity. I'm also basing this on the period I studied in the most depth, including for my dissertation: the twelfth century. 1100s for me and for Three Houses!)

(I studied Peter Abelard. He and Edelgard would either get along beautifully, or she'd bash his head in before the day was out. But he definitely knew a thing or two about being declared a heretic and excommunicated. And teachers sleeping with students. Er... anyway...)

Garreg Mach is clearly the Papal States, what remained of the Western Roman Empire. I don't think anyone would argue with that.

Adrestia is almost certainly the Holy Roman Empire, and particularly the Empire under Henry IV and Henry V. The twelfth century was all about conflict over ecclesiastical versus royal law, and what was called the investiture controversy: does the church allow kings, or do the kings allow the church? What happens when an emperor and the papacy are in conflict? This pops up again and again during this time, but the particular parallels between the HRE and Adrestia become very clear when considering the reign of Henry V, who, from 1098 until his father's death, co-ruled the Holy Roman Empire. Sound familiar, if on a truncated scale? (Also, without going into great detail, there was already conflict between the papacy and the empire over which was truly "the Inheritance of Rome.") Henry V ultimately sided against his father and forced him off the throne (again, sound familiar to the way Adrestia is presented in any route except Crimson Flower?)... and then took the pope hostage (I assume I don't even need to say it again 🤣).

Without going into aaaaaaall the complicated shit that went down during the cage match between Henry and the popes, let's consider another fly in the ointment of Fódlan, and of Europe: Matilda.

And this, as you'll see, is why I think Faerghus is based on France and Norman England. Matilda was actually married to Henry V, not Henry IV, but her life has several very interesting parallels to a certain Anselma. (Even the name issue - she was either Maud or Matilda, depending on where and when she was!) Her father was Henry I of England (whose own claim to the throne was a little iffy - he probably had his brother, William Rufus, shot so he could claim both Norman France and England). Again without going into great detail, Henry managed to, amongst his MANY, MANY CHILDREN, only have two who were legitimate. One was William, who was heir presumptive. The other was Matilda, who was shipped off to marry Henry in the HRE.

Then - oops - a ship went down in the English Channel. The White Ship. It had William on it.

Oops again.

Well - now Henry had a problem. But he decided to make it a problem for after he died: he got Matilda back to England and made everyone swear they'd recognize her as the heir. Then he died. Then shit really went down.

Over in France, there was a guy named Stephen, whose mother was Adela, daughter of William the Conqueror. And he had a penis, and therefore would be a better ruler than Matilda, who was also a grandchild of William the Conqueror, but a stinky female one. So Stephen trotted off to England, called himself king, and he and Matilda spent several years having a slap fight, before they agreed that Stephen's heir would be Matilda's son, who became Henry II, and everyone else rolled their eyes and were thankful they could mostly ignore the idiots in charge, as they had already been doing through Celtic, Roman, Anglo-Saxon, Danish, and Norman rule, and essentially as most Brits still do to this day.

...And it's almost 9pm and I just realized I should probably have dinner. I'll get into Leicester tomorrow, but I think it's the Byzantine Empire, with Almyra being the near East/nascent Ottoman Empire. Watch this space! I can go into more detail on the others, too, if anyone is interested. Medieval shit is complicated. 😆

#okay wow this got long #and i didn't proofread a thing #hopefully it's somewhat coherent!

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desiderium-eden · 6 months

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The Kingdom of Navka

Cheatsheet

A large kingdom of eternal night and winter. Navka spans over a massive territory but due to the harsh conditions of the land, it's not much more populated than other nations. The land is full of dense forests, steep mountains, and murderous creatures which have made travel(and invasions) pretty difficult.

Government:

Navka operates under a monarchy, with the royal family being the Volodymyrr. The current Kroi (king) Vlasily took over the crown a couple decades before after the death of his brother Alexandre (nicknamed the Kroi Dyyavol). The capital city is Alluka, a large city surrounded by icy rock that make it seem like the city was built inside a hollowed-out mountain. (Myths say it used to be a mountain until the god Irae dug it out to provide shelter and protection to the people.)

Environment:

Tundra. Lot of snow and ice. Not too much variety in plant life. But thick forests of evergreen trees. And while rarer, also trees (and some other plants) seemingly made of crystal. There are also only a handful of flowers native to the area. The most prevalent being the Elys (a blue and white version of a Chinese lantern flower that gives off a soft glow).

Trade:

Due to the climate, Navka had trouble growing their own produce (with a few exceptions) so has to import it from other nations. Same with certain textiles and things. But they're still a wealthy nation rich in resources (metals, gems, monster meat/parts, etc). Main exports are weapons, crystals and gems, alcohol, furs, and other parts and meat from the various creatures native to Navka. Their most valuable export, and the one that is very rarely traded, is animulla, a crystal that can greatly amplify magic.

