I'm still very fascinated by "Girl Child Communism/Revolution"
Someone before the revolution writes something called "Mirova 82/ Mirova Cycle", where Girl Child Communism is "the ghostly apparition of..." .. of communism or the world spirit perhaps? possibly predicting the revolution, but also predicting that it's something that will be repeated. The Deserter is waiting for this, it's implied that some people think The Return could be a communist revolution. But then the text also says it's her return, and return of the light, and the pale is also called "her" in the novel, "her" sometimes also sounds like it's about Dora, the light symbolism means the pale (and sometimes love) and we know St Miro is going to get elected soon.. The collage mode update shows a gentrified Martinaise, and the novel a capitalist Mirova. And then there is that part about Målin reflecting the world, almost like an innocence, but the world is wrong and it is the light that is mistaken. Harry and Dora's unborn daughters and the pregnant Dolores Dei dream.
It feels like things are not going to happen the way they are supposed to happen.
And then there is Iosef Lilianovich Dros, waiting for girl child revolution, while not far from him Lillienne is living with her child, Little Lily, who you can ask "Anything that will help me dismantle Capitalism, so that you can inherit Communism, O' Girl Child Revolution?"
and failing the Feld mural check twice gets you this:
Shivers - GO TO THE CHILDREN OF THE BIG SEA.
Rhetoric - The big sea... The Big C?
That can only mean one thing: Communism.
You - Yes, Comrade Zephyr. I shall find them. Girl Child Revolution and Girl Child Communism!
Shivers - BOY CHILD FREEDOM. BOY CHILD JUSTICE.
which continues with you talking to Lilienne's twins, who have visited the island where the Deserter lives.
I'm not saying these children are the manifestations of communism or that Dros and Lillienne are related, but there could be some kind of symbolism or parallel here. I made this post a while ago, maybe it has something to do with Lyotard's book, I don't know
GCC is definitely not an innocence, but could be some kind of manifestation of the world spirit, maybe.
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“what the hell were you thinking?” or “dance with me” for the prompts!!
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Tim opens his eyes.
The familiar outlines of the Tower medbay settle around him, all lights and clean lines. His bed is comfortably warm in the cool air, and he scoots slightly down in the blankets; there's a telltale drowsy fuzziness in his head that, combined with the chill in his body, informs him he's coming out of anesthesia. Why was he under...?
His left arm is in a sling. He blinks at it for a moment, then shuffles his general awareness over to his other arm. His right hand is—
Oohhhh. Right.
His right hand is warm and immobile, comfortably sandwiched between both of Kon's palms. He's stripped off his usual fingerless gloves, and his jacket is draped over the back of his chair; his head is bowed down to the mattress, and his grip is slack, and all of these things come together into the slow realization that he must be asleep because he's been here a while, waiting for Tim to wake up.
Tim considers why his left arm is in a sling, looks down at Kon's messy curls, and decides that, yeah, that's probably fair.
Kon has pretty hair. It's all shiny and soft, and the curls are so bouncy whenever he moves his head. Tim kind of wants to play with them. Normally, he'd stop himself, but normally he's not floating on a cozy sea of morphine in a post-op setting, so... that's as good an excuse as any. Probably. Right?
Unfortunately, the moment he moves his hand, Kon's head snaps up. His eyes—inhumanly blue, luminous, beautiful (wait, what?)—are bloodshot and his cheeks streaky, and oh, fuck, he's been crying, why has he been crying, what made Kon cry—
"You're awake!" Kon sucks in a shaky breath, bows his head, and presses his forehead to Tim's hand so reverently that for a second, Tim forgets how to breathe. Kon's skin is warm. "God, Tim, you scared the shit out of us. Out of me. How are you... how are you feeling?"
"Floaty," Tim answers truthfully. Then he thinks about it for a second. "Probably will feel like shit when I'm on less narcotics, though. But it's chill."
