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kotos-and-smiles · 3 years

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The meaning of “I”

Chapter 104 spoliers!

Note 1. I’ll still be calling it “I” even though the translators are changing the way they translate it to be “peace,” because that’s what I’m used to calling it for now.

Note 2. Just a fair warning, this is a long post, but hopefully you enjoy!

Okay, I’ve been meaning to start this blog for months now but I’ve had no idea how to just start so here we are. I decided what better way to start off than talking about the newest chapter because there is oh so much to talk about in this one chapter alone. The first thing I really want to talk about from this chapter is the club’s song for nationals “I” or “Peace” as the translators have started calling it. Despite the fact the club has been working on “I” for a lot of chapters now, we still don’t know about the actual meanings and motifs that are in the song or what feelings they’re aiming to put into it. I think we haven’t heard much about this because the club is still trying to figure it out for themselves. Also, I’ve been questioning for a while what type of song Takinami would write for the club, and that was answered in this chapter.

What we do know about the song is that it has the 4-person part with Chika, Kota, Momoya, and Yoshinaga, a part where all 9 of the club members play together, a part where melodies played by Chika and Satowa and then Takezo and Hiro will intertwine, and everyone has a solo. It’s also been emphasized over and over that all 9 people are needed to play the song. Takinami has only given his usual vague hints as to what meaning he put into the song, because like always he wants the club to figure it out for themselves. Until we get to ch.104, in which Chika interprets it in such the opposite way of how Takinami meant it that Takinami finally feels the need to give him a hint as to what the song means (and thank god, because I really don’t think that poor Chika would’ve gotten it at all otherwise).

In chapter 104, we learn that “I” is actually a piece that can be played with any amount of the 9 parts and still be a full song. This is a huge deal, and honestly blew my mind when I first read it. Takinami has specifically pushed the idea that everyone needs to be there to play this song, knowing full well that in actuality the song would be complete no matter how many people played it. Everyone is still essential in his eyes because the point is the desire to play with everyone and the importance each member holds to each other. Takinami even brings up the conversation he and Chika had before Ku-on, showing just how huge of an impact the whole situation with Ku-on had on Takinami. With the performance of Ku-on, he saw what this group was really made of and what they were capable of, even in less than ideal circumstances they pulled through an intensely emotional performance. Takinami finally found a sound he couldn’t ignore. The conversation Takinami and Chika have in ch.25, when Takinami tells Chika he shouldn’t perform and Chika responds that he really enjoys playing with everyone, that sentiment made it into “I.” Except now, the tables are turned and instead Chika still desperately wants to play, but absolutely will not if it means no one else gets to and thinks that he won’t be able to, and Takinami has taken a complete 180 on what his stance was during Ku-on. Unlike in Ku-on, Chika is, in a way, trying to drop out, and now Takinami is the one telling Chika to stay and play. I honestly love this whole conversation between them, I love how Takinami gets pissed at Chika for even thinking about withdrawing from the club, I love that he points out that Chika is only 16 and does not have to take everything on himself, it’s just so great and just what I was hoping for: someone to knock some sense into Chika.

Anyway, then Takinami gives us the first hint as to what he intended “I” to mean. To paraphrase “Stop focusing only on what the others mean to you, and begin to think about what you mean to them.” This is something that pretty much everyone in the club has a problem with. They care about each other so much, will stand up for each other, but they don’t think about the fact that all the others care about them just as much. Takinami is trying to shift the focus from “these people are important to me” to “what do I mean to them?” hoping that these oblivious teens will someday get it. This works for so many of the characters.

Firstly, let’s talk about Takezo. He’s been club president from the beginning, and he’s always been a great one but has really come into his own. I think everyone sees him as an amazing club president, a leader that holds them together and believes in all of them as a whole and individually. He doesn’t see himself that way. Takezo has the opening notes of “I”, it all starts with him just how the entire club was brought together by him. He’s explicitly stated that he sometimes wishes that someone like Satowa could begin the song because he’s worried about the fact that his is the first sound in the song. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to give a strong enough opening because he still sees himself as a bit inadequate. But how does the rest of the club see him? They see him as this strong club president, someone who’s always been there as the foundation, so why shouldn’t he be able to start the song and be it’s foundation throughout? So, it would help Takezo if he saw himself the way the rest of the club does, because then he’ll realize just what he means to them and hopefully see what they do in himself.

With Momoya, Takinami made a big deal about the fact that he needed to want to play with the club, and that he had to want it for himself. This ties back to the conversation before Ku-on that Takinami has weaved through “I”. But it was also important for Momoya to take up an identity with his sound, to decide to be something, and own up to being someone with a mutable sound. He can fit in, but it all needs to be his choice. Momoya has also never thought about what he means to the club, and they keep surprising him with how friendly they are and how much they care about him. They just want him to be himself and stay in the club. Hopefully he starts realizing that soon.

If there’s one thing that Chika is truly terrible at it’s realizing his worth, both with himself and with other people. As Tetsuki says in ch.99.5 “I bet Chika never thought that he himself could be thought of dearly by somebody else.” Chika still definitely struggles with that. He has no problem letting everyone else know how much they’re cared for, how much they’re valued, but when it comes to himself, he still doesn’t see how he could be a person someone thinks of as dear. He still sometimes gets surprised by little acts of caring. With all this stuff with Uzuki going on, he’s more worried about the wellbeing of the club, meanwhile all the members are more worried about him than the state of the club. I think that’s almost incomprehensible to Chika, and yet it’s there, and in the next chapter it will hopefully come through loud and clear just how much they all care about him, but especially Satowa as she literally won’t let him do this alone.

Satowa, too, is terrible at realizing how much she means to people, as shown by the fact that Chika and the others literally have to spell it out for her sometimes. She doesn’t like being a burden, she doesn’t want to do anything that would disrupt or upset their lives. But she doesn’t really see how much those people care about her and that when you care about someone like that it isn’t a burden. Satowa’s self-worth is low, at least in some areas, and she always puts the club over her own desires or feelings due to having hurt people before, specifically her mother. Hiro even tells her in Ch.92 that the club can withstand whatever emotions she decides to express, but Satowa doubts that. Satowa, much like Chika, needs to come to the realization that people care more about her than they do the club, and again, thinking of herself from the perspective of how much the other’s care could help her realize this and her place in the club.

Chika and Satowa both are afraid of being selfish, they don’t want to come off as selfish and they want to put other’s first, but their own feelings realistically get in the way of them being entirely selfless. As Granny says to Chika in ch.77, you have to cherish yourself to be able to give to others and it’s important to think about yourself so that you can have a life you’re happy with. So, both he and Satowa need to start thinking of themselves in a more positive way instead of thinking it’s selfish, which could be helped if they looked at how other’s care about them, which is what “I” is all about.

Now let’s talk about these two intertwining melodies, one of which will be played by Chika and Satowa and the other by Takezo and Hiro, the section Takinami seems to have set aside for the oblivious lovebirds. Takezo and Hiro have each realized, on their own, that they’re in love with each other, and yet haven’t made the connection that the other feels the same way. Part of this is preservation of the club, but seriously how do you not realize? With Satowa and Chika, it’s even more complicated, and I plan to make a full post about it, but they certainly have never really thought about how the other must feel about them. Later on in the chapter, after Chika’s conversation with Takinami, Chika literally asks Satowa what she thinks of him. Not only did Chika take in what Takinami had to say, in the only way he’d listen which is through koto song terms, he thought about it while he was having lunch with Satowa and was trying to ask her a very important question about it before they were so rudely interrupted by the reminder of just how insane Uzuki is.

I think especially for Chika, Satowa, and Takezo, (who I look at as the main trio) this message of realizing who you are to the people around you is a huge part of their journey. They all need to stop denying themselves their own feelings, which is basically what Takinami was trying to tell them with “I.”

So, I seriously wondered for a while what kind of song Takinami had written for these kids. What better meaning could it have than pushing these people to realize just how much they mean to each other and start focusing on how those they care about see them, not just the other way around? Especially for Takinami, who puts up with a lot but ultimately wants to help these kids and believes in them.

I’m really glad he gave Chika the hint though, because I truly do not believe these kids would’ve gotten what “I” is about if he hadn’t given them that push considering they all avoid thinking about how the other’s must care about them, some of them I think are even afraid to think of it. It’s so perfect and I’m so excited to see where they go with it.

ps. I’m new to posting and stuff, so please be kind.

#kono oto tomare #kono oto tomare!#kono oto tomare chapter 104 #kono oto tomare spoilers #kot #kot!#kot spoilers #kot! spoilers #kono oto tomare! spoilers #kono oto tomare manga #kot manga #kono oto tomare chapter 104 spoilers #kudou chika #hozuki satowa #takinami suzuka #kurata takezou #momoya natsu #kurusu hiro #takaoka tetsuki

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ghoulishhusband · 3 years

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I just realized I can actually talk here. Like this is my account fuck u

Fucking uhhhhhh, hi ig lemme ramble abt my God ocs yea?

Ignore this part if you don't wanna hear (likely) unedited rambles lol it doesn't matter

CW: neglect/abuse, assholery/narcissism, manipulation, tread lightly!

read the under cut owo

Also don't steal my art I'll fucking?? Fight you????

I have three main gods that I wanna talk abt especially bc they've been on my mind lately.. Less get it, side notes are in (parentheses) and are bolded cause I have perception issues whoo I don't want it to jumble together is my point lol

First up is my asshole,

Giodine

they/them (preferred)

god/godself (i like pronouns that fit my characters, so I'm giving a bunch away for one night only at--)

ID : Giodine is colored with gold-ish yellow skin and ginger hair. Their eyes are a muted purple and they have tiny eyebrows. Their lips are a muted brown and are full looking, their nose is sharp and points down. They have wings for ears and is wearing a blazer with a long-sleeved, collared shirt underneath it. The background is beige with a yellow square and a dark purple square partially encompassing it. It is signed GH (for ghoulish husband), Spork, 21.

(lemme know if that helps at all! I'm sure I can do better so lemme know!)

If they look weird here it's bc I accidentally made their face too long but believe it or not this is in fact just a doodle Ik I'm so fuckin talented babes.

Anyways, they're basically the first God to ever exist on my version of earth (though even that is fickle rn, world-building is hard unless I hyper-focus on it, and haha Guess What I Haven't Been Thinking About) and they're very egotistical and selfish. As I'll probably yap about later is how they're manipulative as well, especially to another God I'll mention, and very neglectful to the other... other one.

Their partner(professionally), or fiend as they call him, is sam who for the first few eons was, unsurprisingly, absolutely terrible to him. A few tender moments are few and far in between in what could only be described as a completely rancid relationship. I'll describe giodine's side and in sam's lil ramble, I'll describe his :]

I have to explain this because it's a big part of the lore and how they can't work together, even when one of them is very much near The Void (technical death for gods) BUT basically, with Sam, giodine created purgatory. The issue here is that they basically seduced sam into doing it. Well, even if they hadn't, sam was in lesbians(happy pride month lmao) with giodine and would've done it anyway. But the ISSUE is that with the creation of purgatory came complications. See, my gods have to take time to develop into their power, and considering giodine was first and sam was around 666th.. you see the issue. Sam wasn't into his complete power yet and thus lost a giant part of it that went into purg.

See, giodine saw no problem with this (until much later, they do get a VERY SLOW BURN redemption arc cause this ain't even the worst of it), they got what they were aching for out of them and thusly had no need for..sam. They laid him in the spot where she was made (fwi it isn't inherently sexual, it can be, but literally, they just merged together-- taking bits and pieces of each other (which sam did not have enough of) and earth and light yadda, yadda I'll post the story I wrote for that later if I'm up to it) and left him there in the grass.

Again, they saw no problem with that, the deed was done, they didn't care anymore. A common issue in their qualms, sam and Giodine. They did find an issue in Sam finding an issue in the lack of aftercare, which resorted to any message going to or coming from sam going straight to his assistant and going back through them for a couple of thousand years. They found that infuriating-- how could he not face them over something so small! and for years?! it was ridiculous. After forcing a face-to-face meeting, a heated proclaim of hurt from sam, and a bitter agreement to meet up every now and again, they got what they wanted from him. Again. It was a business after all, there was no point in making it harder than it needed to be.

Giodine doesn't necessarily like boundaries and tends to overstep sam's frequently. They also don't like his reaction to his boundaries being long jumped over, which thusly ends up in disgruntled messages being sent back and forth between them and his assistant for a month or three. It slowly gets through to them, but they tend to say some stupid shit and if they want sam to stay, they have to try and avoid mentioning how "overly sensitive" he is to something that happened eons ago.

(quick mention, there isn't like. time. here. so in all honesty, giodine probably counted earth days instead of Heaven 'days' to get that) Soon into their arrangements to meet, they seem to get on at least tolerable terms, obviously, a few meetings where neither of them feels like going apeshit and taking proper shapeless (or in sams case, he's got a newfound form for ANGER OO just for giodine 🤗) forms isn't going to fix a grudge that has yet to be apologized for by the way. But it's a start to a very long process down the road. Tolerance.

Giodine as an entity is very fickle and rude and demanding. They tend to have a short temper that no one else is allowed to have or comment on-- They were the first therefore they were the most important!

This is very obviously an issue. But it's mostly directed to purgatory. Almost all of their seething rage is pointed towards the poor entity, she's barely been alive yet and they already seem to hate her for things she doesn't know how to do. Honestly, I don't think Purg will ever fully forgive them for the unnecessary abuse of her character, but just as Sam and Giodine get on better terms, they had barely just begun fixing the hole in their relationship. As of now, Sam/Giodine don't have any minor plot points with purgatory other than the major one so I don't have a lot to say about their relationship right now. Maybe one day.

I'd go into details, seriously, but I just wanna ramble about their relationships with each other and their impact on each other's existence. Hope you don't mind a few secrets 😉

But, now, it's time for a new God, one I think most people take a liking to...

Sam (Samuel)

He/him

ID: Sam is surrounded by clouds in the light blue, fading to a darker blue sky and the yellow sun. His horns are a darker beige, which is being highlighted by the sun shining down on him, he also has pointed ears. His skin is red which is very prominent in the sun. His eyes are completely yellow, his hair, beard and mustache are also black. He has an orange scar crawling up to his Adams apple. His wings are a darker grey which is also being highlighted by the sun. His nails are painted black and his hand is holding up the black fabric barely covering his shoulders. Around the painting is a gold and red shaded frame with swirls complimenting each side and a crystal at the bottom of it. It is lightly signed GH, for ghoulish husband.

Sam, Sam, Samuel.

If you don't realize right away, Sam is basically Satan, he's the ruler of hell

Like how giodine was the first to appear on earth, as mentioned before sam was 666th for funnie reasons. Sam was made from bugs, dried blood, and sunlight which sounds pretty gross, but he's far from it. He's a silly, yet neat, guy. He wears Hawaiian shirts and khakis (not around giodine lmao) for cryin' out loud! how bad of a person can he be? Apparently to giodine (for a while obviously) he was the most retched entity to exist. This very much hurt him considering the amount of fake care they showed him before. With a mixture of confusing feelings (which wasn't supposed to be a thing but Univerce went "lmao you'll be fine" and left... short explanation, Univerce is the Universe and is the entity who simply builds these planets and gods that'll appear there and leave them to their own devices, xyr not extremely important in this story. Nor would they care.) and feeling used, he decided that no he wasn't going to take that.

If there is one thing Sam knows how to do is to self preserve himself, even if that means getting passive-aggressive notes sent to him every once in a while. While this period, Sam was surprisingly the least productive (unfortunately giodine knew this and eventually mentioned it in one of their meetings which made him hide away cause like hell giodine was going to be critical of /him/) but he managed. It wasn't terrible, but unfortunately, Sam being able to talk it out with someone who does practically the same work as he does and gets newer, more helpful ideas was better in the long run.

Unsurprisingly, Sam was the first to initiate the healing of his and giodine's relationship but it wasn't reciprocated. Who would've figured, aye? Giodine kept pushing it back onto him and ignoring any progress that could've been made before. Which was frustrating.

The painting above was 'painted' by giodine, which is sorta where their relationship gets somewhat on an understanding of each other. Giodine gets to take a deep long look into who Sam is and tries to express it but it never fit him, it makes them realize that they never really-- truly got to know him. And all it does for Sam is make him even more confused about his place in giodine’s mind. He figured it's another fluke to get him to do something, so he ends up distancing himself when they start actually reciprocating his friendship advancements.

Suddenly, like a flash, Sam was forced to stay with giodine which is where the majority. I'll explain.

Sam...isn't actually the ruler of hell. Anymore, anyways depending on the timeline. His and purgatory's relationship has always been complicated, she always avoided him, and when they talked she always seemed scared of him. So in the end, they've never been close. Distant. Sam always wanted to talk to her, he made her, but if she didn't want to talk to him he wouldn't force it. But imagine his surprise as Purg singlehandedly took over hell in a hazed frenzy.

And not only that, had a personal vendetta against him!

Well, that would be the only explanation to Sam considering how he ended up broken and barely 'alive' at the hands of her. Horns broken and in tatters, pain and almost obliterated it felt like a hate crime. He didn't know what to do when he made it to the office, Purgatory was creating chaos outside his door and barely being able to breathe he felt like it was the end. So he called giodine.

Purgatory

She/her

ID: Purgatory is surrounded by flowers that are dark grey and white. The light fades down into a dark green. The light shines down on top of her straight, white hair that has yellow flowers tucked into it. Her skin is a dark brown and has a orange-ish yellow scar on her shoulder trailing up to her neck. Her skin is also highlighted by the sun. In one of her eyes, her sclera is black with an orangey, glowing iris. As for the other eye it it has a white sclera and the same, glowing orange iris. She has wings for ears, one dark grey and one white along with beige horns. She has a white fabric covering her chest. The frame is gold with white accents, but also has vines and moss crawling up the side.

(may have goofed a bit and forgot to color the sclera of her other eye white but ignore that pls)

Purgatory was made by Sam and Giodine, but to her it felt like a mistake. Why make someone that you’re going to be terrible to, she believed. Giodine seemed to hate her and eventually made her section almost obsolete because she simply wasn’t able to keep up with the backlog that she wasn’t taught to deal with. Not only that, she didn’t have any help with any of it, it was almost like she was expected to just do it on her own. Until Death came along to help, but that’s not what we’re going to be talking about right now.

And also, Purgatory is Purgatory yadda, yadda, I wont insult your intelligence.

Giodine’s thought process (other than wanting to be Real Close to Sam and once that thought filtered out, promptly ignored it) was that all the extras that don’t fit in either category of their thought of good and evil they’d go to her. (doesn’t matter cause in Sam's system it filters through ‘levels of assholery’ and depending on how bad you are you either just vibe in the upper city under rule of capitalism and possibly many under paying jobs or being actually tortured for his amusement if you’re just evil. Morally grey. Anyway, it could work p well in heaven if giodine wasn’t such a damn stickler.) But in the end, every day, less and less people ended up in purgatory, leaving her with barely any people and more verbal abuse from giodine who ‘HAS to take them or they would be more dead than they already are’. You see the pain she has to go through, right?