Religion:

The people of Navka generally worship 2 main deities. Irae, the god of the hearth, dance and justice, as well as his partner, Seren, the goddess of blood, lust and death. Worship is conducted through dance, rituals to celebrate the dead, and the annual blood orgy (I'm joking about the latter). With the temple's clergy being .... look, the church is basically a bunch of idols and, in some parts, strippers probably. They conduct worship through song and dance to inspire the people. As well as other charity work.

Other:

Magic (also called "kazka") is free to learn and practice among everyone. However, it's mostly the upper class that practice because most other people have actual jobs and no time to learn.

Bears are legit citizens and are treated as such. I don't mean bearshifters. I mean actual bears.

Navka is native to a species of wolves the size of horses that possess some level of psychic capability. They choose a partner when young and bond with, creating a telepathic link between the two. This link becomes stronger as they grow together. To the point where they can feel each other's pain and panic.

Polygamy is legal and encouraged. Bigger harems can be seen as social status symbols. Because .... "cuddle piles" meant you'd survive the winter or something...

Sex workers are held in high regard and have the same social standing as the temple, military, and lower nobility. And some may also be a network of spies under the codename "Rusalka".

All the stupid silly stuff about Navka is mostly here to distract from the many, many war crimes and atrocities committed by the former king.... including the takeover and mass killing of the land of Djilia and their people, the psirans, with the exception of one that was enslaved.

#tw: murder mention #{Faebella Obscura} royal verse #it's mostly some name changes #to keep more in the S.lavic naming scheme for certain things

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thelegendofhino · 9 months

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Hino analysis time

Aka why i think its strange that Hino is handled the way he is in both games (in a good way)

This ended up being a long post sorry. Tldr, hino is a unique case for how npcs were handled between botw and totk and seems to have the potential to play a larger role just in general but never does.

So i've been thinking a lot about hino (as i do) and noticed that while some npcs that arent involved with anything seem to have changed significantly between botw and totk, for example, spinch and joute, others are mostly the same, such as hino and mezer. Other npcs that stayed almost completely the same are usually ones that were involved in some sort of quest, such as magda with the flowers and loone with her love of ancient things.

Spinch is a traveling npc in botw whos defining trait is that his horse is also named spinch, however his horse is nowhere to be seen in totk (though im not sure if this is just a case of npcs horses not being predetermined) and is also not mentioned by him as he now only stays at the lakeside stable. Joute is another traveling npc in botw who says he prefers horses (or "horsies", as he says it) over people, and seems to be pretty reclusive overall, but in totk hes part of the group of people who get sick from food poisoning and doesnt mention any sort of preference towards horses, and his horse is also not seen.

Magda is still obsessed with flowers and can still supposedly hear them speak, but she doesnt attack you anymore (as far as im aware) and is involved with one of the zelda sighting side quests. Loone is still obsessed with ancient stuff but is focused now on the three leviathan skeletons, which is its own set of side quests. Mezer is another npc like this where he used to sell meat but now he does not sell meat and instead just travels, but still does have his focus on meat, and is also involved with a quest about marbled rock roast.

Hino has been studying the blood moon in both games, though in totk his focus is currently on how monsters function, hoping that something about monsters will tell him anything about why they get revived by the blood moon. His character is mostly the same, but his obsession with the moon in general seems to have grown since botw.

For example:

The first two pictures are from totk. The third picture is from botw. In totk, hino refers to the moon as "she" and "her", unless its a blood moon in which he only uses "it", while in botw he only uses "it". He also tends to focus more on the moons beauty now than he did before, with two of his moon phase comments in botw not really having much to do with the moon itself or how he personally feels about it (specifically, his full moon and cresecnt moon dialogue). But overall, his character hasnt changed too much, as his main traits are still very much focused on. With this in mind, it would make sense that he would be significant in some way, or at least directly involved in a quest, like how magda and mezer are, but he isnt.

Once you finish the zora's domain regional phenomenon quest, you can get a side quest from a zora guard named gaddison, who tells you about a monster fort on ja'abu ridge. The quest is just to clear out the fort, but she doesnt mention that there may be a hylian trapped in the fort. Despite this, nothing about the quest is focused on that fact, and the hylian does, in fact, turn out to be hino.

