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#for the sake of this argument ill put the rest here
undertheopensky · 6 months
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Under The Weather
Whumptober Day 13: “I don’t feel so good.”
Characters: Four, Hyrule, everyone is there
Trigger warnings: Vomiting, indistinct illness
Important note: I usually headcanon Warriors as the main medic (thanks for that bokettochild) but for some reason today Hyrule insisted on running the show. Maybe he decided he wasn’t getting enough screentime.
Read on Ao3!
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Four belches into his hand, hiding it behind his teacup. Probably a court manners thing. Hyrule had never gotten the hang of those, but several of his companions were close enough to nobility that they had to know things like that. Four’s been doing it all lunch, though, and Hyrule’s wondering if there’s something in Wild’s stew that doesn’t agree with him. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve discovered dietary restrictions the hard way.
Four belches again, then abruptly throws up, and Hyrule realises he’s been retching the whole time.
“For fuck’s sake, Four.” He rounds the embers of the fire as Warriors and Wind scramble away from Four and the puddle of sick next to him – he’d only mostly avoided getting it on himself. “You’re supposed to tell us when you’re not feeling well. What are your symptoms?”
“I don’t know,” Four snaps, “I don’t feel sick, I just feel – wrong.” He retches again, but there’s nothing left to come up.
“So you’re nauseous, but you don’t feel sick.” Hyrule gives him a doubtful look.
“Kinda yeah,” says Four. “My stomach feels like a rock. Throwing up was just as much of a surprise to me as to you.”
“Interesting.” Hyrule takes a few minutes to look Four over. He’s pale and clammy, with a pinched look around his eyes that’s very telling of just how uncomfortable he is. He’s also barely touched his lunch, a meat and rice combination that everyone is usually all over, sticking mostly to his tea. “Any body aches? Chills? Wounds you forgot to tell us about?”
Four shakes his head with a snort. “Nothing. Just - wrong in the stomach.” He scowls into the remains of his tea. “It’s fine. I can keep going.”
“Uh huh.” Hyrule glances at the rest of the group. “Any arguments against making camp here?”
“It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to be,” Legend says dryly, and it’s about the kindest thing he could have said.
As a group, they don’t tend to hang around in one place very long. Places to go, monsters to kill, intel to gather, supplies to source; they’re constantly on the move, and staying put for any length of time has to rankle. But no one, not even prickly Legend, is going to say so to Four, who’s never complained about their pace, and had been half-throwing up all morning before Hyrule caught him. They were only intending to stop here for lunch, not spend the night, but they’ll make do. It’s not that bad a site.
At Hyrule’s insistence Four changes out of his soiled leggings into his clean pair, then sits against a tree with his book to rest. Everyone else sets about making camp. Twilight heads off to find a river - after battling a small horde of miniblins and a hinox this morning, several people are in need of a bath, and pretty much everyone needs to do laundry. Warriors at least will have a meltdown if he doesn’t get the blood out of his scarf. Wind, who is expert at dodging the little bastard’s tridents and thus doesn’t need to wash his own blood out of his tunics or repair many small holes, triumphantly flops down next to Four.
“Hey! I know you’re probably not feeling well so I’m not gonna bother you, I’m just gonna go through my pictograph collection, and if you need anything I can fetch it for you!”
Four gives a distracted hum, already absorbed in his book.
Wind wasn’t lying - he does like to go through his collection now and then, touch the memories they hold, reorganise and rearrange them and consider which ones to keep in his easy-access pictobook and which ones to store in the safebox. But they’re also fantastic distractions, and Four looks like he could use some distracting, when the dry text of his book gets too much.
Wind flips through his pictures of Aryll and Gran, hesitates over Tetra and her crew, then gets into his current run of Chain-related pictographs. Sometime they’re just nice, like Wild sleeping curled up beside Wolfie in almost the exact same position, but some are hilarious. Like this one of Sky passed out sitting up, while Wind and Wild takes turns balancing sticks on his head and snapping pictures.
He giggles and holds this one out to show Four. “Hey, hey, Four, you remember this?”
Four glances up, and huffs amusement through his nose. Wind grins, proud of himself for pulling the small noise out of the reserved smithy, and goes hunting for the photo of Wars getting knocked into a river by the fish he’d hauled out of the water. He knows it’s in here somewhere.