~Idea section, this is probably not canon anyways so dont take it serious~

My thought is that another oc (BA, you may have heard of him idk) takes over simply because Purg took multiple hims from alternative timelines (which isn’t allowed but what’re they gonna do, undead a dead clown? multiple times from multiple timelines???)) because she adored him and they figured ‘well we gotta redo purgatory may as well do it like this’ and make him a demi-dead-god. i think thats a cool idea right? anyhoo

~Idea section over uwu~

Purgatory overall is a fairly timid character, she doesn’t like conflict, is easily overwhelmed, and generally keeps to herself. She doesn’t see the point in being in any drama if she’s just going to be yelled at and scolded even if it’s not about her. The only way i could describe her taking over hell is this:

She was tired. She was angry and after feeling like nothing was in control or in her hands, she snapped. Why doesn’t she get anything or get to be ‘all powerful’ but they do? She knew if she took on Giodine she’d likely get thrown to the void, but sam? He felt fair game. Considering her fear of both of these gods, she planned and got her courage up to take him over. She had considered negotiations but in the end, she ended up going into a haze and ruining everything in sight. She was more powerful than she thought and once she started, she didn't stop until Death restrained her and Sam was already in pieces at God’s doorstep.

The aftermath was fuzzy for her and for everyone really. Godine was planning a take back hell while actually worrying for sam, sam was planning for a retirement, and she was being consoled while trying to get in contact with sam to apologize. Giodine wouldn’t dare let her talk to him, until she just showed up in their office. She didn’t have a problem with Sam, honest, she just was going to take shit over, but it got out of control.

Spoiler, Sam took her apology and they actually became.. somewhat closer after reaching an understanding.

I wanna say that giodine took them being okay and sam retiring as good as sam did about purg running hell, but they didn’t. Giodine and purgatory actually barely got along in the first place, and only begun ‘working’ on their bitterness toward each other because they both had sam to encourage it. I can’t say for certain if they’ll get better, as theyre both undying and have time, but I’ll just say for now its uncertain.

Also, Death is Purgatory’s girlfriend after all of that lmao.

And.. yeah, i hope this makes sense and that you like my drawings and ramblings about my lil story in my head, i guess this is my way to develop it without just keeping it to myself cause god forbid i keep things to myself hshsh. If you made it to the end, thank you for taking the time to read and attempting to process everything, and even if you didnt read and just looked to look at my art thank you to!!

I may post some art over on @ghoulishhusbandart cause.. it was my art account before i completely forgot about it but i might reboot it! But if you wan art NEOWWW follow me on insta (ik cringe lmaoo) by the same name as this account @ghoulishhusband or just click that insta link! also ignore the fact that giodine is the only one without a portrait, maybe I’ll replace it the next time i draw but im graduating on monday and my dad’s coming TOMORROW?? so i won’t have too much time to do it... but i hope you like my art anyways :]

ok!! ty!! ily!!

#ghoulishrambles #ghoulishsporkocs #man this is weird lmaoooooo #THE CUT DIDNT CUT IM SORRY #Man I should've edited this before ppl could see it I'm so sorry if it's a mess shshhs #I keep adding tags bc I have more to say but I wanna pin this but I don't wanna remove that Palestine post just for my ramble so #I'll just reblog it every once in a while

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sunflowers-insherwood · 3 years

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Winter RH Headcanons

In winter in Sherwood Forest it’s cold, it’s wet, it’s frosty, and there’s snow.

(once again the amount of bullet points make this quite long but it’s so fluffy you won’t even need to wear a coat because it will get all warm in your heart instead)

- ‘i’m not bring funny, right, but it’s freezing’

- the gang find ways to sleep together to preserve heat (huddle for warmth!)

- this usually ends up with Robin, Much, John and Allan, Will, Djaq snuggled together

- they pack leaves and mud into the crevices of the camp to keep wind and rain out as much as possible

- the front door is to be kept shut at All Possible Times

- the worst feeling is when it's opened first thing in the morning (usually by resident early bird Much, who is making breakfast)

- he usually gets at least 2 objects thrown at him and 5 discontented grumbles as he opens the door to inspect the traps for food

- it’s the rule that two fires should be blazing rather than one

- from which Much makes lots and lots of hot teas and mulled wines to warm the gang up after a long day of work

- and hot water bottles are used 24/7

- they have competitions to see who can keep moving for the longest to avoid the cold (Allan or Much usually wins)

- the only gifts of thanks they will accept from villagers are warm clothes

- the word soon spreads and they have woollen jumpers and scarves and hats thrown at them left right and centre

- Much loves his bobble hat and john is secretly jealous of it

- Will owns about ten different scarves

- John is so grateful for his big coat

- Much gets even more inventive with the food sources, him and Djaq doing lots of foraging and hunting the most random of animals

- winter is the hardest time for the villagers too so the lads can't have any time off

- though this is kind of a blessing as it means they have no reason to lay around in the cold

- when they rob nobles passing through the forest they take their warm clothes and distribute them to the poor. To avoid being found wearing obviously stolen clothes the villagers come up with creative methods and designs to help them fit into their everyday attire

- getting wet feet is the worst (Much particularly hates it) so they have as many pairs of socks as possible to change when they need to

- they also make sure they have two pairs of shoes each, one pair to wear while the others dry

- everyone expects Much to complain the most about the cold, but actually Djaq comes in first with Much and Robin tied for second place as they are all used to the heat of the holy land

- John pretends that he doesn’t feel the cold due to his Scottish Blood but actually he would be freezing without his coat

- Will makes sure to watch that Djaq has ways of keeping warm and dry at all times even when they’re not explicitly together, he just cares about her a lot okay

- Djaq likes wearing Will’s scarves because they smell like him

- Robin and Much swap clothes often too, as Much feels warmer when his clothes are tighter and Robin likes snuggling into larger pieces

- because getting wet likely means getting cold and hence ill, the gang don't wash and start becoming a bit smelly

- they don't notice it until the villagers they're helping keep scrunching their noises

- they can't do much about it though apart from wash their faces more often

- Luke always calls the days where it is so cold you can see your breath 'dragon breath day' and so Will calls it this too

- soon all the gang refer to it this way, with even Robin cheering everyone up on particularly grey days by saying a cheerful 'don't worry lads, it's dragon breath day!'

- when Djaq first sees snow she proper freaks out

- Allan manages to lob a snowball at her face and it goes down her neck and she gets so mad

- a very competitive snowball fight breaks out

- Robin obviously has the best aim, but Will makes wickedly ice-hard ones and John's throw packs a punch

- Allan just shoves snow down people's necks for a laugh

- John is used as a human shield way too much for his liking

- Much convinces Robin to make a snowman with him, soon the entire gang are helping out and even the villagers donate a carrot

- when it snows and they go around delivering supplies to the villagers, they often end up in massive snow games with them

- once it was Nettlestone vs Clun with the gang scattered on both sides and that was a day that went down in Nottingham history

- the gang's favourite hot meal to come home to is Much's rabbit stew

- Marian gets warm clothing and food to them as much as possible, even gifting them chamber pots so they haven't got to leave the camp to go to the loo in the woods in the middle of the night

- it was A Problem before she did that

- everyone finds the cloaks really annoying and heavy but they have to wear them to keep warm so Much embroiders little patterns onto each person's to make them feel better about wearing them

- Guy is Edgy so his favourite season in actually winter even though it's freezing

- he puts on layers of yellow knitted jumpers under his black leather to stay cosy but fashionable

- he would kill anyone who saw what colour his jumpers were though

- they were his mother's and father's so he wears them when they can (he likes to imagine the warmth he feels from them is the same warmth as one of their hugs)

- what Guy doesn't appreciate, however, is how the rain makes his eyeliner run

- he gets special stuff from the holy land imported instead, it's water resistant

- Sherwood becomes gorgeous in the frost

- when the sun hits it in the morning and the entire wood is gleaming with cobwebs and ice

- it's secretly Robin's favourite part of the day

- he was sad when he missed a winter in Acre (Much, not so much)

- they leave rude messages for Guy and the Sheriff in the snow around Nottingham

- and they greatly enjoy lobbing snowballs at the Sheriff and his men whenever they leave the castle

- however they have to play it careful because in the snow their footprints are easier to track

- forget the floor is lava, the floor leaves footprints and so they get good at climbing over stuff to confuse people trying to track them

- to make up for the gloomy and cold days Will and Allan paint loads of bits and bobs around the camp bright colours

- because it gets dark and cold early they spend more time together in the evenings, and they play loads of games (charades: Allan always wins) and sing lots together

- John plays the lute and Allan a pipe and they spend many an evening singing increasingly foul songs about the Sheriff and Guy

- basically it’s cold outside but warm in everyone’s hearts <3

#bbc robin hood #robin hood #bbc robin hood headcanons #much the miller's son #robin of locksley #will scarlett #guy of gisborne #little john #allan a dale #marian of knighton #winter headcanons #sunflowers robin hood

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safetytank · 3 years

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long-ass floral drama ahead

after the roaring successes of my Anders DragonAge Did Nothing Wrong & How To Dungeons And Dragons Good presentations, the host of the original had a follow-up DTL night and u KNOW a bitch is incapable of not doing Way Too Much while simultaneously leaving everything to the last minute

so here u go, customers i interacted with while working at one of the local florists between 2017-2018, organized and ranked for ur entertainment

commentary added bc most the slides were just a visual component to a textual joke & i won’t make u all sit through a 10-minute video rendition, u got shit to do

every single older guy cheating on his partner follows exactly the same script, it’s like they were made in a lab

some did manage to break away from the mold tho, usually younger guys asking sheepishly if we had “i’m sorry” balloons (we did) or the following 2 honorable mentions for bringing innovations to the field of cheating on ur wife

imagine using a BIBLE VERSE to try and convince your girl she should take u back bc something something FORGIVENESS

the audacity

the second honorable mention is the very first customer complaint my manager handled after he was hired on back in like 2012, which was a guy whose girlfriend had looked at his credit card statement the day after Valentine’s Day and saw he’d sent 13 other one-dozen rose arrangements so he tried to convince her it must have been a credit card glitch & that he’d call and get it sorted out and my manager was like “lmao fuck no you’re not getting a refund, u made ur bed now lie in it asshole”

number 4 is the time a customer wanted an order wired to chicago for a loved one’s birthday and have it be sent to their job and i was like “oh how nice where do they work” and they were like “the leather museum” and me, internally, thinking “wow like cowboy stuff :)”

it was not cowboy stuff

number three i don’t even give a shit about censoring the name on bc if you know Vickie Fucking Fitzgerald in real life there’s no punishment u could enact upon me that would be greater than having to put up with Vickie Fucking Fitzgerald in real life

this slide is an example of a normal message someone might write on a card that comes in a floral arrangement, like 4-ish lines of text on a little plastic fork that says “happy birthday, love NAME 1 and NAME 2″ or “sorry for your loss, love THE LASTNAME FAMILY”

Vickie Fucking Fitzgerald does not know how cards on floral arrangements work

like damn bitch just send a letter at that point jesus christ

fun fact this was also a wire order so the other florist called us on the phone to be like “uhhhhh is this....correct” and we had to be like “yeah” and they went “ok, cool, just checking, uh, so we had to staple 4 different message cards together to fit all of it” and we were like “yeah bet u did lol”

vickie fucking fitzgerald was a million billion years old and if u saw her name pop up on the caller ID you learned to fear it bc it meant you’d be trapped on the phone for between 10 and 20 minutes listening to her entire life story in between trying to take a gd floral order

one time she wanted a funeral basket sent out of state to FUCKING ALASKA and we’re on the east coast of the united states so we were like “ok well there’s a 4 hour timezone difference and it’s 8am here so they’re not even open yet, we’ll have to wait til 12pm when they open up at 8 and then we can wire it for you so we’ll take down your order and call u back when it’s time to wire it”

yall wanna guess how many times this bitch called back to waste our time before 12pm

VICKIE YOU WENT ON FOR CUMULATIVE HOURS ABOUT HOW YOUR HUSBAND WAS DIVORCING YOU AND I’M BEGINNING TO SEE WHY HE MIGHT WANT TO

#2 is of course the dumb horny bullshit, bc it turns out if u order online and the quality control manager isn’t paying A Lot of attention u can slip all kinds of shit into ur card messages (just don’t do the entire fuckin Iliad like VFF up there)

this one gets put in horny jail because of the sheer AUDACITY of contacting someone who has either 1. been broken up with/divorced recently, or worse, 2. THEIR PARTNER FUCKING DIED, and THEN TRYING TO THROW YOUR HAT IN THE RING WITH THAT “I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL, CATCH ME ON THE REBOUND BABY ;)” HORSESHIT

no comment

this one haunts me in the depths of night and will absolutely be the last thing i see when i close my eyes to slough off this mortal coil

this one yall get every single slide for bc the only reason it lives on in as much detail is due to me hopping on twitter immediately afterwards to preserve the memory while it was still fresh (the caller was not the ghost btw, she was a middle-aged acquaintance of the aforementioned Gay Nigerian Royalty Ghost)

shout out to every stock website i skimmed off for this presentation btw

we stan one gay ghost king (THIS JOKE WORKS ON MULTIPLE LEVELS)

WHY DID HE HAVE MILLIONS OF DOLLARS, YOU ASK

i cannot confirm literally any of this information please do not ask me to i was just paraphrasing what was told to me

here’s where we got into the really wild shit

if u ever worked retail u know this feeling

SO THE DELIVERY MANAGER COMES BACK IN THE DAY OF THE FUNERAL

and he’s like “so i walked in there to deliver the orders and the place was DECKED OUT in traditional fabrics, masks on the wall, everyone was dressed very traditionally, and i was like wow cool guess this guy was important” (he did not know about the International CIA Prosecutor stuff) and someone at the funeral home told him “oh yah we had to go all out bc the deceased’s family WERE A BRANCH OF THE NIGERIAN ROYAL FAMILY THAT HAD FLED TO THE UNITED STATES SOMETIME IN THE 80′S so obviously u can’t have a royal funeral and skimp on the decorations :)”

artist’s rendition

thank u for enjoying this little trip down memory lane also if u recognize urself or someone u know in any of these stories i blocked ur names out for a reason so don’t fuckin come at me ok

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themurphyzone · 3 years

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Oneshot: Starlight

So this was the prologue to a multichapter PMD fic that will never be written, though I spent quite a bit of time creating the characters. This oneshot was sitting on my computer for several months, I just thought I’d share this with the Internet.

Summary: A lonely rich girl named Luna has been best friends with Penny the Meowth for years. But when Luna receives a series of strange dreams, she makes a decision that will change their lives forever.

AO3 Link

Penny nuzzled her human’s cheek, mewing helplessly as Luna succumbed to another nightmare. Not for the first time, she wished she could learn Dream Eater so she could take away the pain, the torment, the guilt that persisted in Luna’s eyes during the day.

Her human cried out, almost flinging Penny off her chest as she rolled onto her side and curled into a tiny ball. Her entire body was wracked with tension, and Penny stifled the instinctive rumble building in her throat.

Purring didn’t work. Luna would just think Penny was another Meowth crying for help. Purring was supposed to bring comfort, but now it just added to Luna’s stress.

Penny didn’t understand what brought the nightmares, nor was she privy to the content. Luna was tight-lipped and quiet on her best days, though Penny could easily bring out a giggle or two if she just batted a Poké Ball around.

If she listened too closely, she heard whispers of catastrophic floods, devastating earthquakes, and the faraway pleas of countless Pokémon who didn’t understand why their world was being torn asunder.

“I’m sorry…” Luna whimpered, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. “I don’t understand…”

Penny unsheathed her claws, lightly tracing the tips against Luna’s arm. Not hard to enough bleed, but just so Luna could feel the pricks and come back to reality. She left light, barely visible trails across Luna’s skin, withdrawing as Luna’s chest gave a sudden heave. Then Luna broke into a coughing fit, catapulting into a sitting position. A pillow and Clefairy doll fell from the bed, landing on the carpeted floor with a muffled thump.

Through a thin sliver of light in the bedroom, Penny saw the terror turn to relief in Luna’s eyes. Luna sighed, her breath hitching as she slumped forward and pressed her head against her knees, face hidden through a curtain of dark hair.

Penny retrieved the Clefairy doll and pressed it into Luna’s side.

“Thanks,” Luna whispered. She placed the doll in her lap and scratched behind Penny’s ear.

Penny released the purr she’d held back, resting her head on top of Luna’s other hand. Focusing on the vibrations of her throat, she tried to imagine a calming wave flowing into her human, though she didn’t know any healing moves.

Eventually, Luna’s breathing evened out. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting at the edge for a brief moment before standing up, the Clefairy doll clutched tightly in her arms.

Without a word, Luna crossed the length of her enormous bedroom and flung the curtains open, allowing more moonlight to filter in. Then she settled against the cushioned windowsill and stared out into the night sky.

Penny jumped onto the windowsill, nudging the Clefairy doll aside so there was room for both of them on Luna’s lap.

“She doesn’t make sense,” Luna murmured. “A role to play…it means something, but I don’t get it. What role can I play when I’m locked in here?”

Penny bristled, hissing in frustration at the reminder of being a secret companion for a secret girl. Luna’s parents were important figures in some organization Penny didn’t care to remember the name of. Luna was unknown by the world beyond the manor grounds. And while Penny was allowed to stay in the manor, she knew Luna’s parents viewed her as a means to keep Luna compliant and out of the way.

Her parents certainly didn’t expect Penny and Luna to bond so quickly, but as long as Luna never expressed a desire to explore the world, they wouldn’t complain.

Luna loved stars and legends and Pokémon.

But she never experienced them for herself when so many others could. She was stuck with books, television, and the stars she could see from her windowsill.

Luna opened the window and a gentle wind blew into the room, chasing away the stifled air.

“The stars are so beautiful, Penny. See that cluster next to the moon? We have a clear view of the Perished Ones tonight,” Luna said, pointing to a group of stars that held some sort of pattern to her, but none to Penny. A breeze gently blew strands of long hair away from Luna’s face.

Her eyes sparkled, holding no traces of the haunted look she’d wandered around with for the past month.

A Meowth’s instincts were drawn to sparkling things, to hoard them and never let them go, and Penny was no exception. She held Luna’s gaze, waiting for her to continue.

“Long ago, a tower was struck by lightning and caught fire, which was then quelled with a cleansing rain. But not before three Pokémon perished in the flames. Ho-Oh revived them with his sacred ashes, and they were reborn as Beasts who roam the land. It’s said that Ho-Oh gave the remnants of the Beasts’ old lives to a deity with power over the stars, and she hung them in the night sky as a reminder of that fateful night. The trio of constellations became known as the Perished Ones.”

It was the most she’d said in a month.

Luna rested her head against her knees again. The contemplative look returned.