Kon gapes at him for a second, a bunch of emotions flickering over his face. What's his deal? What did Tim say wrong?
"It's chill?" Kon repeats, incredulous; he looks away, shaking his head, and scrubs one hand over his face. Tim misses its warmth immediately, looking at the hand still holding his with a pang. "Tim, you could have died! What the hell were you thinking?!"
"Um." Tim squints at him. "Was thinking, oh no! They're gonna shoot Kon! That would suck balls! Or I might have thought it would suck ass? Something like that. And then I jumped in the way."
"You—" Kon groans, but he does take Tim's hand in both of his again, before he bows his head and presses his lips to Tim's knuckles. Tim's heart skips a beat; the beeping goes a little faster. "Rob. Kryptonite is still metal. A kryptonite bullet will still hurt you. Why would you do that?"
"Because," Tim says, confused—is this not obvious? He thought this was obvious. "Otherwise it would have hurt you."
Kon makes a vaguely distressed noise. "Tim."
"What?" Tim pats the side of his palm. With his fingers, since Kon is still holding his hand. Okay, he just sort of wiggles his fingers in Kon's grasp. Close enough! "It was kryptonite. Can't let them shoot you with kryptonite. And I'm basically fine, so."
"Basically fine?!" Kon is somewhere between scandalized and aghast. "It shattered your collarbone! There are four metal pins in your shoulder right now! I'm looking at them!"
Tim hums. "That's why I said basically fine. S'not totally fine, but, like, more or less fine. You know?" He wiggles his fingers again. He's not an idiot—he knows it'll definitely hurt like a bitch later, during recovery, but he can handle a bit of pain. What's important is that Kon is okay.
Kon drops his head to the mattress with a thump. "You're gonna be the death of me, Rob," he mumbles, his voice muffled.
"I would prefer to be the life of you," Tim tells him. And since Kon has so kindly put his head down again, he happily avails himself of the opportunity to play with those springy curls, too.
♥ angst/fluff prompts ♥
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Henry giving you a locket and you putting a pic you took of him in it *cough cough no idea where that came from yet again cough cough, the delusions cough*
-sun
this is the most tender thing ever. he would definitely be into spoiling his partner, as we've already established on numerous occasions on this blog, and giving you something as elegant and valuable as jewelry would certainly be a preference of his. the locket could be gifted to you on any occasion, perhaps even for no reason at all, but definitely nonchalantly — he would casually hand you the box one day without sparing you as much as one single word, or it would simply turn up on your doorstep in a small gift bag one day.
it would be vintage and ornate, quite expensive — as you'd imagine — and, not to mention, entirely gorgeous. however, to add even more definition and value to it, you would take one of the very few pictures of henry you would have and fasten it into the locket. carrying him so closely to your heart would cause you to warm up and bloom inside, but also thrill you — the secret of your locket's contents would be yours and yours alone.
initially, he wouldn't know — he'd only flash you the most clandestine and smallest of smiles upon seeing you proudly wearing his gift. on the inside, we can be sure of things like this pleasing him greatly. you wearing something he gave you as a present? well, that would be emotionally rewarding enough.
on one special night, however, whilst snugly planted in his lap and tenderly throbbing against his growing hardness beneath you, you'd innocently pull back from a heated kiss and grin, mentioning, "i need to show you something." of course, he'd be caught off-guard at first, but nevertheless remain quite curious. with your chest fluttering, you'd catch the locket hung around your neck with your fingers, and spread it open for him, showing henry what's hidden within — who is hidden within.
although he wouldn't exactly rejoice nor give you any sort of profound reaction, you'd know him to appreciate it greatly. this, at the very least, would be proven by the fact he would have you completely naked — save for the locket — and unbelievably wet for him in no time, pressing your thighs back into yourself as he'd gently and tenderly thrust in and out of you in slightly modified missionary. he'd pay special attention to kissing your neck — marking it, even — and breathing so desperately you'd fear an i love you might slip from his parted, flushed lips.
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