Wild has stirred up the fire again and is using the opportunity to do… something with the cookpot (Wind’s not game to call it food but it doesn’t look like elixirs are happening either, and decides he doesn’t want to know). Legend and Warriors are sitting together, mending miniblin tears and presumably gossiping, from the snickers. Time is writing in his notebook, Sky is carving a stick into a spoon to replace the one that had gone missing, and Hyrule had gone with Twilight to help deal with the Laundry Monster.
They’re all enjoying the break.
Everyone, save for Four, who goes progressively greyer and quieter as the afternoon fades.
Wind is careful not to push him; when Four glances at the latest photo and just gives a weak smile, he knows the distraction has worn out its usefulness and sorts through the rest without showing off any more.
By the time Hyrule and Twilight come back with the next load of clean laundry for Legend to dry off, Four’s given up on even the pretence of reading. He’s just staring blankly off into space, book still in his lap. Doesn’t even blink when Twilight pretends to drop Legend’s undertunic in the dirt and Legend yells at him for it.
Wind nudges him. “Four, you feeling okay?”
Four rubs a hand over his eyes, then his mouth. “Sorry. ‘M fine. Just… tired.” He blinks hazily, staring down at the pages of his book and clearly reading nothing.
Then Wild calls Wind over, demanding help with the soup, since apparently he’s doing real food now. Four shoos him off silently. Any other day, he would be taking the opportunity to read in peace. Today, he just leans back against the tree and closes his eyes.
When dinner is ready (soup!!! Not as good as Gran’s but Wild’s soup is still good!) Wind volunteers to ferry it over to Four. “Hey, Four! Dinner’s here!” he cheers, and is unsurprised but still disappointed when Four grimaces and refuses. “Are you sure? Do you really feel that bad? Should I get Hyrule?”
“Don’ feel good, but I’ll be alright.” Four waves a hand at Wind, eyes still closed. “Just a stomach bug or somethin’. Prob’ly be right as rain in the morning.”
Wind hums dubiously, but takes back the bowl.
By silent consensus, Four is left off the watchlist. He needs rest, not interrupted sleep and the simmering stress of a midnight shift. If Four notices, he doesn’t comment. He’s too busy gathering his strength to lay out his bedroll properly to take any notice of the others glancing at him in worry.
Four goes to lie down - then hurls himself back up, with such force that he nearly makes it to his feet.
Everyone startles. “Four, what’s wrong?” Sky asks.
Four looks nearly as shocked as they are. “I don’t – I don’t know,” he stammers. “I – I went to lie down and I just – as soon as I lay down it was just a bolt of panic like – like I knew I was going to die if I didn’t get back up right now.”
Hyrule goes grim. That kind of bodily response suggests there’s something more at play here than an upset stomach.
This time Hyrule doesn’t just look him over. He lays his hands on Four’s back and sends his magic creeping through him.
There’s a difference between the active rush of the Life Spell and a light touch of healing; this is the latter, more an exploration than an attack. Four had taken a potion after this morning’s fight, and that should have healed up all the minor wounds and not left anything for infection to take hold. Hyrule is checking for leaks, more than expecting to find something major wrong.
He’s surprised to find nothing at all, though. The faint echoes of bruises, long-healed. Phantom images of stab wounds, flesh flickering with the memory of blood and pain. But nothing real. Nothing he can fix.
Four glances over his shoulder. “Well?”
“I’m not finding anything,” Hyrule admits with a sigh. Reluctantly, he pulls his hands away. He feels inadequate, leaving a job unfinished - but there’s nothing he can really do, when it seems Four is just sick. Potions and fairies and Hyrule’s magic are amazing resources, but they have costs and limitations. They can’t replace lost blood, or grow back missing body parts. And they can’t cure illness, no matter the cause.
He just has to hope it’s a stomach bug, and Four will sleep it off uneventfully.
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theinvisiblemuseum · 1 year
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do you have any pandalily headcanons or fics you could share?