“Ho-Oh gave them new roles,” Luna whispered. “He cleansed their spirits and bodies so they could rule over lightning, volcanoes, and the north wind with no regrets.”

Though Penny only considered it a legend, it was clear that Luna was putting much more thought into the story than was necessary. She mewed in displeasure, pawing at Luna’s face so she would focus on petting the itchy spot that Penny could never reach no matter how much she twisted while grooming.

Luna gave a tiny smile, scratching Penny’s back until she fell asleep once more.

They slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

o-o-o-o-o

For once, Luna’s parents were home. But since they preferred to be left undisturbed by both staff and daughter unless there was an emergency, Penny and Luna rarely saw them. Because they had a reputation for firing staff for the slightest indiscretions and hammering them with lawsuits if they talked, nobody was keen on facing her parents’ wrath.

Until now.

Out of self-preservation, Penny did everything she could to dissuade Luna from an audience with her parents. Just as she was debating the pros and cons of knocking her human down and sitting on her until she got the message, Luna crossed the high archway that marked the parlor entrance and stood in front of the Master and Mistress of the Silano household.

Penny swallowed, but padded onto the expensive Kalosian rug that nobody was ever allowed on and wound her tail around Luna’s legs for moral support. Luna glanced down for the briefest moment, then returned her attention to her parents, who were still discussing some trivial matter.

“-Mr. A wants more funding towards the research department. Their top scientist believes he’s found a faster method that will boost a captured Pokémon’s power a hundredfold,” Master Silano explained with a long-suffering sigh, though Penny couldn’t tell if it was directed at Luna or his wife.

“About time,” Mistress Silano said, her manicured nails tapping at the couch impatiently. “He should’ve improved the field equipment a long time ago. Why waste time on common Caterpie when they could have the power of a Legendary?”

“You know he wants to maintain his reputation, Catherine,” Master Silano said. “It’s better to keep these sorts of activities under the radar.”

They ignored their daughter completely, and Penny knew Luna was having second and possibly third thoughts about her plan.

Luna stiffened, but she balled her fists and forced the words out of her throat. “Mother. Father. I’m interested in getting a Drowzee. I’ve been doing some research, and-“

Mistress Silano huffed. “A Drowzee! As if that mangy furball wasn’t enough for you!”

She glared at Penny as if offended by her very existence. But Penny lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to be cowed. After all, she was a prideful Meowth, loyal to those who earned her trust and uncaring about those who didn’t.

“Mother, please.” Luna’s voice quivered. Penny’s tail tightened around Luna’s legs. “I’ve done some research. Drowzee can sense and eat people’s dreams. They can even project the eaten dreams to anyone they trust. It…would be interesting.”

Penny disliked the Drowzee idea, but for Luna’s sake she kept the bouts of jealousy to herself. They both knew Dream Eater was their best shot at understanding the nightmares, but Penny wished that didn’t involve getting another Pokémon since she was meant to be Luna’s constant companion.

“We allowed you to keep that stray Meowth as long as you took responsibility for it. You don’t need another Pokémon.” Master Silano didn’t look up from the stack of papers. “You will not be gallivanting around Kanto doing whatever you want. One Meowth is sufficient for your needs.”

“I’m…I’m only asking for a Drowzee,” Luna said. She tried to copy Penny’s haughty act, but couldn’t keep her head up under Mistress Silano’s scrutiny. “Nothing more.”

“You heard your father,” Mistress Silano snapped, dismissing them with a lazy flick of her wrist. Several golden bracelets clinked with the movement. “Leave us. We have important business to discuss. Later, we will talk about this rebel behavior of yours. I assure you it will not be tolerated again.”

On the verge of tears, Luna spun on her heel and stormed away, abandoning her usual caution in favor of stomping on the floorboards. A rebellious act that would surely add on to her troubles, but Luna didn’t seem to care.

Penny flattened herself to the ground, slinking quietly behind Luna until they reached the modest dining room next to the kitchen. It was their favorite place to take meals. They avoided the large, lonely dining hall the Master and Mistress preferred.

“It’s not fair, Penny!” Luna cried. Penny’s ears flattened as Luna scraped the legs of her chair against the floor. She fell into her seat and slammed her head into the table. “Is understanding my nightmares really too much to ask?”

Penny jumped onto the table, not caring if she was allowed on the furniture or not. If they found her pawprints on the polished wood, so be it. Compared to the demands Luna had to put up with, obtaining a Drowzee was a perfectly reasonable request.

Penny rolled onto her belly and mewed pathetically. She hadn’t needed these deliberately vulnerable positions to garner sympathy and food since she was taken in, but it was the only thing she could think of.

But Luna didn’t move.

Penny’s fur bristled along her spine. She yowled at the top of her lungs and startled Luna, who jumped to her feet with an expression that would’ve been comical if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

“Don’t do that, Penny!” Luna shouted, her eyes blazing. “You have no idea what I’m going through!”

A growl escaped Penny’s throat. These dreams terrified her human and nobody else was aware. That’s all she needed to know.

They glared daggers into each other. Penny flexed her claws against the wood, leaving shallow scratchmarks behind.

Then a knock on the side door broke their concentration.

“Ms. Luna, are you feeling alright?” Michael called, his polite voice soothing as always. He opened the door as far as it would allow with the chain attached. He was an elderly man, tall and well-groomed, and he was the only other person in the manor Penny liked. “Do you require anything for yourself or Ms. Penny?”

Despite herself, Luna couldn’t help but laugh. Penny casually licked her paw and drew it over her ear, trying to appear nonchalant about being called ‘Ms. Penny’, but mostly she was just happy about Luna smiling for the first time in several weeks.

“I think we could use a light snack to settle our nerves,” Luna admitted.

Penny meowed in agreement, licking her lips at the promise of her favorite berries.

Michael unlatched the chain and stepped into the kitchen, nodding politely at Penny before pulling out ingredients and equipment for a light fruit parfait.

“I assume your audience didn’t go well,” Michael said, carefully dicing several strawberries with a practiced hand.

Luna filled a water bowl for Penny and grabbed a glass of juice for herself. “They didn’t listen to me. But it’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” she sighed. “I shouldn’t have said those things, Penny. I’m sorry.”

Penny purred, rubbing her cheek against Luna’s arm. Then she settled in front of her bowl, eager to quench her thirst.

“Ms. Luna, forgive my curiosity, but what reason do you have for staying here? You have a Pokémon. Most children these days would leave home the moment they’re of legal age for an official license.”

“My parents would hunt me down if I left. You know that, Michael,” Luna said. “Penny and I would be on the run constantly. I can’t make her commit to that.”

Penny scowled. Of course she would commit! She had claws and fangs for a reason.

Michael chuckled as he set the finished parfaits in front of Luna and Penny. “Ms. Penny seems to disagree.”

“She likes to contradict me,” Luna muttered, swirling the blueberries around with a spoon.

“It sounds as if fear is your only reason,” Michael mused. “But you were also courageous enough to request a Pokémon from your parents. Many staff members never would’ve confronted them directly.”

Luna dropped her spoon on the table. Yogurt splattered onto her sleeve, but Luna didn’t seem to care. She whipped around and stared at Michael in surprise.

“You think I’m brave?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Michael shook his head. He took a napkin and dabbed at the yogurt on Luna’s sleeve. “No, Ms. Luna. Bravery can easily turn to folly, and I know you’re not a fool. But I believe you display true courage when the situation arises. You found Penny as a critically injured stray who’d happened to wander into the garden, and you nursed her back to health.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Luna said. “You were the one who took care of her.”

“You don’t wear self-defeat well. It’s not a matter of who took care of Ms. Penny’s needs, but rather that you chose to help her at all despite knowing your parents would disapprove. I would dare call that an act of true courage.”

“True courage…” Luna murmured. She finished the last of her parfait, giving the empty bowl to Michael.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

Penny swiped the blueberry juice off her mouth, adding her own questioning meow to Michael’s worried tone.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Luna smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for everything, Michael.”

Penny followed Luna out of the kitchen. Her ears twitched at the running water and tinkling of dishes behind her.

“Likewise…”

Only Penny caught the sadness in his voice.

o-o-o-o-o

Luna wasn’t changing into her pajamas. And she always changed into her pajamas before reading a story to Penny.

Penny narrowed her eyes. There was an odd lilt in Luna’s voice, like she wasn’t enthusiastic about the story tonight. She was lost in her own mind, somewhere Penny couldn’t ever reach.

“’Awakened, the human dons the Pokémon hide to roam villages.’” Luna finished Sinnoh Folk Tales, then put it back on the shelf. She trailed her hand over the book covers, hesitating over a frayed photo of herself and Penny.

The camera had been nothing but a cheap disposable, but the maid who’d taken the photo was kind enough to get the picture developed somewhere. Shame she’d been fired. She’d made the tastiest poffins that Penny had eaten in her life.

Penny closed her eyes and burrowed into the blankets, leaving nothing except the tips of her ears poking out. She placed a paw over her face, flicking her ears as a light laugh filled the room.

But the atmosphere soon grew somber again.

Under the covers, Penny took deep breaths to fool Luna into believing she was asleep. She’d get to the bottom of this, no matter how much her human believed it was her burden to bear.

A Meowth never let anything escape her claws.

“Penny…I-I’m…” Luna’s voice faltered. “Please understand.”

Her footsteps sounded faintly on the rug, thudded against the floorboards, and slapped against the tile until the sound faded away completely.

Penny’s ears swiveled to the door, listening for Luna’s soft, cautious steps.

Five minutes passed, the Hoothoot clock marking every agonizing second with a faint click.

Her human just wanted a glass of water. That was all. She shouldn’t worry.

But the doubtful voice in her head told her otherwise.

Soon the waiting grew unbearable, and Penny finally threw off the blankets and stalked out the bedroom door. Her skilled paws slid over the ornate rug, but she had no time to be proud over the abilities she’d honed because of her humble beginnings.

Learn where to find food and water. Learn who to avoid. The two most basic rules of the wild.

Luna and Michael were good humans. Avoid the Master and Mistress. The rest of the staff were a gamble, though better moods generally meant less trouble.

Penny crept downstairs, then ran for cover behind a couch at the clack of a high heel behind her.

Luna’s dark hair streamed behind her as she moved into the garden of red lilies. Penny heard Luna’s ragged breaths, smelled her fear, but her steps never wavered. She lifted her face to the stars above.

“I’m ready, Gardevoir. Please guide me and test my resolve if I’m truly destined to be your world’s hero.”

A shimmering blue portal opened before Luna. She stepped through it, leaving no trace of her existence behind.

And Penny cried under an endless canopy of stars.

End AN:So planned concepts: Luna would’ve gone to the world of Pokemon Mystery Dungeon, specifically Rescue Team. She gets transformed into a Skitty and teams up with a Charmander named Sunny, who’s the son of the Charizard on Team ACT. There would’ve been a concurrent plot with Penny dealing with the fallout of Luna’s disappearance from her world as well. Overall, the concept was fun to create, but it was too ambitious for me.

But I hope you found this enjoyable regardless.

#pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon ocs #meowth #pokemon fanfiction #fanfiction

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marmolady · 3 years

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Livita: Part Three

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending. Freed from Vaanu, Taylor has been building a life with her soulmate… but their family remains not quite complete. Read PART ONE and PART TWO.

Word Count: 3551

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @sceptilemasterr @saivilo @greengroove

La Huerta, June 2023

The pair returned to La Huerta with a couple of months spare to get ready for their new addition, and come the fourth Catalyst reunion –the very first day-- it was time.

Her waters having broken in the middle of the anniversary party, Estela had quickly been swooped upon by an attentive Michelle, who’d determined it was high time they took the proceedings back to their own home where there was a little more comfort and privacy. Taylor lovingly tended to her wife, cleaning her off and helping her into the back of the car that would ferry them along the track between The Celestial and the hut in Catalyst Village.

“Taylor,” Estela took her wife’s shaking hand in her own. “You don’t have to be so nervous. It’s not like you’re the one who’s gonna be doing all the work.”

“Hey, this is likely to be the most important day of both of our lives. I’m allowed to have a few jitters, okay?”

Taylor caught Estela’s eye and grinned like an idiot. This is actually, finally happening. The smile faltered just a little as she felt Estela’s body stiffen beside her; another contraction. That there was only so much she could do was difficult; all their battles were fought together, as equal partners, and to essentially be a bystander was a role Taylor wasn’t sure she suited.

As she helped Estela up to their bed, Taylor was left with the distinct impression that she was being humoured; the fussing really wasn’t necessary, but the care behind the gesture appreciated. Maybe that was what was most needed after all… just that support that didn’t even need to be spoken. She had to hope so, because there was really little else she could offer.

“You’ve got this, ‘Stel,” she murmured as she kissed her wife’s temple.

“Querida, we’ve got this. Just stay with me, okay?”

“Always.”

Estela approached childbirth in much the same manner that she did most of life’s challenges; just getting on with it. She was no stranger to pain, and refused to be daunted, breathing through contractions with minimal grumbling. Taylor sat upon the bed beside her, offering massages and holding her hand through the worst of the contractions, all the while enjoying a rare opportunity to catch up properly with Michelle, who’d offered herself as midwife.

“First delivery you’re assisting in, hey? That’ll be one for the photo albums.”

Michelle chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure Estela would appreciate those photos going up on the wall. I’d be surprised if this won’t be my only midwife appointment. This isn’t exactly my field.”

Catching her breath after another contraction, Estela nodded. “Thank you for preserving my dignity. And… this. After everything…,” She had to physically shake off the memories… memories of one of the most torturous periods of her life. That kind of fear would only cripple her now. “There’s no one I’d trust more to help us through this.”

“Brain surgery will still be waiting for me once I’ve put that baby in your arms.”

Every now and then, a text message would come through from someone or another, asking for a progress report, and in return receiving an update on the annual anniversary party. Naturally, bets were being made all over the place… the sex of the baby… the time of arrival… whether or not it came out brandishing a weapon…. The attention from the rest of the Catalysts was welcome, breaking up the monotony otherwise punctuated by Estela quietly huffing through contractions.

“I don’t know how you’re so calm….” Michelle was saying.

“You know the thing with ducks?” Estela asked. “Perfectly calm and composed on the surface, but below the water, the legs are frantically paddling? I’m pretty sure that’s me right now.”

“Well, your impression of ‘not freaking out’ is convincing. But it’s good. Obviously, these things tend to be drawn out; you need to pace yourself, emotionally.”

“Right now it’s just… pain. Pain doesn’t worry me. I’ve done pain; I know I can survive it. But what comes later; that’s what’s scary. Nene has to go through a lot to get here… and there’s only so much I can control.”

Again, Taylor offered a hand, and gave Estela’s a soft squeeze. “We’ve already put the med centre on alert,” she said gently, hoping to reassure herself as well as her wife. Those jitters were starting to escalate. “The healers have delivered plenty of babies by emergency C-section; if bub needs a hand, help will be here in minutes.”

Estela stroked Taylor’s fingers. She was a great comfort. Far greater than she could say. They’d been through a lot together, faced down impossible odds; this, Estela told herself, was something totally different. Babies were born every minute of every day, and she was strong, and fit, and healthy. All she had to was grit her teeth and power through.

The sky outside darkened, and it seemed quite clear that the night would be a long one. With progress slow, Taylor killed some time by rustling up some snacks from the kitchen. When she came back upstairs, she couldn’t help but let her eye linger upon the small room, the one that would soon belong to their child. All of a sudden, that their lives were about to change became very real. She’d never had a childhood herself, so to have the blessing of experiencing it through her own son or daughter was a great unknown. Taylor was certain she was ready. The one her friends would turn to with all their problems, she would be an open and supportive parent. And in Estela… well, she couldn’t ask for a more fiercely loving partner. It would be scary, but as Taylor saw it, all the best adventures were.

The hours dragged by so slowly. Taylor found herself fidgety, and took to slowly pacing beside the bed. She still felt like a spare part, and nervous energy built up within her as she picked up the same from Estela. They were now hours in, and there was a sense that they were turning towards the last, dangerous stretch… and still Taylor could do little to ease the process.

Estela’s staunch stoicism began to falter. A trembling bottom lip betrayed her fear as she hit a wall, scared for the first time since her labour began. The contractions kept coming, with barely a pause. Wave after wave, stronger, as if her body was trying to tear itself apart, and no chance to come up for air. It felt as though she had no control over her own body… and by extension, the baby. She was a passenger along for the ride, powerless. After so many hours, countless nightmare scenarios had time to run through her head, now haunting her, and doubt in herself set in with a vengeance. As soon as she let that primal fear take hold, a wave of grief hit her, so strong that she might drown.

Worried, Michelle rubbed her arm. “What’s going on? Estela?”

There was no response. Estela looked away; her expression distant as she retreated into herself. She wanted to cry, to scream, but it would not bring what she needed.

“It’s getting more intense because we’re getting near the time when you need to push. This is normal. Talk to us, okay?”

Still nothing.

Taylor leaned over the bed, reaching for Estela, unnerved by the change, so swift and profound. Something was really not right. She took her wife’s shaking hand and squeezed, and the pressure returned was fierce, panicked. Still, she struggled to get eye contact; Estela appeared lost, far away. “…Hey…” When she finally met Estela’s eyes, she saw a plea for help. The penny dropped.

“Hey, could you give us a moment?” she asked in Michelle’s ear, her voice hushed.

Once they were left alone, Taylor climbed onto the bed and brought Estela’s head to her chest, stroking her sweat-drenched hair. “You want your mom…”

The painful lump in Estela’s throat gave way. She leaned into Taylor, who cradled her as she cried and writhed in agony.

“I’m so sorry, my love, my beautiful Estela… I’m sorry she can’t be here, holding your hand like she should be…”

The floodgates had opened, and Estela sobbed into her wife’s shirt, her hands clutching desperately at her back, hanging on as if afraid of losing her too. It made Taylor’s heart ache.

“That’s it… let it out…” Taylor kissed Estela’s soaked brow and held her close, gently rocking her as her body convulsed through a contraction that just seemed to go on forever. “I’ve got you. You just hold on tight, okay? I’ve got you, and I’m never… I’m never letting go.”

“Taylor… it hurts.”

It hurts so bad. Mami….

“I know… I know…,” Taylor whispered. More kisses, the only inadequate comfort she could offer. It just wasn’t fair. “She’s part of you always, sweetheart… nothing can ever take that from you. And our little baby… she’s part of our baby too. All that love your mom gave you, you get to pass it on, share it with bub.” Taylor sighed, feeling the weight of her helplessness as her wife gripped her ever tighter, gasping in pain. She couldn’t help with the baby, and she sure as hell give Estela what she really needed. Her voice caught in her throat. “I know it can never be enough.”

Slowly… agonisingly slowly, the intensity receded, the contractions slowed, and Estela could finally catch her breath, her vice-grip on Taylor’s back slackening. It felt as though the worst was over. She felt a tender kiss to the side of her face, and returned it, even as she trembled in Taylor’s arms.