However, hino is also in 4 other forts in the game (there are a total of 6, but hino never goes to the one in hebra, which is also the fort that you can aid the monster control crew with), none of which are ever given any attention to the way this one side quest did. To me this is interesting because these other forts are a lot easier to access than the one in ja'abu ridge, one of the forts is not too far from lookout landing. And, if you save hino from all 5 forts before the next blood moon, he gives you a diamond as a reward (only for the first time you do it). It seems strange to be rewarded like that for something that is not a side quest or side adventure, never really given attention to, and completely optional and easy to miss. Nothing bad happens if you never save hino. He doesnt end up in the forts in any particular order. Its something most players would never find out about.

Hino can also be mentioned by the npcs who read the newspapers, bringing up how there is someone who researches the blood moon who seemed excited to check out a monster fort but that they seem like they wouldnt be able to defend themself. That is the only way you'd find out that someone is captured in a fort if you didnt get gaddisons quest (and assumed hino wouldnt just go to andifferent fort afterwards) or if you didnt just happen to come across hino yourself. From what i remember, this is the only case of an npc mentioning another npc like that, especially one that isnt involved in a questline at all.

So then, why have any focus on hino if he isnt really important to anything? In botw hes even less involed with anything going on, staying at the dueling peaks stable, but hes also the only npc that'll explain the blood moon to you, as hes the only npc who is researching it, or even cares about it at all. My assumption is that he would probably be useful for that one shrine quest that you have to wait for a blood moon to happen, and also to plan ahead to make meals with better bonuses (since the blood moon does that for some reason), but nothing more. Nobody else at the stable mentions him, no other npc mentions him, nobody talks about anyone researching the blood moon. The closest thing we have is that when sagessa is at the stable, she'll sometimes point out that most people that stay there are twins. Hino is the only one who stays at the stable constantly who doesnt have a twin. In totk, more npcs will talk about the blood moon (symin reveals how the blood moon gives you bonuses when cooking which is how i found out about that, and the captains will talk about how the blood moon revives monsters) and yet hino is nowhere to be seen (because he went and got himself captured). Now you cant really use him to determine when a blood moon is happening because he disappears after you save him, and once you save him from all 5 places he shows up in, he disappears entirely until the blood moon happens and the forts are refreshed. You can only tell if you happen to save him on a day that a blood moon will happen. Considering there are no quests where the blood moon is necessary, there probably wasnt a reason to keep hino around for the same purpose, though he does still talk about the moon phases every day like he used to.

Now, the main thing about hino that is interesting that is also fairly easy to miss in both games is that, not only is he the only one who is researching the blood moon, he is also the only npc in the ENTIRETY of both games that is affected by the blood moon. Its a little bit different in both games and ive already made posts about everything that happens to him, but basically he goes crazy and his text turns red, something that doesnt happen with anyone else in either game. It seems to be a full on physical reaction, not just him getting overly excited or agitated, but rather something that is indeed paramormal, and yet somehow partly disconnected from malice and gloom. And this is NEVER acknowledged in either game. By anyone, not even him. He'll at most say that the blood moon makes him "feel alive", but the way that he acts is a lot more... intense than just that, and to never acknowledge it fully seems to imply, to me at least, that he isnt actually fully aware of what happens to him.

But why focus on that part of him and then never do anything else with it? Why make him the only one like that? Why make him the only one who gets captured? Why make him seem like he should play a bigger part?

I dont know! And thats the frustrating part. Everything about him in totk wouldve worked as a side adventure, and yet. Nothing. It even wouldve made sense to have him in lookout landing just because he can tell when a blood moon will happen and im sure that would be very helpful for the monster control crew to be able to prep in advance. He just seems like he would have some part to play in something, but he doesnt. You just rescue him over and over again (something he himself points out) and you just get rewards over and over again without end, similar to addison who gives you similar sets of rewards every time you help him but has a point where there is nothing else to help him with. Its just so odd that thats just the way it is with him.

Even we know so little about the blood moon. Its implied that its a seperate thing from the whole demon king thing that happened, so we just have no idea why it happens and why it functions the way it does other than a great evil power can harness the blood moon to their advantage, like ganondorf did. And for some reason, not a single person in the history of hyrule for whatever amount of time that botw and totk takes place in has ever cared enough to figure anything out about it except hino, and because of that he has absolutely nothing to work with except his own observations and so nothing he tells us about the blood moon is anything we dont already know. I guess it doesnt really help that he doesnt seem to talk to people all that much, considering nobodys ever cared to help him with it either or try to find where he is. He just feels like more than just some guy with a hobby, like he can offer more to us if he was just allowed to. But hes just a really weird npc that seems otherwise normal... and hes my most favorite character in both games because of it.

#i promise im not just biased i thought very hard about this #vpost #hinoposting #legend of zelda #botw #totk #hino

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