bury a friend has given me brain rot :(
ok so i suck because i literally haven't read any fics in foreverrrrr BUT i'm always willing to provide some pandalily headcanons bc i love them more than life itself <33
i'll split it into modern/au vibes and canon vibes bc those differ greatly in my mind (and ill put it under the cut in case this gets long)
(spoiler, it did get long and i’m not sorry)
canon vibes:
so funnily enough in my view of 'canon' pandalily isn't a thing, i have a wholeeeee version of what i consider canon etched in my head and that's never changing but for the sake of the argument i DO have ideas
everyone is on a mission to keep these two apart at all costs
marauders & co know that lily’s a little bit crazy if properly encouraged and slytherins & co are well aware that pandora Can and Will be insane at any given opportunity
therefore, they must be kept apart, for everyone’s sanity
pandora and lily do what they want, more than anything
i like to believe they bonded over being fascinated by the same groteque subject, and they met up in the restricted section to make out
lily teaches pandora loads of deadly hexes, and pandora introduces lily to terrifying magical creatures
they both ride thestrals together, but neither of them can see them
something tells me that they discovered the whole deal about the chamber of secrets and solved it, and that’s how the marauders figured out that tom riddle was voldemort & then that in turn led regulus to research horcruxes but i’m getting too far ahead of myself here
sometimes they’d curse people off their brooms during quidditch matches
pandora is as big of a prankster as the marauders but she’s smart enough to get away with it & doesn’t take credit or leave a trace but if she DOES she uses lily’s head girl privileges to get out of trouble 
lily would look the other way when evan committed acts of arson
evan proposed to lily so he could be evan evans and pandora encouraged them to Get Married For The Bit
if pandalily were together in canon they wouldn’t have died period they would have rocked voldemort’s shit
they both realize after the war how down with murder they are
they start a little wizard hit man business they sneakily kill people and get super rich for it, i’m right i know i am
all their friends support this, because they’re killing shitty people and getting revenge for their friends that did die
lily refuses to take the last name rosier because she refuses to be lily rose and pandora refuses to take the last name evans because of her brother 
i haven’t actually properly thought about canonverse pandlily before but now i’m thinking so many thoughts oh no oh no
au vibes:
cannibalism
literally will graham lily and hannibal lecter pandora if you don’t see my vision i cannot help you it’s divine intervention you’re not ready for don’t worry one day you’ll see the light
intensely codependent
they saw each other, decided they’d kill for each other, and the rest is history
neither of them is allowed to die unless the other person kills them. in a romantic way. they will go hand in unlovable hand or not at all.
pandora’s family loves lily 
sometimes they’ll fall off the face of the earth for a little while, come back looking like hell, and their friends take bets on if they had sex, committed murder, or both
no one actually knows if their jokes about murder are jokes or not
like. they haven’t killed anyone. they just have a dark sense of humor. right?
haha. right????
“i stand with my cancelled wife”
dinner parties. human meat may or may not be on the menu
i think they’ve been to the met gala. at least twice.
they’re both night owls, but lily can wake up early and pandora would rather die than wake up early
they’d never have kids but they’re AMAZING aunts to their friends kids 
they give the kids weird shit that they definitely shouldn’t, like human brains in a jar or voodoo dolls
they’ve got some kind of telepathy, they alwaysss know what the other is thinking
they sometimes pretend they’re getting divorced just for fun, they go through a whole process and everything only to be like nvm :)
their lawyer hates them
they have an Attic. no one goes in the Attic. but everyone has a story about what they Think is in the Attic.
pandora has cloud tattoos all the way up her arm & neck and lily traces them while she tries to fall asleep
they play “how would you rather die” before bed every night and come up with stranger things every time
oh god this is getting so long i’ll be done now i promise
also yaz is writing a pandalily fic that’s dropping the first chapter on xmas and i’m very excited for thattttttttt and everyone else should be as wellllll <33
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dnallohleoj · 2 months
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You ever think about how some chores you had as a kid were just... made up? If they had a practical purpose, the way you were expected to do them ruined that purpose entirely?
Like. My mom & I used to constantly argue about Making the Bed. I still have a terrible relationship with the process of Making the Bed because the way my mom expected me to do it was incompatible with how I sleep. This argument lasted well into adulthood and didn't stop until I held my first college degree and job at the same time. To her, Making the Bed means tucking the sheets under the mattress. Yes, even the top one. Whenever she forced me to do it this way, she was always confused how it was possible that, in one night, I managed to knock all my sheets, including the fitted sheet, loose. And the answer is that in order to actually get under them, I had to untuck one corner, and to actually get comfortable, I had to untuck the rest so I could tuck them under my feet. If I do not do this, my feet get cold, even in socks, and I'm too uncomfortable to fall asleep.
Or The Shelf.
Behind my mom's home office desk, there is a series of glass shelves upon which she put a bunch of glass objects for display. This display gets incredibly dusty, but to clean it is an all-day process, because we need to move the desk out of the way, get out a ladder, and carefully move things off the display to clean it. Then we need to individually hand-wash all the objects on display, but not with soap & water because that might damage the paint. It's an incredibly old, incredibly heavy desk, by the way. The suggestion that perhaps the whole setup was ill-advised is never taken with any grace at all.