“Sorry,” she panted, offering a weak smile. “I didn’t expect it to creep up on me like that. I just… started to get nervous about the baby coming, and… God, it hurt so bad… and the more scared I got… it was almost like I was a kid again, needing her so much.”

“That’s natural, Stel.”

“And I guess I can feel that it’s close now. It doesn’t… it doesn’t feel right for the baby to come… and her not be here. I’m sorry, I just…”

“Hey…don’t apologise.” Taylor took Estela’s face in her hands, stroking away tears with the gentlest touch. “This is where your strength comes from; your big heart… even the part that’s always going to be broken. It’s why you’re gonna be the most wonderful, incredible mama to our little baby. Your mom would be so proud of you, Estela. God, I know I am.”

Estela nuzzled against Taylor’s fingers, taking one to her mouth in a soft kiss. She looked at her through her tears, feeding off the devotion that shone back in those brilliant blue eyes. Her mother would be so happy that she had Taylor, in her corner through it all. In a way… it was she who’d brought them together.

She exhaled shakily, and groaned through another godawful contraction. “I can’t wait for you to hold our baby…”

Taylor pressed her forehead to Estela’s, her heart full to bursting. “You are so, so strong, love. You’ve got this.” And I’ve got you.

Estela closed her eyes, soothed by the intimate touch. “Taylor… thank you.” A kiss to her cheek told her that Taylor understood. That they were in this together really went without saying. She took a deep breath. Time to do this. “We should bring Michelle back in; I think I’m ready to start pushing.”

There was a small flurry of activity as Michelle hurriedly resumed doctor duties, and confirmed that things were indeed moving along. Getting comfortable was all but impossible, but Estela eventually settled kneeling up against Taylor, letting gravity help her out.

Another shuddering cry rang out as Estela dug deep to push against the all-consuming pain. Progress felt excruciatingly slow. Her powerful body strained with every ounce of strength, willing the baby onwards, while she held on desperately to Taylor’s hand.

“You’re doing great… you might just break my fingers, but you’re doing great.”

Again and again she switched positions, her frustration growing. She pushed and panted, all the while feeling as though her body was trying to tear itself in two.

At long last --to the expectant mothers it might have been an eternity-- the baby’s head appeared, and Taylor reluctantly eased away from her wife, to be helped into position for delivery by Michelle. Her heart pounded wildly at the first glimpse. There it was. Their baby. Their baby…

Michelle leaned in close, nervous exhilaration clear on her face. “Are you ready? I’ll be right here with you to check baby over.” Receiving a confident nod, she returned her attention to the person who was doing all the hard work. “Estela, you’re so, so close.”

“…I fucking hope so…”

“On the next contraction, I want you to pant through it… gentle pushes so the head doesn’t come too fast.Once the head’s out, I think… I think one more big push should do it.”

Estela whimpered and looked to Taylor for reassurance. This had gone on long enough… she needed to know that the baby was all right. Gentle, murmured words of encouragement and a soft rub against her leg helped to steady her, and she steeled herself for the next wave. In Taylor’s eyes she saw everything she felt herself; fear, exhilaration, and desperate, desperate longing. This was it now; she was bringing her baby home.

A strong cry rang out as the baby entered the world, straight into Taylor’s waiting hands, instantly bringing her to tears. Tiny arms reached out in bewilderment and the baby hollered in shock at the sudden transition. Murmuring gentle words of comfort, Taylor brought the child up to her face, softly kissing as the indignant cries quietened.

“Is the baby okay-- Taylor, is baby okay?”

Taylor bundled the wet, disoriented infant close to her, while Michelle checked it over, and responded with a voice thick with elated tears. “Stel, she’s perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, and she’s already got a lot to say for herself.”

Tears streamed down Estela’s face as her hands flew to her mouth in sweet disbelief. Their baby was here… she was here and she was safe. Her voice trembled when she spoke, the briefest glimpses of the child enough to send her into emotional overwhelm. “She? She’s a girl?”

“She’s a beautiful girl.”

Receiving an encouraging nod from Michelle, Taylor brought the baby, now wrapped in a towel, and gently eased her into Estela’s waiting arms.

Estela’s breath caught in her throat. When she met her daughter’s eyes, she thought she might never look away. “Oh my god…” She wept, clutching the child to her bare chest, and her heart skipped a beat as a tiny mouth latched onto her breast. “Mi dulce niña, mi bebé, mi bebé…”

She reluctantly tore her gaze away from her precious baby to look up at Taylor, whose eyes were swimming, face shining with love. “Taylor…”

Sniffling helplessly, Taylor leaned in and kissed the top of her wife’s head again and again. “Oh god, I love you, Estela… I love her… I… I…”

Michelle looked on, a hand over her heart and her eyes misty. “Congratulations, both of you. She’s just… absolutely, completely gorgeous. And… and thank you.” The slight shake of her voice gave away her emotions. “That you wanted me to share this with you… it honestly means the world.”

Taylor stood up and wrapped her friend in the tightest, most loving of hugs. “Thank you. So, so much. I don’t know what we did to deserve you, but we love you so much, Michelle.”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Estela have a little nod, looking at Michelle with fierce gratitude and affection. She couldn’t find the words, but a quiet understanding was all that was needed.

“I love you both. And your little angel…” Michelle felt endless satisfaction as she watched the infant nurse at her friend’s chest. To have played even a small part in making that happen, her heart might just burst with pride.

Taylor climbed into the bed and wriggled down under the covers, drawn into the heat of Estela’s body. She nuzzled her face towards her chest and took in a deep breath as she pressed a long kiss to the baby’s soft head, taking in the sweetest of scents.

“So… Olivia?” she asked.

Estela’s eyes welled as she nodded her head. She knew Taylor understood, and in that moment, she couldn’t love her more. “Our Livita. Maybe, Olivia… Andromeda? You should be a part of her name.”

“Oh. Oh, wow.” For a few moments, Taylor was lost for words, and she simply looked at her beloved with starry eyes. She took Estela’s hand and kissed it before going back to kiss their daughter again--how she’d ever get enough of smooching that child’s dear little face, she’d never know. “That’s… that’s perfect. She’s perfect.” She stroked Olivia’s dark, downy hair, her skin so impossibly soft. “Oh, my Livi… our angel… we love you all the way to the stars.”

“All the way to the stars, and back again,” Estela corrected with a wink.

Michelle quietly bustled around them, cleaning up and making sure all the boxes were ticked on her baby delivery checklist. It was some hour later before the afterbirth was delivered and she was confident enough to say that all was well. Completely ecstatic though Michelle was, she was more than ready to collapse into her pillow by the time she headed to the door.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” she said softly, knowing that her work there was done. Both mothers were handling the baby confidently, and with a tenderness that was heart-warming to behold. Tucked up against Estela’s chest, a hand protectively cradling her tiny body, no child could wish for a safer, more loving embrace in which to rest. “I’ll be back in a minute if you need anything at all, but I’ve got a feeling you can take it from here.”

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the floaty drapes, a welcome dawn after the longest of nights, bringing the colour of day to the new life that settled, fed and contented, against the warmth of her mothers’ beating hearts.

Before she turned to go, Michelle left a kiss each on her friends’ foreheads and stroked under the baby’s tiny chin.

“Olivia Andromeda Montoya, welcome to the world.”

#endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #michelle nguyen #estela x mc #estela x taylor #taylor montoya #liv montoya

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valkblue · 3 years

Photo

Being a Behavior technician requires a certain amount of dedication to the job — the rigorous type, bordeline rigid. That’s what is expected to be at peak efficiency regarding analysis protocols and diagnostics for host service and calibration.

For that, Vivian thinks she might be the worst tech in her department.

— masterlist, AO3

Chapter 2 on 12

Chapter wordcount: 3,340 Rating: General Warning: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ same as usual: swearing and technobabble!

Author’s notes: Bad behavior tech, bad!!

Have a good time reading, and my askbox/messages are always open! 💙

— Chapter 2

There were some days, like this one, during which Vivian and her team were called back in the night; a group of guests went all trigger happy and their mess had to be cleaned up somewhere between the Abernathy Ranch and Las Mudas. And since the narratives and hosts had to be back in rotation asap, the techs’ nighttime was reduced without thinking twice.

Maybe it didn’t look like it, but this job was really taxing sometimes.

That being said, shortly after 6AM, Vivian went back to her room for a few extra and well deserved minutes of sleep before resuming her diagnostics routine. An hour and a big mug of coffee with cereals later, Vivian was back in the elevator which took her down to the Behavior department level.

In the soft lighted glass room, a host was sitting on a wheeled stool. The light brightened when Vivian entered.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," she said on a hushed voice as if she wanted no-one but the offline host to hear her while letting the glass panel shut down slowly behind her. "I had a rough night. Looks like you did too…"

Ironically, he hadn’t been part of this night’s massacre. No, all those involved were already back in rotation for quite some time. Her first subject of the day, however, had only been victim of his own storyline, needing only a quick check-up and Vivian’s all clear before being back on his loop.

She sat on the stool in front of the host, doing her best to ignore his nudity, and unfolded her tablet on her knees; she had to navigate through several indexes before connecting to his signal for a couple update history checkups.

"Bring yourself back online, please," she ordered, without raising her voice.

The command only seemed to take him out of his thoughts.

"Can you hear me?"

"I hear you alright."

"Off character, for now, please."

Vivian loved to talk to them in character… but, for her diagnostics, she had to ask them to reduce their emotional affect — which was more a guarantee of efficiency than an actual need, though.

"There’s been modifications in your attributes last month," she stated as she was discovering the changes. "Several characteristics got… Who the fuck did that?!"

Vivian had an answer to that already, as she was going through the log; someone from Narrative — that she would brand as asshole — had been pretty heavy handed on self-preservation and aggression, and on top of that they also nerfed curiosity, patience and courage!

There was pitiful justifications from the tech about an adjustment request from their sector after some of the host's alleged wanderings, blamed on his curiosity. But all this was more about making him keener to answer provocation while still being enough of a challenge for his opponents — hosts and guests alike. Vivian didn’t like what kind of freedom Narrative techs were taking with the hosts’ attributes, carefully calibrated by her co-workers and others before them; it wasn’t as simple as changing percentages on the fly in any way they saw fit!

It was a delicate and very important step for any host's cognition, for them to even function at all, as much as for the continuity of their fucking narratives!

Vivian took a deep breath and the time to check the quality of the host’s interactions since the modifications but the results only ended up fuelling her rage. So, she commanded:

"Archive this configuration and open the previous one. Confirmed?"

"Yes."

Vivian smiled, satisfied. On her tablet, the attribute matrix seemed now way more familiar than the last.

"We’ll leave 1.5% more in self-preservation… since they thought it best to give you a few more to endure their bullshit," she grumbled. "And then… 0.5 in aggression for them not to come back to lay it on thick! 6.5 will be more than enough. No need to go all the way up to 10!"

Vivian confirmed her modifications before looking back at the host.

"What d'you think?" she asked, without really expecting any answer from him. “No imbalance or discomfort?”

Modifications could sometimes cause hiccups in the hosts’ cognitions, close to an uneasy feeling. There were other ways to know but Vivian preferred to talk rather than relying only on the screen readings.

"No, I’m fine."

And from what Vivian could read now, he wasn’t lying. Although, browsing his history, she noticed a worrying peak of stress at the time of his "death". It would seem like a normal thing from anyone's standpoint but from which of a host and their technician's, however…

"Your last interaction recorded a peculiar rise in your stress level. What caused this?"

"A… thought."

His mumblings were recognised as improvisations by the tablet. Despite her surprise, Vivian said nothing of it.

"What thought?" she encouraged him instead.

"My family. I’m supposed to be responsible for… my wife, and my daughter."

Vivian noticed the normal occurrences of his cognition in the scrolling of his code.

"But… I can’t help it, I’m out of place, there."

He was getting out of beaten path a little with this comment.

"How are your relations with them?"

"Acceptable."

He kept a few seconds of silence before adding:

"My daughter, I think something’s wrong with her."

"Between you and her?" she asked, for clarity’s sake.

"No…"

"Analysis: what prompted this observation?"

He looked hesitant. On the tablet, still no conflict.

"Her interactions are limited," he then said.

Vivian hesitated too; should she report this observation? Perhaps it was relevant for a potential issue somewhere else…

"It must be my fault."

The tablet, however, reported a new improvisation in that answer.

"Your fault?! Why?"

"I… I should enjoy being home."

According to the datas scrolling up, that was a scripted answer from his guilt library but despite that, what took Vivian aback was the tears running down his cheeks. On the screen — distress, confusion. That wasn't the affect class linked to it. But she didn’t suppress his emotional response…

Instead, she glanced carefully through the glass panels around them; her closest colleagues were two cubicles away, doing the same thing as her. Well, maybe not exactly; once positive that no-one would catch her, Vivian leaned forward a little to put her hand on her subject’s cheek, wiping the tears off with a gentle brush of her thumb.

She could have calmed him down with a simple word, or even with a tap on the right button on her tablet but… what would be the point? Vivian didn’t want to, not with him. And to be honest, as much as she was sincerely touched by the faithfulness of his emotion, it was also convenient for her that he would bring such a topic up.

"Children have a short memory but a quick mind…"

Victor Hugo said that first. And Vivian was quoting him today with something else than Philosophy in mind; she had just use a voice command — her voice command. A simple little script she sneaked into the host’ complex code architecture. More or less mixed with the rest of it, encrypted and virtually unnoticeable without knowing what to look for, it gave the recipient host the ability to keep in their memory, in a hidden and compressed partition, all the events happening between the activation and deactivation of said command. Conversations, feelings, impressions… Everything was there. And everything would remain, even after each reset.

The host couldn’t access it at will without hearing the command, and for what Vivian had noticed so far, it didn’t interfere with his narrative, alter his attitude, cause any glitch nor any pain.

According to her analysis, it was only perceived as a distant memory, one of those leaving an undescribable feeling or a sense of déjà-vu…

Despite the severity of her infraction, Vivian was quite proud of her small "innovation". And she had chosen this one, host ID# MG73368928764, to receive her creation among all the percentage of the park’s population her team had in charge. She had chosen him because of his responsiveness in analysis, because he hadn’t been in any big narrative for at least ten years, because she had already noticed a few oddities in his code, because there was something soft in his eyes, a little extra something…

And quite frankly? Because he was the one who inspired her to create this command, based on an idea that has been on her mind. Because she wrote it for him.

Ever since she arrived in the Behavior department, Vivian had done quite a lot of analysis, calibrations, and had many occasions to talk with plenty of hosts, in character mode or not. And the guys from the Narrative department had done such a good job in writing all these characters, their lexical bases, just like her colleagues from Behavior, in encoding and calibrating all that work into each host put in their care!

Or at least, that’s how Vivian was seeing things back then.

But this particular host caught her eye more than any other; she had quickly noticed how much he was calling upon his improvisation engine compared to others and the feeling of having an actual conversation with a well aware person was sometimes so baffling that, against all common sense, Vivian furthered it. Not to mention the frustration she felt that he could never really recall anything else than what his logs allowed him to, after each diagnostic. But since the installation of her script, the inference frequency in his dialog chains increased. And he was calling upon it with even more fluency.

To the point that their sessions became a real pleasure for Vivian!

It was selfish, she realised that… but she wanted him to keep something from it so badly, something from her, just like she could think back on their conversations with emotion. Those past ones were lost for him but, now, he could remember all those that followed the installation of her script.

Vivian smiled when he focused on her.

"Hello, Lawrence."

He looked hesitant for a second, like a man still not fully awake yet. No alert or conflict from his inference engine on her tablet.

"Hey…"

At his answer, Vivian smiled to him again, and so did Lawrence, even if he kept something a bit shy, uncertain, numbed. In that intermediate state, it wasn’t like coming back to the warmth, the liveliness and the responsiveness of the character mode but it wouldn’t be as cold as the analysis mode could be. Even though he was reverting to his usual demeanor.

Vivian didn’t program that; this semblance of a balance had set itself around the integration of the script in the depths of the core-code. But she liked the result.

"How are you, today?"

His drawl was back when he answered:

"Well enough, I’d say. Like after a real good sleep…"

Vivian grinned, amused.

"Perfect."

"And you, how are you?"

The spontaneity of Lawrence’s question took her by surprise.

"Well… um, I’m glad I can talk with you a bit," she finally answered. "Do you remember our last encounter?"

"21 days and 11 hours ago."

This time, the answer was delivered almost without accent; the question had triggered an analysis type of answer.

"And do you remember what our talks were about?"

He would have to query in his archived and encrypted memories to be able to answer this question. If he had it "right", then it would mean that everything was in order.

"Yeah, I told you about my folks, my… my drives. And that project you worked on for some time. It was a secret."

"It still is, Lawrence," she reminded him softly.

"I can keep a secret."

That wasn’t something he needed to convince her of! And she was less wary about him than about any other technician snooping in his code like the guys from Narrative did between two of her maintenance sessions. She gritted her teeth, frustrated and annoyed, by the limits of her authority on the modifications decided in high places, and on whom…

It was her fault, really; she shouldn’t have grew attached to a host like she did to Lawrence, but now things were the way they were, and it wasn’t possible for her to purge her memories and rewrite her affections as easily as a few lines of code. She was only human, after all!

Vivian brushed her boiling emotions off with a brief sigh before fully focusing back on Lawrence, asking him:

"Did this script cause you any issue since our last encounter?"

He still looked slightly numbed as he answered:

"I… I don’t understand…"

"No interference with your core-code?" she rephrased.

"No. None."

Not to brag, but she suspected that much. The only persisting worries she had were the saturation of his memory, provided that could actually be possible. Normally, the hosts’ memory was wiped between each rotation; then, there was no telling what could really happen if a unit gathered too much data. Vivian might as well be ending up editing her script to overwrite the oldest logs… She hesitated, biting her lower lip then tried a new question:

"No saturation?"

"No."

She gazed at him for a long minute before looking down on her tablet and stating, more to herself than to him:

"Maybe… maybe you’d rather be rid of all those… memories."

She held back the word "useless".

"No, not at all!"

Vivian frowned but a shy smile appeared on her lips.

"Why?"

"'Cause memories are priceless," he answered. "The good ones just like the bad… That’s what makes one remember where they’re from, and who their folks are. It’s what shape one’s life…"

And she followed the improvisation notifications on his dialog chain, but the irony in all this also made her feel somewhat bitter.

"Do… do you know where you are, now?" she asked.

"Ain’t so sure," he answered, holding her gaze, frowning. "Feels… like a dream I already had…"

That wasn’t far from the truth, indeed.

"And it’s gonna be time to wake up, now."

"Alright…"

Unfortunately, Vivian didn’t have all the time she’d love to give him. She tapped on her tablet, biting her lower lip; all of his levels were green, nothing to report — he had her all clear.

"Are we gonna see each other again soon?"

The question made her raise her head, almost stunned; Vivian wasn’t on the interface where she could follow his dialog chain anymore but didn’t need it to recognise improvisation.

"You… you’d want that? I mean…"

She cleared her throat, mouthing a silent word, before rephrasing:

"Would you like that?"

"Sure!"

That answer pleased Vivian, anyway; she felt herself blush and stumbled upon her words until something coherent came to her mind.

"Well then, I… I’ll do my best. I promise."

Lawrence nodded, apparently satisfied, and Vivian held his gaze while taking a short breath.

"They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."

This time, it was Edgar Allan Poe’s prose Vivian had chosen to end her script, and stop the recording of his memories. None of what would happen after hearing those words would remain in Lawrence’s memory, unless she or another technician botched the wipe before sending him back in his narrative loop.

Vivian stayed with him until the cleanup was complete then disconnected the signal after putting him offline; she was already late for her next session but didn’t hurry all that much to tuck her tablet and get up. It was pissing her off to let him there, like that…

She let out a brief sigh then, after a look at her watch, she finally but reluctantly left the room.

The day didn’t only seem too long to Vivian; around 10PM, it had really started to drag on and it was about time to leave her be. Especially if some other guests were planning to unload their barrels during what little time she had left to sleep!

At least, Damon Dyers kept things cool on his side. Margaret had managed to get footages of his arrival in Sweetwater and his first steps in one of the easiest narratives, according to her, but she didn’t seem disappointed when offering them to take a look at those videos she had already viewed a good dozen times since on her tablet. She had been very chatty about his clothing, narratives, adventure companions, and even taking friendly bets on what he would do next…

"Everybody’s gonna be hyped like crazy outside when his review’s gonna hit the park website!" laughed Thawal, finishing what would be his last coffee cup for today.

Charles snorted.

"As if Delos needed more of that…"

Margaret nodded in approval, all the more when Luke added:

"No joke, that’s better than any of those stupid casting headshots! It’s the best career boost he could hope for, right now!"

"Not to burst it for you but, nobody is gonna see this outside," commented Vivian. "It was hard enough for Marge to get them in-house, so I can’t even imagine getting them out!"

To what Luke shrugged.

"Do you really believe that?! There’s nothing a few bucks under the table can’t buy, and footages instead of a crappy picture in Sweetwater is no big deal, I’m sure! It’s not like it’s IP or some shit…"

Margaret scoffed.

"I didn’t pay, not even fucked anybody to get them,” she muttered, openly cynical, as if her thoughts were escaping between her gritted teeth. “I’m trash but I didn’t stooped that low yet."

With Charles laughing like a braying donkey in the background, Luke corrected:

"That’s not what I meant, Marge! But yeah, thanks to prove my point all the same…Even Marge managed to put her hands on it, without shaking down her pockets or her ass, so imagine what you can get if you’re ready to drop some cash!"

Luke’s rhetoric seemed to get the point across as it was followed by a moment of silence around the table, and the tablet in its center, on which the patched-up hour of video feeds was still going.

"Anyhow, it makes nice memories to bring back home…"

Vivian pulled her attention away from the screen to stare at the focused — mesmerised — face of Thawal. He was right, it would make nice memories…

She bit her lower lip and turned back towards the tablet; suddenly, Dyers wasn’t the center of attention anymore, not even a guest who came to show off in the park — there was nothing else than people, hosts or guests it didn’t matter, listening to a more charismatic man than the others carrying a tune next to a player piano for the pleasure of his audience. And far from being corny or just lame, the scene even had something charming.

"And you said he’s going to Pariah, after that?"

Charles’ voice cut Vivian’s thoughts short.

"Yeah," answered Margaret. "He got there yesterday, I think…"

Margaret searched her video directory and selected one that spreaded across the entire screen; they could see Dyers and his two friends, lead by Teddy, on the trail of the narrative they had picked — a bounty hunt, if Vivian understood everything.

"It’s so fucking epic, Marge!" bursted Thawal, leaning over the tablet as if he wanted to dive in it. "Looks like another remake of the Magnificent Seven…"

"Except they’re only four," Charles snarked.

Thawal and Margaret glared at him, which made him laugh even more.

"I know, right?" Marge then admitted.

She turned towards Vivian, beaming with happiness. She smiled back but her mind was already elsewhere; somewhere around Las Mudas, she wasn’t quite sure yet…

On the screen, Dyers was continuing his adventure, like larping or a life size fanfiction. Now that Vivian was thinking about it, it had been a while since her last vacation…

She could maybe use her special employee discount, and do so to hold her promise?

#ocs #oc:vivian #my writing #fic:improvisation only #full diagnostic series #westworld fic #westworld fanfic #ch:lawrence

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tellthestoryofmybrokendreams · 4 years

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Shadow

Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender

Pairing: Zuko/Katara

Status: Complete

Words: 1,860

AO3 Link

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Desc: Sometimes Zuko just needs to be reminded that he’s loved, and won’t be abandoned again. Luckily, he has Katara, who’s made it her mission to do just that.

Or, married Katara and Zuko being supportive and loving.

A/N: Salutations my darling readers, and welcome back to 25ish installments of Zutara cuteness! Remember that these are in track order, not chronological order, and that I am an absolute slut for Zutara. Enjoy!

Katara winces as she hears her husband slip back beneath the covers. Her eyes are still closed as he attempts to settle back into bed, but she’s been awake as long as he has.

Earlier, she guessed by a half an hour based on the movement of the moon, he’d shot up from his sleep whimpering and panting heavily, waking her up. He’d sat there for a few moments and gently run his fingers through her hair, then slipped out into their room and paced, muttering fiercely and repeatedly conjuring large balls of fire just to snuff them out.

Now, as he turns and wriggles around trying to get comfortable, she lets out a tired whine and rolls over. Taking care to still appear to be asleep, she tosses an arm around his bare torso and lays her head right over his heart, forcing him to settle back into bed. He snorts, and she can hear the soft smile he now wears, before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her so she’s almost on top of him.

“It’s almost like how a child holds a stuffed toy,” she thinks, until she feels him brush over the hem of her nightgown, which happens to be only a breath away from where her ass starts to curve.

“This one’s my favorite,” she hears him mumble, and she has to suppress a smirk. She knows.

His breathing evens out, and she falls back asleep to her favorite lullaby: the steady sound of him.

Usually her nighttime subterfuge is enough to counteract his nightmares, but she notices the glassy look in his eyes as she spreads moon peach preserve on her pastry the next morning.

“You’re nothing like your father my love,” she assures as she sets down her knife, and then takes a bite of her breakfast.

Zuko chokes on his tea, but tries to cover it, “What?” he rasps, clearly holding back a cough.

“You had another nightmare last night didn’t you,” she phrases it as a question, but they both know what she’s really questioning is if he was going to try to lie.

“Yes,” he sighs, “I was sitting in the Throne Room just like he used to, and Aang was trying to get me to do something, I don’t remember what, but all I could see was the Wall of Flames getting bigger and then you were there, and you were pregnant, and you said you should have known I’d be just like my predecessors. Then you-you turned and left, but you just looked so much like my mother did when she left and I knew that I’d done something to you, I’d hurt you.”

Katara reaches her hand across the table and takes his, smiling a sad smile as she does so. He looks up at her and smiles back, weakly, giving her hand a squeeze.

“That would never happen,” she declares, “Aang would never ask you something formally, he’d wait for you two to be hanging out as friends so you forget you’re the Fire Lord.”

He laughs, and she continues, relieved it’s working. “I don’t know about the Wall of Flames, but even when you’re in the Throne Room I’ve never seen it get bigger than a comfortable hearth fire. And ultimately, the entire thing comes apart because you’d never hurt me. Even all those times we tried to kill each other, you never hurt me. I mean, that was more because I kicked your ass, but the point still stands. And even if you had, you wouldn’t see me insulting and leaving you, Sokka would have already taken you out with his boomerang and had Toph trap you in quicksand, and then I’d kill you. Overall, two out of ten, tell your subconscious to do better.”

Zuko shrugs with a grin, and tells her he’ll pass along the message. But she can tell something is still bothering him. Rising from the table, she walks over to him and caresses his cheek. He takes a hold of the hand in question and presses a kiss to her palm. Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep breaths. The candles lighting their chamber reflect them

“I’m terrified of losing you,” he admits, and she’s a little surprised. She knew that, of course, and she was scared of losing him as well. But he’d never really seemed scared of losing her by his own fault. The amount of nobles and important military figures who’d been jailed for conspiring to put Azula on the Throne, or kill their non-traditional Fire Lady, was something they were well aware of, and Katara knew Zuko was scared of her death at their hands. She’d always assumed that he’d known there was just about no other way to get rid of her.

“Zuko,” she whispers, and he looks into her eyes with tears in his own, “there is nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you. Even if you lost me, which you never will, even if I had to leave you, which I never will, I would still love you. Even if I die tomorrow and you have to go on I will still be there. I will never leave you.”

He chokes out a sob and pulls her close, scooping her up and plopping her in his lap. Even as he continues to cry, even as tears fall from her own eyes, she cradles his face in her hands and gently runs her fingers through his hair. They stay there all morning; a simple look from her tells all to the servant who’s come to fetch them for a meeting that they will not be attending. Her head now rests in his shoulder, and his is partially buried in the loose hair she hasn’t yet pulled back.

Finally, Katara wiggles and pokes at his stomach, “Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

“Zuko, you’re gonna have to let go of me.”

“Why?”

“I have to pee.”

“No.”

“No? No you won’t let go?” she laughs in disbelief.

He shakes his head into her curls, “Nope. You don’t have to pee.”

“Tell that to my bladder.”

“Katara aren’t you a master waterbender? Couldn’t you like bend it-”

“Zuko, my love, that’s disgusting. Also, do not doubt that I had that conversation with Sokka multiple times while we were traveling. The answer is not something I am willing to find out.”

He sighs and loosens his hug, pressing a kiss to her lips before standing up and stretching. She chuckles and heads off to relieve herself, shaking out her legs as she walks.

Heading to bed early that night, she is far too tired to bother with a proper nightdress. She simply falls into their bed naked and slips under the covers. Zuko had let her know that he was going to be making up for the time he’d missed that morning and she shouldn’t wait for him. Usually she would, but today she’d had to don one of her heaviest Fire Lady outfits and parade herself around the city to rub elbows and kiss babies. The nation was getting restless without an heir, and most of the people who lived in the city already disapproved of having a foreigner as a Fire Lady, let alone a waterbender. They’d all wanted their daughters to marry them into the Palace. It was always a bit jarring to see the blatant resentment of her position in Caldera since the rest of the Fire Nation loved her, especially after hearing about her adventures as the Painted Lady.

She falls asleep almost instantly, face buried in Zuko’s pillow so she can still smell him like usual, but is awoken at midnight by her husband closing the door behind him. Katara is a heavy sleeper, but she and Zuko had always been so attuned to each other that it was impossible to sleep when the other was nearby and restless.

He removes his robes as she had, and pulls on a loose pair of sleep pants. Pulling back the covers to slide in next to her, he sees her and stops dead, sucking in a breath. She grins and rolls slightly to look directly at him.

“Hey hot stuff,” she croons, and immediately falls into a giggle fit as soon as she hears herself. Calming down, she takes a deep breath and looks up at Zuko.

He snorts and shakes his head, raising an eyebrow as he flicks his eyes over her naked body again. She sighs and rolls her eyes, pretending to cross her arms over her breasts and turn away until a warm hand shoots out and grabs her shoulder to hold her in place. “Not so fast,” he growls, and she grins at him through hooded eyes.

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

He’s on top of her instantly and she sighs as he kisses down her neck and shoulders, her energy renewed as a fire blooms in her belly and spreads through her body.

Nightmares continue, for both of them. Katara can’t even count how many times she’s shot up in bed choking on her tears and needed Zuko to light a few of the torches in their bedchamber and breathe in her ear, just so the vision of her not being able to save him from Azula will leave her mind. Zuko’s own dreams are haunted by his old life, and she knows he’s glad she saw the worst of him before the best.

But they love each other. They are yin and yang, fire and water, spark and shadow, and she would not have it any other way.

When she feels the blood pulsing in the veins of those around her on full moons, he listens to her fears of being a monster. He holds her and traces patterns into her skin, tells her everything he loves about her. He tells her how the first time he saw her bloodbend he thought it was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. When he is flooded with guilt at the thought of all his past wrongdoings, she admits that when he’d caught her arms, tied her to a tree, and taunted her, she had been sure he’d used his firebending to set a fire in her core and make her knees shake with anger and arousal. She braids his hair in Water Tribe fashion, smiling as he looks in the mirror and chuckles.

She remembers all those times Aang had looked at them with jealousy, or when Mai had pulled her aside and reminded her how hard being the Fire Lady would be for a girl of the Southern Water Tribe. She thinks of the dirty looks she’d gotten as she’d held his hand throughout his coronation, of angry rich Fire Nation girls her age calling her dirty and suggesting she clean the “filth” off her skin.

But then and now, always and forever, they were at each other’s sides. They were soulmates, she was sure of it. They loved each other at their lowest and brought each other to their highest, and really, there was no sort of relationship that was better.

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

Not Killing Him

Orion Crown sat in his big, mean-looking SUV in the old parking lot. The dry heat of Vegas had ripped up the asphalt here over the past years, leaving it pockmarked and littered with potholes. His own car and one other vehicle in the lot were the only ones parked there, immobile, like silent steel corpses, cooling in the shadow of some abandoned warehouse.

The thick windows shielded him from the noise of traffic in the distance, so Orion sat in a weirdly muffled silence. Staring at the entrance of the derelict warehouse with its crooked, ajar doors. He felt sick to his stomach because he had slept little more than a few hours per night and his forehead was burning up.

He picked up his phone from the passenger seat, snatching it from where it was resting next to a loaded semi-automatic pistol. He thumbed through the display, checking his recent direct messages on your social media platform of choice.

Orion Crown, social media darling and super-giant of the statusphere. He flipped through business proposal messages from other influencers, something marginally important from his YouTube video editor, and an array of annoyed passive-aggressive texts from his producer-slash-partner. He let the list slide to a stop, with this finger hovering over the display. Hovering just over the message from “The Glass King” with the preview field only saying that it contained a GIF.

The internet star dithered. He could refuse to walk into that warehouse and refuse to use that gun. His career and life would be over, though.

The alternative was sucking it up, gripping the cold metal of the pistol in his palm, walking in there, and blasting away. Didn’t matter who it was. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

Even though seeing the message’s contents disturbed him every time he reviewed it, his thumb descended in slow motion. Like time almost ground to a halt, like the universe was trying to stop him from watching it again.

He tapped the message and it flicked onto full display on his screen.

The animated GIF flashed with disturbing imagery, all of it cut so quickly and abruptly that it became impossible to take it all in. Words and symbols displayed for fractions of seconds so that the mind could not really grasp what it read, and video footage that may or may not contain clipped recordings of overt violence. Violence he, himself, had authored.

The glare of his phone reflected in Orion’s glassy eyes, pupils dilating with dread and disassociation. Knowing that he recognized some of the things presented here so subliminally and viscerally, feeling guilt even though he had always rationalized the terrible things he had done in the past.

How was anybody better? How could anybody be better?

I am not a bad person, Orion thought. Nobody is.

After watching the animated GIF loop countless times, glued to the phone’s display as if bound in a trance, he put the phone back down onto the passenger seat, a hand’s breadth away from the gun. He barely registered the words that followed far down below the window of animation.

The threats. The instructions.

The sentences that had brought him to the locker where he obtained the gun. The address of this warehouse. And his mission, to kill anybody he saw inside this place.

Why didn’t this “Glass King” person just ask for money? Why this? How did the Glass King even get that footage? It had been destroyed long ago.

None of it made any sense.

No matter how many times he mulled it over, Orion Crown—born with the more unglamorous name of Kyle Howard—his sense of self-preservation, greed, and existential dread always won out. Always looped him back to doing as he was told as long as it served his own purposes. To get this over with, and walk away, and never let anybody know of his dirty secrets.

If the Glass King put any of that out—if they aired out any of Orion Crown’s dirty laundry—then he would be out of the game. Done. Probably also in prison.

Orion looked over to the gun. Stared at it, taking in every hard and unforgiving edge and angle of its sleek industrial design.

He had before, and he pondered it again, now: to just pick it up and stick the nuzzle right into his own mouth. Pull the trigger and end it right now.

But his vanity and pride, masked with religious guilt and eclipsed by copious amounts of doublethink, led him to believe that this was the only way.

He grabbed the gun and weighed it in his hand. Orion licked his lips and they felt funny. Not chapped, but uneven. Slimy. He bit his lip and chewed without realizing it, while his gaze swept up and down the crumbling building of this damned warehouse.

In one fluid motion, he got out of his car, slammed the door shut, and walked towards the entrance of the warehouse. The heat outside his car, even here in the shade—combined with the inexplicable fever he was running—made his head swim as if he had been drinking nonstop for the past day and night.

He gripped that pistol in his fist like his life depended on it. And as far as Orion was concerned, it did.

The rusted hinges on the big metal double doors squealed and he cringed at the sound of it, freezing in place. His heart raced, his pulse thundering in his ears. Eyes darted back and forth, looking for a sign of anybody in there. Whoever had parked the other car had to be in here, and Orion’s job was to gun them down.

Something heavy, like a brick hitting a pile of rubble, echoed through the decrepit and dingy halls.

Orion’s hand jerked and he pointed the gun out in front of himself, aiming at every dark corner and little thing he could perceive. With nobody in sight, the adrenaline pumped through his body, suffusing him with a quiet rage and driving the sweat to erupt from his pores, clouding his senses and sapping his reason.

He sidled through the entrance and crept through the abandoned place, twitching at any possible sound he thought he heard and any shadow he saw in the corner of his eyes, expecting someone, anybody, to jump out at him.

Something chugged and sputtered, causing him to freeze once more. He continued sneaking on when he recognized those sounds to be coming from a gas-powered generator, hidden somewhere deeper within the warehouse’s bowels.

He kind of hoped that someone would jump out at him from a blind spot. Thinking it would be much easier to pull the trigger if it felt like self defense.

Instead, he found a large, wide, pillared hall, awaiting him at the end of a long twisting and turning through claustrophobia-inducing corridors.

Someone had arranged seven door frames in a perfect circle, bolted down with plywood feet to support their weight, sawdust and power tools littering the dirty floors, and that distinct smell of freshly cut wood hanging in the air.

Each door frame held a door, closed and looking far too new to fit into this warehouse. An array of four construction site spotlights illuminated the doors from their center, connected to a tangle of bright orange power cord extensions, leading his sweeping gaze to the generator he had been hearing chug away all this time.

The doors were just standing there, out in the open, connected to no walls. Leading nowhere.

Orion gripped the pistol in both hands, holding it outstretched far in front of himself. He had never fired a gun before in his life. Without realizing it, he both wanted the thing to be as far away as possible from himself, but also wanted to use it and for things to be over fast.

But nobody was here. Right?

Wrong.

Arriving in the center of the seven doors, he blinked and inspected a small pile of objects heaped up in between the four spotlights.

A bunch of broken smartphones, a black wig, a small cracked hand mirror, a pile of about twenty credit cards that had been sloppily cut in half, a bunch of different keys that looked far too old to fit the locks on the doors here, and all of the objects rested on top of a local city map that someone had drawn all over with a black magic marker.

A pebble crunched underneath a boot. But not Orion’s shoe. He swiveled, almost getting dizzy at his own speed as he pointed the gun at the source of the noise.

Standing only steps away from the other person, he held the pistol out and swallowed. No matter how many times he had tried to mentally prepare for this moment, he hesitated and his index finger trembled instead of squeezing around the trigger.

Nobody jumping out at him. Just standing there.

She stared into the barrel of his gun for a split second and then met his gaze. A woman in her twenties, dressed like a man. Or—at second glance—androgynous, like she was in some sort of getup for a rock or punk band from the 1990s. Clad in a ratty leather jacket and dark jeans; covered in studs on her clothing, a chain hanging from her belt, and spikes protruding from a choker around her neck; way too much makeup on her face; and a poorly-cut hair-do of shaved sides and long top that could constitute as a fashion crime.

More distracting, however, was the hand she held in her hand. Orion did a double take on that before he fully absorbed what he saw there. A waxen hand with candlewicks sticking out from the fingertips, gripped firmly in her slender hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked Orion. She squinted at him.

He squeezed the trigger. It didn’t work. The fucking gun refused to work.

Orion turned it over and looked at it and realized that it had a safety setting which he had forgotten to take care of before walking into the building.

Clink. Snap.

The woman flicked a lighter on and guided it to the waxen hand in her hand and he had flicked the safety and pointed the gun at her and the next thing Orion knew, his wrists hurt. And so did his neck. And his lower back.

Chafing against exposed skin, coarse rope and the smell of burnt candles still filled his nostrils. He began thrashing but found that his limbs did not obey his instinct to struggle against his bonds because of how tightly he was tied down. He scraped his skin against something like rough rock or rusty metal behind him.

Blinking and fighting the fever back down, the taste of iron clung to his tongue. His vision blurred here and there and reality caught back up to him with disjointed delay. She had tied him to something in sight of the circle of seven doors.

The woman crouched in front of one of the doors, her back turned to him.

With a loud PLOP, she opened something in her hands and whatever she was doing, it resulted in the door being splattered with something dark and red.

Hoarse, the words croaked out of his throat and left him sounding more like a toad. “Hey,” Orion emitted. “Let me go!”

The woman whispered something and it dawned on him that it was no response to him.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re gonna get into so much trouble if you don’t let me go,” he said. But it really was just pathetic pleading, masquerading as feeble threats. “Police’ll be all over your ass, lady.”

She continued whispering and splashed more of the dark crimson liquid over the next door, to its left.

Something crunched. It drew both Orion’s attention, and that of the woman. They both stared at the thing crawling into the large hall, emerging from the corridors he had entered from. The way they paused, paralyzed with disbelief—and the failure of the human mind’s capability to process what they were looking at—took in the thing moving along the floor.

It looked like a pile of trash, like someone had kicked over a garbage can and the contents of four weeks of refuse had spilled out over the ground. With a stench to match. But parts of it looked fleshy, or sponge-like. Wobbling but staying whole, like a block of jello. Other bits, like stalks, or tentacles, tiny and too many to count, coiling and recoiling and almost like they were looking in every direction, but seeing without any discernible eyes.

Death and evil incarnate, crawling over the filthy floors. Hungry, but slow. Creeping. Part of the world’s abandoned things, coalesced and fused into something awful, something trapped in between the realm of the living and the realm of non-existence; a vessel to something worse, something spawned in the darkest recesses and the deepest abyss of human sin. Crawling, and more than one. Another pile of living muck and vomit-inducing presence followed. And another. And another.

Rejects.

They headed towards the seven doors with painful slowness. But one of them began veering away from the rest, inching closer towards Orion.

Thwuck. Shlack. Scrape.

Orion wanted to throw up. He started wriggling, thrashing, fighting against his bonds, but none of it helped. He looked back at the woman in desperation.

She breathed through her teeth, “Shit.”

Haste colored her every movement now and she haphazardly sprayed more liquid onto the doors. One by one. She whispered all the while, though the whispers had made way to hectic chanting. Orion had no chance in understanding it, for the words sounded nothing like any language he had ever heard before.

Almost matching the sounds made by the Rejects, creeping forth.

Scrape. Flesh. Shlef. Thwuck.

The Reject crawled closer. Ever closer to him.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, first blurring his sight a little, and then a lot. Orion had no time or space to realize how that might have been better, he only felt the deep-rooted dread in his stomach. The certainty of death by this abomination, crawling up to him. Only an arm’s length away from his kicking feet.

The stench intensified as the thing got closer, robbing him of any speech, making him wretch.

Images of the GIF on his phone flashed in his mind. The violence he had inflicted, captured on camera—his own recordings, not meant for public consumption—sent to him by the Glass King.

Just like these monsters had been sent by the Glass King.

Orion screamed for help.

A figure in a long black duster emerged from the corridors, standing still at the edge of the large hall, staring at the seven doors. Orion screamed for help from him, now. But within just a few beats of his heart, pounding so hard that it wanted to burst from his chest, he knew deep down that this man was the master of the Rejects.

No—this man was the Glass King, and he cared nothing for Orion’s plight. Hell, he probably enjoyed it. Orion sensed that just much malice from the presence of his man, and his imagination ran wild in response to the evil emanating from his body, hitting his entire being like a truck.

“Will you even be you when you return from that place? If you return from the house?” asked the man, directing his words at the woman by the doors.

Cold and uncaring about Orion, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs. Because something cold and wet and slimy slapped against the bottom of his shoe. And slithered up it, tugging at shoe laces, wrapping around the leg of his pants by his ankle, and applying pressure. Pulling itself upwards.

Onto him.

The woman never stopped chanting, flinging blood at those doors and then sticking something white and misshapen into the keyhole of one of the brass knobs, exposed by the glaring cone of light from one of the spots. She stopped chanting.

“You can’t stop change. Everything changes. That’s all you’re really afraid of, isn’t it?” she shouted. Anger making her voice tremble. Also something insecure. Or fear.

She ripped the door open and ran through it and slammed it shut behind her, but she didn’t emerge from the other side.

Just gone. Vanished into thin air.

Orion had neither eyes nor mind for this phenomenon, however. He only felt the many tiny tendrils of trash touching, feeling, finding their way up his limbs. A path of disgusting discovery, exploring his body like an alien creature trying to figure out human anatomy, but in reality just so depraved and sinister that it pretended to be doing so when it fed on his festering dread and despair.

Was this what it was like to be helpless? To be used, and chewed out?

To cry for help, but be ignored?

He had no capacity left for clean, deep thoughts. Only terror filled his being. The Reject crawled up over him, exerting the weight of a full-grown person, pinning him down and amplifying his sense of helplessness.

Some part of him expected to feel tiny teeth from tiny mouths chewing away at him, but the slithering and worming motions only reflected the darkness in his own heart, mirroring the corruption that had always haunted him. His screaming died down, petering out into a hoarse unintelligible something that transformed into whimpering.

The man in the duster—the Glass King—clicked his tongue but ignored Orion, approaching the seven doors.

“You didn’t answer my question, Kimmy. You fear the answer, or you’d say it out loud,” muttered the Glass King.

Orion expected the sensation of cold metal to be cutting his flesh, but the wet something was more like saliva dispersed from tongues, oozing across his skin. He expected for those rubber bands and spongy stalks to wrap around his neck and choke the life out of him, but they only squeezed a little bit. Just enough to be uncomfortable, and just enough for the Reject to enjoy it.

It breathed on him. The Reject engulfed him, not killing him.

The man in the duster turned on his heels.

Eyes wide open, stricken with unnatural knowing accumulated from a thousand lives and a deep-seated and all-devouring madness—staring into Orion’s eyes. The Glass King’s stare reached deep inside, prying away at his secrets like a lunatic ripping away at the fabric padding lining the walls of a forgotten cell, for those crazy eyes had seen the same GIF as he had. Knew what he knew. Knew his every dirty secret.

Much worse was the grin plastered across his face. Toothy, sadistic, and stretched far too wide to look fun or what was natural for that human face.

“Oh, Kyle, my boy,” said the Glass King, with the grin never wiping itself off his face. “You had one job and you bungled it. But no worries, I still have use for you. Your name, your reputation—your face. Enough mojo there for me to milk for a far greater purpose. Good on you for at least coming here, huh?”

The Glass King took a few steps closer towards Orion. Neared. Menace echoing with each step of his boots thumping against the dirty floor.

Orion wasn’t even whimpering anymore. Before a sheet of paper with something cold and wet and fleshy clinging to its underside had fully crept up the side of his face and covered it—before he closed his eyes and lost sight—he wanted to protest.

But he had no words.

Some part of him, matched only by his urge to vomit, knew he deserved this. Every second of it.

The Reject breathed on him, hot and damp and unpleasant. It almost entirely engulfed him, satisfied with the almost.

Not killing him.

—Submitted by Wratts

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hergrim · 4 years

Text

Estimates of troop strengths in the Wot5K - A Game of Thrones

Introduction

One of several projects I’m working on at the moment is an analysis of the War of the Five Kings from a purely medieval military history point of view, taking a somewhat more critical view of the various commanders and their actions than is usual. Part of the ongoing process has been estimating the troop strengths and, where possible, the composition of armies. Since these calculations would derail any essay, I’ve decided to edit my notes into something resembling coherent thought and post them here, so I can just refer to them when I publish the essays.

Originally the essay series I’m working on was focused entirely on Robb, but it has now expanded to encompass the war more generally. As such, this first post will just be about the troop counts and army compositions featured in A Game of Thrones. As I do more on Renly, Stannis and Balon, I’ll post some estimates for A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords.

Robb Stark and the Northern host

The numbers given for Robb’s army in the ASOIAF wiki are actually what started me on the process of providing my own estimates for the various armies, as I think it makes a few significant methodological errors in the process, which has a knock on effect for how Robb’s decisions need to be interpreted. Primarily, I disagree with the numbers given for Robb at Moat Cailin and the breakdown of infantry vs cavalry.

Robb's initial Northern force consists of 19,500 men (AGOT, Catelyn VII), with slightly more than 1/4 being heavy cavalry (AGOT, Bran VI gives the figures of 3,300-3,400 heavy cavalry out of an initial muster of 12,000). This would suggest ~14,500 infantry and ~5,000 heavy cavalry in his Northern host.

Starting with with Bran VI, I have a slightly different interpretation of Maester Luwin’s breakdown of the heavy cavalry. His explanation of the numbers to Bran is that there are “Three hundred, perhaps four [hundred]” knights “among three thousand armored lances who are not knights.” The original calculator has taken this to mean that there are 300-400 knights in addition to the other 3000 heavy cavalry, and this is a perfectly valid interpretation of the sentence. However, I believe that Luwin’s use of “among” signals that the knights should be taken as part of the 3000, not as an addition to them for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, GRRM uses “among” in an inclusive sense elsewhere in AGOT. When Tyrion thinks on the Field of Fire, for instance, King Mern is “among” the 4000 men burned, not the 4001st man to be burnt, and Ned Stark thinks on the fact that he’d never spoken to Gregor during Greyjoy’s Rebellion because he was just “one knight among thousands”. So, while Luwin’s phrasing can be interpreted as meaning that the knights are there in addition to the other heavy horse, I think GRRM’s general use of “among” as an inclusive term means that they are intended to be included among the 3000 heavy horse, not separated from them.

Secondly, while the proportion of heavy horse gathered at Winterfell would be quite large even with the knights as part of the 3000, the general trend of what individual contingents we see is of very low proportions of heavy horse; just 13% of the Karstark forces is heavy horse (300 out of 2300), Roose has 500 mounted men (14%) out of 3500 men just before the Red Wedding (ASOS, Catelyn VI) and, in spite of having the highest number of landed knights, the Manderlys only send 240 horse (16% of 1500 men) to join Robb at Moat Cailin (AGOT, Catelyn VII). This general trend of low numbers of cavalry suggests to me that, when the numbers of cavalry can be taken in two ways, the smallest option should be taken.

This leads to the second major disagreement I have with the wiki’s army size estimates: the assumption that the 1500 Manderly men in Catelyn VII are in addition to the 18 000 men that Robb already has, not the contingent that brings Robb’s forces up to 18 000. This is a number that I’m more confident of; Robb’s statement that his "whole army” is 18 000 men strong comes well after the Manderlys have arrived, and the use of ravens for communications likely means that Robb knew how large the Manderly force was going to be shortly after they left White Harbour.

The reduction of Robb’s army to 18 000 total men and the reassessment of typical contingents from slightly over 25% cavalry to 13-16% cavalry also requires a lowering of the total cavalry from ~5000 at Moat Cailin to a maximum of 4000 cavalry. The number of foot, however, doesn’t need to be significantly reduced.

There are some references to Robb having 20 000 men (AGOT, Catelyn IX; ACOK, Catelyn II), which would better fit the wiki’s figure of 19 500 men. The problem is that we also hear of there being six thousand men with Robb at the Whispering Woods (AGOT, Catelyn X), which is far too few if we go with the wiki’s number of 5000 Northern cavalry for Robb. Between the Freys, the Mallisters (see below) and the other scattered Riverland remnants who join Robb, he’d have near enough to 7000 cavalry by the time of the Whispering Woods, and he wouldn’t be outnumbered by Jaime by 3:1, but by 2:1 (AGOT, Catelyn X).

My way of resolving this conflict is to suggest that both instances of people saying Robb having 20 000 men were exaggerations, not accurate accountings of size. In the first instance, Catelyn is angry with Lord Frey and is threatening him with the size of Robb’s army. In this scenario, claiming that there are “twenty thousand men” outside of Lord Walder’s walls is easier to say than “eighteen thousand men”, being a rounder number, and is also more threatening because it increases the size of Robb’s army. In the second instance, Renly is summarizing reports he has received of Robb’s strength, and there is plenty of room for errors to creep into these reports and for Renly to be generous in his estimates of Robb’s strength, as it only emphasizes the disparity in strength between Robb and Renly if Robb has fewer troops than Renly allows for (which he does).

On the other hand, Robb’s statement that he has 18 000 men occurs long enough after the Manderlys have arrived for him to have factored their force into his calculations and Catelyn is present with Robb at the Whispering Woods and should have a good idea of his strength. This is supported by Galbart Glover’s estimate of Jaime’s 14-15 000 men outnumbering Robb’s force by three to one. If Lord Glover is assuming that Jaime has 15 000 men, and Robb 6000 men, then Jaime outnumbers Robb by 2.5:1 which, rounded up, would be three to one. Additionally, Catelyn may have been overstating Robb’s numbers in her mind for exaggeration and contrast between his bodyguard of 30 and his army of 6000, neither of which she is certain can protect him from harm. Robb may well have had 5500-5750 men rather than 6000, which pushes the degree to which his is outnumbered by closer to three to one.

I think this proposal reconciles the contradictions in the text and offers support for my “low count” of 18 000 men. After all, if Galbart Glover is rounding up to 3 for effect, then why can’t Catelyn or Renly do the same?

Tywin’s army at the Green Fork

The size of Tywin’s army at the battle on the Green Fork is one of the few armies that we have a mostly reliable estimate for. Chella estimates it at twenty thousand men, “by their fires” and, based on the area the camp occupies, Tyrion thinks that she can’t be far wrong (AGOT, Tyrion VII). This is further reinforced in the next of Tyrion’s chapters where, after having settled in, he calls it a ”vast host twenty thousand strong”.

The one minor caveat here is that we don’t know how many men were with Addam Marbrand scouting Robb’s approach. The Neck is something in the order of 370 miles away from the Ruby Ford and the crossroads, which is 15 days of hard riding and 21-22 days of fast, horse preserving, riding. Marbrand is definitely operating quite near the Neck, as a number of his outriders are killed immediately after Robb debouches into the Riverlands, so there was an expectation that he would be facing down Robb’s army at some point and that means a sizeable force for protection during the retreat downriver to Tywin. There’s also evidence of skirmishing between Marbrand and Walder Frey’s forces, which relates to another point: the scouting force needed to be large enough to give Walder reason to pause and not immediately attack if he saw an opportunity.

Given the speed of communications between Marbrand and Tywin and the distance between the two forces, it’s likely that at least one castle with a resident Maester had been taken by Marbrand near Frey lands in order to reduce the delay in communication. While we haven’t heard of a such a castle being taken, it’s the only way that the message for Marbrand to return to Tywin, burning and harassing the Northern army, so soon after it entered the Riverlands.

Medieval scouting parties could range between dozens of men all the way up to several hundred men, largely depending on how far they were operating from their own army and how much opposition they expected to face. One of the largest forces was William Felton’s scouting/deeds of derring-do party prior to the Battle of Nájera, which had somewhere between four and five hundred men, approximately 200 of whom were men-at-arms and the remainder were mounted archers. This is probably the minimum size of Marbrand’s scouting force, although it would be mostly cavalry as mounted archers barely exist in ASOIAF, and I suspect that six or seven hundred men would be more likely based on the need to capture a castle for communications and then skirmish during the retreat.

Combined with Tyrion’s force, Marbrand’s scouting party might well raise Tywin’s army to 21 000 men rather than 20 000, especially if Tyrion and Chella were being conservative in their estimates of the army size and it was more than 20 000 strong.

This caveat aside, the important thing about Tywin’s army is that, unlike most armies in ASOIAF, we can create a fairly accurate breakdown of the army’s composition thanks to the detail GRRM goes into in describing the Battle on the Green Fork. He lists a total of 6800 cavalry (4000 on the right wing, 300 in the center and 2500 in reserve) and 2500 infantry (in reserve). From these figures, the mention of what the other troop types are and the overall size of the army, we can reconstruct the rest of the army.

Starting with the conventional 20 000 number to be conservative, we can remove 9300 men straight away, leaving us with 10 700 men. Of these, perhaps a thousand form the “swarming mass” that makes up the vanguard, as it’s likely that the “thousand other voices” screaming back at Gregor excludes Tyrion’s clansmen - any fewer and it’s hard to describe it as a “swarming mass” of low quality cavalry. This leaves us with 9 700 men to account for.

The center of Twyin’s army is made up of “squares” of pikemen flanked on either side by “three long lines” of archers, with “rank on rank” of men-at-arms behind the archers and a reserve of 300 knights. This is where we fully enter the realms of speculation.

To begin with, we don’t know what exactly is meant by “squares” of pikemen. Medieval pike columns could contain as many as 6000 men, while early modern squares might have as few as 100, so any size estimate is going to involve a lot of guesswork. I’ve gone back and forward about how to interpret this phrase and have finally decided to treat the “squares” as distinct units for the purposes of command, but tactically in a similar manner to 15th century dismounted men-at-arms. As a result, I’m estimating their strength as 250 men - to be deployed 10 deep - and their total number to be 3000 men (12 pike squares). This allows for a reasonable width of line in the center (300 yards), but also adequate depth to resist cavalry charges.

Estimates for the archers and men-at-arms follow directly on from this. The archers need to be in thousands because, as Philippe de Commynes points out, they’re only useful when employed in such numbers. Given that fully half of Jaime’s infantry are archers, I’m inclined to assign 4000 archers and 2700 men-at-arms to Tywin so that his overall archer to footsoldier ratio is about 1:2. The archers, each occupying a space of three feet, would occupy 667 yards on either side of the pikes and the men-at-arms, each occupying four and a half foot, would have the same frontage, but double the depth (6 ranks).

In all, I believe a conservative estimate of Tywin’s numbers, not counting Tyrion’s Clansmen, to be 7800 cavalry, 3000 pikemen, 2700 men-at-arms, 4000 archers and 2500 other infantry of an indeterminate type.

The Mallister forces

The number of men Jason Mallister can field, in spite of his importance during Robb’s initial campaign and later at the Battle of the Fords, has yet to be mentioned. While I’ve seen a number of estimates, with numbers as low as 1500-2000 men, the best estimate I’ve seen to date has been @racefortheironthrone‘s estimate in his Chapter-by-Chapter analysis of A Game of Thrones.

However, some interesting information in Fire and Blood has caused me to rethink the relative military power of House Mallister, and I believe I’ve also found a semi-reliable method of estimating their forces. The particular passage can be found in the chapter titled “Aftermath - The Hour of the Wolf” and runs thus:

House Tully was unique amongst the great houses of Westeros. Aegon the Conqueror had made them the Lords Paramount of the Trident, yet in many ways they continued to be overshadowed by many of their own bannermen. The Brackens, the Blackwoods, and the Vances all ruled wider domains and could field much larger armies, as could the upstart Freys of the Twins. The Mallisters of Seagard had a prouder lineage, the Mootons of Maidenpool were far wealthier, and Harrenhal, even cursed and blasted and in ruins, remained a more formidable castle than Riverrun, and ten times the size besides.

The main point of interest is that the four military powerhouses of the Riverlands are the Brackens, the Blackwoods, the Vances and the Freys, while the Mallisters are excluded from this list. Instead, they are singled out as having a better pedigree than the Tullys which, although not excluding them from having marginally larger armies than their overlords, does quite firmly give them fewer men than House Frey.

In re-examining the question of Mallister manpower, I was inspired by @racefortheironthrone‘s comment that Jason Mallister must have had substantial forces, as his men covered four fords by themselves. Since we know roughly how many infantry Edmure was working with (8000, ACOK Catelyn V) and the minimum number of fords (12, ACOK Catelyn VI), we can get a reasonable maximum number of Mallister strength by assuming that all fords had an equal number of defenders and that there were only twelve being defended. This provides a maximum number of 2664 infantry and, based on typical Riverland horse to foot ratios, about 890 horse, for a total of 3554 men.

These are, however, maximum numbers. While the ford nearest to Riverrun is very broad and at least 50 yards wide (ACOK, Catelyn VI), it’s likely that the other fords were much narrower and more easily defended. It’s also probable that there were more than a dozen fords, and that Tywin was simply trying to break through a broad stretch of the river rather than overwhelm every ford.

Based on the number of men stationed at the Blanchetaque by the French during the Crecy campaign (3500) and probable English numbers by that point (12-13 000), I would say that medieval commanders expected that someone attacking a ford needed an advantage of at least four to one to succeed. As Tywin can’t have had above 16 000 men at this point in the campaign and, being a cautious man who preferred to significantly outnumber his enemies, likely aimed to have an advantage of 5:1 over the defenders, the minimum number of men for House Mallister can be calculated as 1070 infantry and 357 cavalry, or 1427 men total.

This means there’s a difference of 2100 men between the maximum and minimum estimates, but I think we can discard anything close to the minimum number.

Firstly, the Mallisters are clearly a powerful house, even if they aren’t one of the four military powers of the Riverlands. There’s no reason to suspect that they are significantly less powerful than House Tully, which must be capable of raising at least a couple of thousand men, and they may still even exceed the Tullys in military might given House Tully’s typical weakness compared to their lords.

Secondly, the Mallisters saw off what, if not an attack by the main Ironborn fleet, was at least a major assault by the Ironborn during Greyjoy’s Rebellion and were placed in charge of what was probably one of the largest fords across the Red Fork. You don’t fend off even part of the Iron Fleet or get selected to defend a ford at least fifty yards across unless you can bring a lot of men to bear in the defense of these fords.

Ultimately, I don’t see the Mallisters having much fewer than 2000 foot and 668 heavy horse. As I like round numbers and don’t believe the Mallisters have as many men as the maximum calculation provides, I’m going to give them a total of 3000 men as an optimistic estimate, divided between 2250 foot and 750 heavy horse. This makes them quite a powerful house militarily, but keeps them sufficiently under the minimum army size for a Riverlands powerhouse (4000) that they noticeably fall short of this status.

#asoiaf #army size

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ghostspouse · 4 years

Note

Hi, I noticed you said tradfems are unwelcome. I don't know what those are. Would you explain what it is and why it's bad?

You’re the second person to ask this question so I’ll give an introduction; though this isn’t a subject that I want to discuss in depth in the future. Be warned: this is a long post! I wanted to be as thorough and as accessible as possible.

Tradfem stands for ‘traditional femininity’. Tradfems are female white supremacists - although they might call themselves some other variation of that in the way that white supremacists often do. They all essentially believe in around the same thing so to discuss the disparities between all of them during casual conversation makes no sense to me.

They’re obviously incredibly right wing and they’re typically Christian extremists. I’ve come across a few that’re atheists, pagans, agnostic, or unidentified but I think it’s safe to say that Christians dominate this particular scene. That being said: the core themes surrounding tradfems beliefs are patriarchal values and anti women’s rights. The whole ‘traditional’ part of the name comes from the fact that they believe in the traditional, ‘A woman’s place is at home. She should be docile, wearing dresses and skirts, performing her duty to look pretty. A woman’s place doesn’t permit her to be educated or with a job because her only job should be to bear children, keep the house clean, cook every meal, take care of the entire family, perform all chores all the while obeying and serving their husbands.’ mindset.

Variations among tradfems:

Religion: As I said before - it’s a Christian dominated community but some may come from other religions and some might be atheists.

Views on gay people: With the variation of religion comes the variation of views on gay people. Some are hard right homophobes (gay people shouldn’t exist, they’re deviants, etc). Some think it’s not a choice but that “homosexuality still isn’t right/is a sin.” Some think that gay people are okay but shouldn’t be allowed to get married, etc etc. I think I even saw a bisexual tradfem woman who believed in strictly being with men. So this stuff varies.

Views on women:

There are quite a few different ideas when it comes to tradfems and women. Most tumblr communities are jumbled up like that.

❁ Some try to pass of some psuedo ‘both the man and the woman have powers in the relationship’ messages but in that Christian way where it’s like…that sounds nice but in that situation fundamentally the woman still suffers from the massive power imbalance in this situation.

❁ A lot just straight up state that they believe women are subservient to men and that men are superior.

❁ Again, relating to the discrepancies in religion: Some believe in divorce; some think it’s against the natural way. Some think sex for either the husband or wife before marriage is bad. Some think it’s okay for the man. Some think it’s okay for both. Etc etc.

❁ Some think women should only be in skirts and dresses. Some think pants are fine. Some think women should always wear makeup. Some think women should never wear makeup.

❁ Some claim that not every woman needs to live this way and that being a tradfem is just their personal decision. This one I want to address because it’s often insidiously coated in progressive language where it’s viewed as “empowering” which in this day and age just means confidence boosting but that’s a separate issue. This is not a viable excuse to me. When you’re associating yourself with hate groups, when you’re still pushing harmful messages about women, when you’re still reposting messages that would imply that you believe it should be all women, and most importantly when you support people who believe it should be all women - your claim is no longer acceptable. It simply isn’t. Materially speaking that claim means nothing.

Race: There are variations when it comes to tradfems and race.

❀ A lot are white supremacists who believe in saving the white race, preserving the white race, what have you. Within that group - some believe in genocide of nonwhites, some believe in basically slavery and segregation, and some believe in “coexisting and not much else”.

❀ Some aren’t white supremacists but think race mixing is unnatural and believe in other racial myths.❀ Some claim not to hold any racist views at all and claim to be open to all races. A lot of these people still interact with and support tradfems who do so again it’s kinda meaningless. Even if it were true though, their views on women still make me Mighty Uncomfortable.

Why even mention tradfems on this blog?

Simple! A lot of tradfems use the cottagecore/woodsy/nature/homely aesthetic for their blogs. It fits into the whole, “being natural, being traditional, rejecting modernity” thing they got going on. So frequently I end up having to block those types of blogs and, well, why not create a DNI intro beforehand and save both of us the time and trouble? I highly doubt any of these tradfem blogs would want to follow me if they knew my identity anyways lol.

Overall their views on women make me extremely uncomfortable if not downright livid. I don’t think it’s that outrageous for me not to want to have to interact with literal white supremacists and their sympathizers. I certainly don’t want tradfems to use the innocent images that I post in an attempt to soften the appearance of what their community believes in. I think that that’s how they normalize their entire existence and slowly hook people in.

As for the, “I don’t want to discuss this in depth in the future.” part, please note:I think these conversations are important to be had and I’m not one to advocate for just closing your eyes and covering your ears to news that you don’t like. I’m actually pretty political in person and on my other blogs. But I’d like to keep this blog with as few text posts as possible and as impersonal (for now) as possible.

TLDR: Tradfems are basically conservative right wing white supremacists.

#lylathewise #long post #directory #rip mobile users I tried

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fandom-necromancer · 5 years

Text

248. Come back home

The perfect @valyurse has decided it’s time for angst XD Really, had a blast writing this, I am just a bit stressed at the moment. Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warning: attempted double murder, being remote controlled, temporary heartbreak)

No one knew how Nines fit into Amanda's plan to stop deviancy. He was never officially activated and when Markus and Connor freed him from the Cyberlife tower there had been next to no resistance to deviancy. The RK900 had started working at the DPD, was well respected due to his politeness and intellect and even managed to fall for an overly sarcastic human with no self preservation. But that very human now realised none of that had been important. Because this before him wasn't Nines. This was a cold analytic machine without any sort of hesitance when it came to its mission.

The RK900 stood before Connor, arm outstretched and pistol ready to fire, held in a stalemate only by the respective guns of North and Hank pointed at his head and thirium pump. Gavin had been swiped to the side when Nines had changed and had not yet managed to get back to his feet. His whole body hurt - not from the impact on the floor but from what he saw before his eyes. What the hell happened? And when did it happen? Just now, or had that all just been an elaborate plan to fool them all?

'Put the gun down, Nines,' Hank ordered unusually calm for the fact that the machine was threatening his partner, son or whatever weird relationship these two had. 'Connor told me he had been in a similar position, too. You can break your code! You can resist it! Fight it!' ‘Oh, Hank, you always think you know everything, right?’ There was a humourless smile on the android’s face. ‘I am entirely different than your puppy over there.’ ‘Nines, there is no reason for you to kill me!’, Connor interrupted. ‘The revolution is over, we won. Don’t throw away everything you build up, everything you worked for.’ ‘Oh, Connor, aren’t you just adorable? An obsolete model trying to plead for its life, when there is no chance at surviving. Really, I pity you for sinking this deep. Now put your guns down so I can end his misery.’ ‘You shut your mouth, asshole’, North threatened. ‘Imagining we had a traitor among us all the time… God I want to throw up every drop of thirium I have in my system because I feel infected around you.’ Nines winked at her. ‘Felt the same living next to you all these years, waiting for the perfect moment to get rid of him. Besides, Connor, I didn’t build up anything. I simply waited in the backseat for the right moment. And it has arrived right now.’

‘You stupid phcking machine.’ Gavin had managed to stand up, but he still felt hollow and aching everywhere. ‘So this really was just a game for you? Why put up all the effort? Why fake loving me? Why pretending to like me, why making me trust you, why? You had your fun, yes? Let your stupid human toy fall from one moment to the next, because there is something better? Got bored killing someone slowly piece by piece so now you opt to putting a bullet through their brain? Tell me why!’ Gavin was too angry for tears, but he felt them coming up slowly. The android didn’t even look at him. ‘It was necessary to stay low. Surely someone who is in love with a human wouldn’t go on a killing spree right? No one expected it.’ ‘Why me?’ In the silence that spread after the broken words his phone chimed. He ignored the message. ‘You were the perfect tool. Hurt enough to accept anyone who was willing to put up with you. Secluded enough so I didn’t have to interact with others. Focussed on work enough to not even recognise when I took control and scouted the area. The perfect tool.’ There came the tears. He knew these thoughts. He remembered talking to Nines about them one night, being answered by this soft loving voice that he was wrong. That the android loved him with all his mechanical heart could give and that it made him sad Gavin thought about himself that way. The man had believed him. He had believed his lies, had embraced that fake warmth. Finally, something had gone right in his life. And now he had fallen from his high, old scars ripped open anew and bleeding out on the ground. He went numb. He didn’t care whether Connor died. He didn’t even care whether someone killed him. All his thoughts circled around their moments together. Should he have noticed? Could he have overseen something? His phone chimed again.

Hell. Why not. Couldn’t get any worse now.

16:34> G@/in -__ n33q hlp//.dll 16:39> n0\ tru´´. n0\ me

It chimed again.

16:40> plsee_-´’ hlp. N0\ me11 l0v% you

Gavin stared at the gibberish messages. Then suddenly it clicked and Gavin stared at the machine terrified.

16:41> buri3dt him. Th0ght d34d. pshd me__| Aw@-y. D0wn. 16:41>G@/in////help

‘No.’ It came out so silent when he wanted to scream from the top of his lungs. ‘You will not get him!’ ‘Did you say something, idiot?’ ‘What did you do to him?’ ‘To whom? You don’t understand. The Nines you knew isn’t anymore. It’s only me! And I will eradicate every last deviant, beginning with that idiot of a brother!’ ‘Nines, if you hear me, I got the message! Hang in there!’ ‘That is of no use, human! This isn’t a fucking movie.’

16:42>G@/in. I-I-IIIIIIII l0v yu. He$ del3tIng me 16:43>Ga/in. Love you. St0p h\m. Kill me!-_´´

‘No, Nines, hang in there!’ Hank looked at him as if he was going crazy, pistol still trained on the android’s thirium pump. ‘He won’t come back, human. He is weak. Just like the others. And I’ll prove it. Soon he can’t stop me anymore.’

16:45>Gv. Can/ keep frm shoot-__\ kill mm| D0n’t want this. K/ll me==- pls

Gavin looked at the finger at the trigger. It was shaking heavily. The android’s LED was a hot red. It was struggling. North and Hank could still shoot it. Safe Connor. But Nines was fighting in there. Wishing to die rather than kill his brother. Not this time. Gavin would be selfish this time.

He jumped the android from where he stood. While he wasn’t tall or had the weight, he had the strength and the surprise on his side. He brought the RK900 to fall. Gavin tried to subdue the machine, but the inhuman abilities of the thing were no match for him. Before he could think of it, he was pinned to the ground, a hand over his throat pressing down. He looked up into Nines’ face who had already lifted his arm again, keeping up the stalemate, now having two lives under his control.

Gavin struggled to breathe as the air was being cut off by the unrelenting metal hand. But he could see the struggle now: The whole arm was shaking, the grip around his throat was tightening and loosening constantly. Nines was fighting back. He was still in there and hadn’t given up yet. ‘Nines. You are doing great. Keep it up. Come back here. Fight him. Come back home to me. I believe in you.’ The hand clenched stronger around his neck, the pain becoming to much until he wasn’t able to speak anymore. He saw black circles dancing across his vision. That was when he realised, he could die today. He would die by the hands of the one he loved. No. This wasn’t his Nines. This was Cyberlife’s Nines. This was what they designed him to be. He lifted a weak, trembling hand and brushed over the other’s cheek. His Nines was still in there. And he would win. There was no one stronger than him, he would win this fight. And he would come back to him. He would come save him and they would go home. Watch a movie. Cuddle. Never again get out into a world that wanted something like this to happen.

There was the clutter of a gun hitting concrete. Suddenly there was air. Suddenly, there was someone pushing him into a position better suited for coughing his lungs out. Suddenly, there were warm, careful hands and strong arms wrapping around him and blue stained tears soaking his clothes.

Suddenly, there was his Nines again.

#Detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #Gavin Reed #RK900 #I really like torturing my boys #stress makes me write angsty stuff #will be better tomorrow #I need a damn vacation

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crazyrandomfucker · 4 years

Text

Marichat May Day 15:

Summary:

The story behind Chat Noir becoming friends with Marin after accepting him for who he really was, and not the disorted image he had initially formed in the beginning.

----------

If Chat Noir had to pinpoint when did his friendship with Marin truly began and when had he finally buried the hatchet, he would most likely choose that time when Marin got himself under an akuma's attack and stubbornly kept himself on danger just to look for someone he wasn't even friends with: Adrien Agreste, a.k.a. his rival of sorts and also Chat Noir on his free time. The story went pretty much like most akuma incidents: Someone was feeling rather sad, Hawk Moth decided to manipulate those feelings to turn the victim into a fearful akuma and the akumacaused havoc. The only difference? The akuma was attacking a fashion show.

That day, Marin was working as Adrienne's personal designer and was outside of the building with Adrienne when the akuma attacked. People went out panicking, some shouting that the akuma had trapped the male models on the changing rooms, others proclaiming that the akuma was turning the models in marble and even some people was saying that Chat Noir was already on scene but that he was getting beaten up without any reinforcements. Worried about it, Marin escorted Adrienne into the limousine were her bodyguard Orangutan could keep an eye on her while Marin rushed in to check if there were people trapped inside of the building, but not before sending a message to Ladybug.

He went inside the building and saw lots of marble statues, comfirming one of the things he had heard. Then, he turned his head just in time to see a flying Chat Noir coming at him backwards. Marin reacted on time to get out of his way and got a good look of the akuma. The akuma was a strange sort of black dragon-like snake with golden greek decorations along it's body, its size roughly about nine meters and it had some dangerously-looking spit falling out of his mouth. Marin quicklydid a barrel roll and pushed Chat Noir when he saw that the akuma was about to spit out something, barely managing to evade an attack.

"What are you doing in here?! Get out of here!" says Chat Noir as he stands and launches himself to attack the akuma.

"I can't! There are people trapped! I'm going to try to get them out!" says Marin as he runs away into a hallway.

"Dammit Marin! This is not the time to play hero! You have to remain safe for Ladybug and Lordbug, remember?!" says Chat Noir pursuing Marin.

"I am Drakon! I will turn the beauty of everyne into stone to preserve it forever!" roars the akuma, but is ignored y the boys.

"I'm not waiting with my arms crossed until everything finishes! There are people trpped that could get injured as colateral damage during your fight!" says Marin. "The lucky charm can't heal physical injuries!"

"That's why you have to get out of here! If you die while I'm battling the akuma, you'll be dead forever!" says Chat parrying the tail of the monster.

"Then focus on mister scaly back there! I'm trying to evade dangerous spots, but if you pursue me it will come towards me as well!" says Marin.

"Then get the hell out of here! What is so important to risk your life like this?!" asks Chat dodgin a spit attack.

"People lives are important! And there is some people in there that are important for someone I know! If I didn't help him I know about at least six people who'd get sad" says Marin zig-zagging between statues.

"Who is that guy that he's so important?!" asks Chat Noir.

"Someone I don't get along with! But my sister, my friends and his sisters would be in pain if something happened to him! He's the model boy, Adrien Agreste!" says Marin.

"And you're risking yourself to save him! You don't even like him at all!" complains Chat Noir before jumping onto the monster, trying to distract it.

"We may not be in the best terms! But if I did nothing to help him I'd be garbage that doesn't deserves to live!" says Marin.

Chat was for one second moved, thinking once again that maybe he was mistaken with Marin, but he had to focus again on attacking and distracting the akuma. Marin got to the changing rooms where the male models where supposed to be, but the entrance was filled with the remaingings of the ceiling, making it impossible to open the doors. Pleads from the models could be heard from inside, some of them even crying out loud and banging the doors without doing anything. Marin began to search for something to move the detritus with, but he heard the akuma roaring, saw Chat Noir pass him by flying against a wall and had seconds to react and to evade an atack from the beast, which cleared the detritus. but the akuma was now blocking the entrance instead.

In a desperate attempt to catch the attention from Drakon so it wouldn't enter the changing rooms and attack all the models, Marin throwed a rock to it's head, making it loose balance for a second. But the akuma recovered quickly and turned it's head towards Marin, glaring at the boy and hissing. The akuma moved its head back to prepare to jump towards Marin and swallow him whole, openning wide it's mouth, but Chat Noir charged at it using his baton as a spear and effectively knocked away the akuma, who forgot about Marin and began to pursue Chat Noir in an angerous fit. Marin took the opportunity and opened the doors of the changing rooms wide open, instructing the models to get out safely and searching inside the room for Adrien to no avail. He began to run inside the building as he tried to phone Adrien, always getting the voicemail instead.

Desperate, Marin searches the whole building, stopping by any statue that might resemble Adrien to check if it's him without achieving anything. Then Chat Noir, Ladybug and the akuma burst through the ceiling. The akuma spins and hits Chat Noir with its tail, sending him flying again, but this time making him hit Marin and both guys end up flying to one of the hallways, straight into some soffa. Chat Noir gets up and shakes his body, making several of his bones crack,, before he turns around and flips when he sees Marin on the soffa. Worried, Chat Noir inspects Marin to see if he has any injury.

"I'm okay, thank you for worrying" says Marin. "I'm sorry I didn't react quickly enough to evade you".

"What the hell are you saying! And why are you still in here!" says Chat Noir still inspecting Marin.

"It's Adrien, he wasn't on the changing room and he doesn't answers the phone" explains Marin. "I was looking for him when you bursted through the ceiling".

"I think I saw him getting outside" says Chat making up an excuse. "You should quickly get out of here as well. We'll distract the akuma, so use the stairs and leave the building as soon as you can, I don't think this building will last long thanks to the akuma's sturdy and heavy body".

"Are you sure that you saw him? You're not just telling me so to make me leave?" says Marin.

"God Marin! Don't be so stubborn and leave! I know it was him! Blond hair, dark green jacket, black jeans, white shirt with a black tie. Sounds familiar?" says Chat descriving the outfit that he was wearing as a civilian.

"Okey, I'll trust you then. Good luck with that akuma" says Marin giving a pat to Chat's back before running away.

"I was definitely wrong about him" mumbles Chat Noir to himself. "He's no gold digger, he's a madman!"

-------------------

After defeating the akuma and having used Ladybug's Miraculous Cure, the heroes took some moments to escort back some people that were participating in the fashion show. But Chat Noir disappeard midway and appeared behind Marin to take him to the bathrooms. Chat Noir gave Marin a note and then fled through the bathroom's window as his miraculous beeped for the fourth time. On the note, Chat Noir simply said that he'd pass by Marin's rooftop that same night, also hinting that maybe he'd take Marin invitations from a while ago to play cookies and eat some treats. Marin was amused by it as he returned to Adrienne's side, who was quite curious about Marin's satisfied smirk.

That same night, Chat Noir stopped by on Marin's rooftop after having patrol with Ladybug, as he had promised Marin. He saw that the trapdoor to Marin's bedroom wa open and he smelled the appealing scent of cinnamom, honey, apples and baked goods. Chat Noir knocked on the trapdoor before entering, to make sure that he wouldn't scare off Marin or interrupt anything, but Marin simply told him to come inside. Without having a chat about the akuma incident of the day or aything else, Marin offered a controller to Chat Noir and engaged on some rounds of UMS, both boys winning some of the matches and enjoying playing against the other as if they were two childhood friends playing games together.

After playing and devouring the trait filled with pastries that Marin had prepared, Chat Noir looked seriously at Marin's eyes. "I must say Marin, that I'm sorry".

"For what?" asks Marin.

"For having a wrong impression about you and not trusting on you" says Chat Noir. "This morning you proved to me that you're a great guy who literally puts his life at stake in order to save other people".

"Thank you I guess" says Marin. "I guess I'm happy to know that your opinion on me has improved".

"Well, if I had any doubts left about you, after having so much fun playing games with you they are all gone" says Chat Noir. "Plus, you proved to be a great friend this morning, worrying about the brother of your friend".

"Don't tell him, but I actually respect him quite a lot for thekind-hearted type of guy he is" says Marin.

"Then why are you on bad terms with him?" asks Chat Noir curious.

"Let's just say that someone close to me is in love with him" says Marin. "And I don't want her to confess to him and get hurt if he rejects her".

"Wait, that's your reason?" says Chat surprised.

"Yeah, I would never like to see someone dear to me be hurt because of someone who doesn't knows how to express his feelings correctly" says Marin. "Like, there is ths girl in his class that clings to him and makes him uncomfortable, but he didn't tells her off. He should opnely tell her that it's making him feel uneasy".

"I'd never had thought that your whole relationship with Adrien was based on his lack for expressing himself and your protectiviness" says Chat, reevaluating a lot of the things that had happened along the years.

"Well, I think that if it wasn't for that we could be great friends" says Marin. "We share a lot of things in common and as my sister and Adrienne say, we're both equally dumb".

"I'm sure you could be great friends. I think I'm beginning to see why Lordbug values you as a friend" says Chat Noir.

"Thank you" says Marin. "You know, we could be friends as well".

"You know what? It doesn't sounds bad to me" says Chat Noir and offers his hand. "What do you say? Are we pals now?"

"Of course" says Marin taking his hand and giving him a determined handshake.

And just like that, a lasting friendship flourished between both boys, not simply being pals, but respecting ach other as men. Sure, they didn't have the bromance Marin had with Alen, but it was still a great friendship that both of them valued a lot.

#marichatmay2020 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous au #Twins!Au #miraculous fanfic

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miraculousbuebird · 6 years

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The Way It Goes Ch. 3

Wow! I’m so touched people are enjoying this. This will be the last time I update three days in a row for a bit unless I get some serious inspiration. The next update will take place on Saturday, the first of December! As usual, if you like it comment, message, reblog! Let me know your thoughts please. Now, on with the show!

Chloe shifted in her seat waiting for the class to come back. Though she would continuously sit with Marinette, Marinette wasn’t there, so she claimed her seat by Sabrina for a bit. Ms. Bustier said that it was fine for today, but only until Marinette came back. While she waited, her thoughts drifted to Kagami. The girl had seemed worried about Marinette when she overheard her telling the class off. The two didn’t have the best history, but Kagami knew that it was out of character for her. A stranger knew Marinette better than people who swear they love her. Chloe snorted; remembering why Kagami wasn’t the biggest fan of Marinette.

“I may not like Marinette, but it was odd of her to be so angry at the class.” Kagami said as the two sat outside their classrooms.

“Why don’t you like Marinette? Everybody loves Marinette… well usually. And except Lila and past me.” Chloe questioned with a sheepish grin.

“I’m not a fan of anybody who plays around with other people’s feelings. I may not be a suitor for Adrien any longer; he still deserves respect. I found it gross that she would go ice skating with us with her beau in front of him. He admitted his feelings and- why are you laughing?” Kagami looked indignant and Chloe couldn’t help but laugh harder.

“I’m sorry. You’re talking about Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The one in love with Adrien? She would never turn him down and he’s so oblivious he still hasn’t noticed that his “just a friend” is in love with him. She went ice skating with you two because Adrien asked.” Chloe replied with a smile. Kagami looked pensive for a moment, then began to chuckle.

“Well, I feel silly now. Poor Marinette, she must be a really kind soul.”

“She really is. I’ve bullied her for years and today she’s treated me like a lifeline. I don’t know whether to feel pity or awe for her.”

Chloe was yanked from her thoughts as she realized the class was all there. Though it seemed as if they didn’t care that one of their own was missing.

“Chloe, aren’t you supposed to be sitting with Marinette?” Lilla asked with a kind, smarmy smile.

Chloe answered with a flip of her ponytail, “Since Marinette isn’t here, Ms. Bustier said it was fine for me to sit here for today.”

“Why didn’t Marinette come back? I would’ve thought she’d be over her little fit by now.” Kim cocked his head in reply. The rest of the class nodded and though she shouldn’t be surprised, she was when even Adrien nodded his head.

“Marinette will probably feel better tomorrow and apologize for yelling at us. She was just being silly.” Alya responded.

“You’re kidding me, right? You all are joking that Marinette was in the wrong… right? Adrien? Cesaire, you’re supposed to be her best friend!” Chloe countered with her jaw on the floor. She couldn’t believe it! Was this how Marinette felt all year? Bullied into apologizing even when she did no wrong except feel something other than happiness? Chloe felt sick; she helped do that. Well, no better time to stop it than the present.

“I mean, she’s the one that got angry at Lila for sitting up front. She just decided to take it out on us.” Adrien replied as he sat down next to Lila, squirming away from her in obvious discomfort. Yep, Chloe had decided she had to be in the twilight zone. First, Marinette was abandoned then Chloe befriended said girl and now the class was again ganging up on Marinette. She looked at Ms. Bustier who was pretending to show no interest but was failing miserably.

“Well, that’s it. I’m out. If you all want to live in this world where you all can have feelings, but the girl who literally would give you the clothes off her back that’s fine. I’m taking Marinette and we’re leaving. So, since this will be my last day here, I’ve got some things to say. You are all idiots and I can’t wait for you to come begging for Marinette’s forgiveness and she denies you. I will be so happy to spit on you as you wallow in self-pity, but until then… Later losers.” Chloe marched up and out of the classroom, barely containing her anger. She grabbed her phone out of her purse and quickly called the most powerful man in Paris.

“Daddy, come down to the Principal’s office this minute.”

“Ms. Bourgeois, I can’t remove Ms. Dupain-Cheng unless her parents would like to.” Mr. Damocles tried explaining to the steaming girl. Clearly, he had no self-preservation, but while he was terrified of the young blonde. Mrs.Cheng was even more terrifying.

“That’s fine. After what I tell her what happened, she will most likely be up here herself. In the meantime, you can either remove Marinette and I and place us in another class or we will go to a new school. I won’t tolerate that class for one more moment with the bullying going on in there.” Chloe tapped her foot impatiently as her father sat hunched in the chair.

“Is that true Mayor Bourgeois? Would you like to place Chloe in another class?” Mr. Damocles asked as he sighed in relief that her attention was diverted for now. He was terrified that the young girl was going to force him to change Ms. Dupain-Cheng’s classroom and even more terrified that his refusal would cost him his job.

“Yes, that is fine. Though I do hope something is done with the class. I understand Ms. Bustier is a great teacher, but the students need to be reprimanded.” Andre Bourgeois

“And I agree with that. Let me see what we can do and while I see what class has two seats in it, why don’t you see if Mrs. Cheng can come down?”

“Gladly.” Chloe answered and exited the room quickly. She wanted to get to the bakery as soon as possible. She finally seemed to make it to the door to find it locked. She knocked firmly and kept knocking until the door opened.

“We’re closed, oh Ms. Bourgeois! What can I do for you?” Tom Dupain looked down at her and Chloe felt herself gulp. Chloe was rather tall for her age, but Tom Dupain made her look like a short stack next to him.

“Is Mrs. Cheng available? Something happened, and I need her permission for Marinette to be placed with me in another class.”

Tom crinkled his eyebrows in confusion, “Does this have something to do with earlier?” Chloe nodded in response. “Let me go grab my coat. Sabine and Marinette are sleeping right now. After you left, Marinette became distraught and was inconsolable.” Chloe found her stomach clench at his words. Poor Marinette.

“I can fill you in if you’d like?” Chloe found herself volunteering.

“That would be great! Come in and tell me while I find my coat and keys.” So, Chloe found herself telling Tom everything from the beginning of when Alya invited Nino to Marinette’s spot to when Adrien and company continuously blamed Marinette for her feelings. As Chloe spoke, she saw Tom begin to get tenser and tenser to where she thought he would pop if someone touched him. By the time she had finished, the two were outside the Principal’s office.

“Thank you for telling me Chloe and I know you’re worried about how you treated Marinette for years… but how you’re treating her now is what is important currently. The two of you will still have a past, but you’re able to make up for it now. Let’s head in.” As Tom placed his hand on Chloe’s shoulder, Chloe realized that she felt a bit better about the day already. Though, as they were entering the office, the bell rang, and Chloe’s old class began to exit. She made eye contact with Adrien and simply glared at his confused face as Tom shut the door.

“Hello Mr. Damocles, hello Mr. Mayor.” Tom shook hands with both men and sat down in the empty seat next to her father.

“Now, let’s start with getting Marinette switched if we could.”

#marinettedupaincheng #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #kagami x chloe #kagami tsurugi #chat noir #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #ml salt #s3 spoilers #the way it goes

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loopy777 · 5 years

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whats your thoughts on Mara Jade and her relationship to Luke Skywalker and their subsequent family? was it an element you wished had been carried over to the new universe post the force awakens?

Mara Jade is one of my favorite Star Wars characters, but she is written poorly in the vast majority of the works that feature her. I like her when Zahn and Stackpole wrote her (so the OG Thrawn Trilogy, the ‘Hand of Thrawn’ duology, and ‘I, Jedi’), but everyone else got her wrong and just portrayed her as Tough Cranky Lady. (Except for Kevin J Anderson, I guess, who portrayed her as Generic Snarky Lady. And Barbara Hambly, who portrayed her as Lando’s Latest Conquest.) But in the works where Mara is married to Luke, she is supposed to have worked through her issues to the point where she can once again connect to other people, dramatized by her accepting Luke’s love and marrying him. Having her married to Luke and a jerk in most of her scenes just doesn’t feel like it fits.

That portrayal also doesn’t fit with the idea that, as of the New Jedi Order, she’s supposed to be a recognized Jedi Master. Of course, in all those books, the Jedi are pretty much portrayed as generic magic warriors, and even the attempts at spiritualism/mysticism in the New Jedi Order are trite (outside of Traitor) and confused. She is a master of kicking butt, I guess, so that fits with this watered-down concept of the Jedi. And Troy Denning’s books went on to turn the Jedi into a Sith order in all but name, so the constant crankiness is appropriate as well. At least everything is consistent in those horrible, horrible books.

Anyway...

Ben Skywalker is only featured in ‘the ‘Legacy of the Force’ and ‘Fate of the Jedi’ series, where he suffers from confused development due to the incompatible multi-author teams, so I don’t have an opinion on him as a character. I couldn’t even describe him as a character. I don’t have many thoughts about Ben at all.

So, focusing back on Mara, while I do like her and the idea of her marrying Luke, I’m fine leaving her back in the old Expanded Universe. She could be brought back in a similar manner to Thrawn, where it’s the same basic character in their same original role, but a whole new story is created.However, I think that works better for a villain than a hero, because villains like Thrawn don’t undergo character arcs. Mara would still have to go through the same growth of getting over her brainwashing of serving the Empire, just this time in a different context and without Luke. It would be a rehash of what came before, and I can’t imagine that it would be as good or better than what Zahn already did. We saw the same thing fail with Quinlan Vos, who had a flawed but good story in the EU and got a worse version of the same thing in a terrible tie-in to the CGI Clone Wars cartoon.

Now, could Mara have been snuck into the sequel movies as a nod to the old novels and fans, giving her a Schrodinger’s Backstory that adheres to the broad strokes of her EU tales but avoids details that might conflict with the new stuff?

No. I don’t see an opening for Mara -- or any wife for Luke -- in the story of the sequel movies.

I seem to be fairly unique amongst Expanded Universe fans in that I have no real interest in a full continuation of the saga exploring a successful New Republic and/or Jedi Order. I don’t think the sequels had to go back to the full Rebel/Imperial Xwings/TIEs thing, but the only worthwhile conflict that could elevate the sequels to the same importance of first six movies is addressing the idea of a happy ending that can be undone. The real conflict of the sequels isn’t Good Guys versus Bad Guys, but Happy Endings versus Cash Cow Franchises.

(And I maintain that I saw this theme in my first viewing of The Force Awakens, having gone in cold with no spoilers or speculation. Where everyone saw Han or Leia or Luke giving a weird look to Rey as recognizing a long-lost daughter, I saw former heroes looking at a new hero showing all the same tropes that they themselves once had- and feeling ambivalence about a never-ending cycle of conflict. Maybe I’m just weird.)

And once we have Luke as failing to restart the Jedi and preserve the New Republic, a successful marriage becomes an oddity. And if we give him an unsuccessful marriage or a dead wife, that’s just empty calories on top of the failed Jedi Order and fallen heir.

Essentially, I can’t see a way to bring Mara into the sequels without either undermining their story, or making her meaningless fan-service. And I actively hate the scene in Rogue One where the protagonists literally bump into the Cantina bullies, so that goes to show what I think of meaningless fan-service.

We should live our lives as fans by the message of ‘The Last Jedi,’ and find a balance between taking what was good from the previous generation and leaving behind what didn’t work. Mara worked in the hands of certain authors, and didn’t work at all in the hands of most other authors, so we should focus on letting our new storytellers create stories and characters that match their sensibilities, and not saddle them with a cast of legacy characters whose arcs are already complete. The New Jedi Order books, and their sequels, were fanfic of fanfic of fanfic, and it showed. At least the Sequel Movies are back on the level of just-plain-fanfic.

May the Force be with us all.

#thekingofwinterblog

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