There was an argument about how I never changed the batteries in a clock that didn't belong to me, annoyed me when it was ticking, and was hard to reach because of its placement, but no I wasn't allowed to take it DOWN because then there'd be this UGLY HOOK visible from a space that literally only I use and I could not have possibly cared less. Also I couldn't take the hook out? we'd have to fill the hole and paint over it, and since it was difficult to reach, that'd be too much work!
Not to mention all the unused table surfaces we couldn't leave things on because it looked bad, the towels we had to save for hypothetical guests that nobody ever invited over, all these things that weren't allowed to serve a practical purpose and yet required So Much Maintenance.
This kinda turned into a vent post but like. Idk, there's a lot of guilt and hangups around housework and I'd bet if you stepped back and thought about it for a few minutes, you'd recognize the obvious: Things haven't fallen apart just because I put this off. What does that mean? Is it necessary? If yes, does the "Run the Dishwasher Twice" method of doing chores apply here? Can you cut out unnecessary steps? Does it HAVE to be done in the way that you can't bring yourself to do, or is there an easier, less pretty way that nonetheless works? If it's not necessary, then fuck it. Take down that clock and leave the ugly hook. Or do what I did and find a cheap Darth Vader canvas in a clearance aisle somewhere, if there's someone to complain about The Hook. Don't tuck in your sheets if it'll make more work for you tomorrow morning. Tear down That Fucking Shelf and put those display pieces somewhere you can reach them without losing your whole afternoon. Or move your desk, whatever makes The Chore doable. And for fuck's sake, throw shit on the flat surfaces made for the express purpose of throwing shit on. Don't deny your furniture and towels their purpose.
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sl-newsie · 1 year
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Chapter Thirty Four: Under The Weather (Spot Colon x Female Newsie)
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Uuuuggghhh. A cold. A simple, yet extremely annoy’n, cold. And a cold, if not taken care of, turns into the flu, which turns into pneumonia, which turns into death.
For a whole week I’s been hide’n my symptoms, which so far had only been a scratchy throat and some drainage, but now I gots a whole sore throat and fever ta go with it. I don’t tell Jack ‘cause he’ll try ta stop me sell’n papes, and I don’t even think of say’n noth’n to Spot ‘cause he’ll keep me locked inside for a week!
But I ain’t sure how long I can keep this up- my energy’s beginn’n to slow down too…
I’s at my sell’n spot already beginn’n to drift off and it ain’t even dusk yet. Passerbys look at me in pity and disgust, not want’n to catch someth’n from me.
Ugh. This is a bust. But I can’t go back now- then they’ll see I really is sick. I need to get paid, so I can eat, so I can get better, so I can keep sell’n- this seems like a never-end’n circle, but it’s a good never-end’n circle, a circle I get to share with Spot.
“Hiya Becs!”
I groan and try to show a bright smile. “Hi Race.”
Racetrack struts up, looks me up and down, and lifts his eyebrows. “You look terrible.”
“Charmed. And you look hideous. What else may I help you realize on this fine day?”
Race chuckles, but then seriously says: “Becca, you is sick.”
I hang my head. “How’d you guess?”
“By tha sad, weak state you’s in!” He gestures to me. “Ya look like you’s about to fall over! How long’ve you been ill?”
I smile sheepishly. “Almost a week. But-”
“Don’t even think of come’n up with an argument, ‘cause I’m take’n you to Jack.”
My eyes widen. “No, no! I ain’t gonna tell Jack I’m sick- he’ll tell me off ‘til tha cows come home-!”
“Then I’ll take you to Spot.”
“I ain’t tell’n nobody. I godda sell papes-” At that moment, my body decides to betray me. I feel my eyelids grow heavy, and lean down on a crate. “I- I…”
I see Race shake his head as he threads his arm under mine, help’n me stand as I black out.
“You can’t do everyth’n, Becca. Don’t worry- we’s gonna get you bedda.”
I wake up, lay’n in Spot’s bed and covered in almost every blanket in New York- I’s surprised I can even breathe!
I groggily get up, unsure how long I’ve slept. My cold feels worse…
I stumble down tha stairs, and find Spot and Race talk’n in tha kitchen. When they see me, they immediately panic.
“Becca, get back to bed.” Race warns.
“Beauty, you’s still sick.”
“Guys, I’m fine. I- Achoo!” Obviously I’m fine? “I need to sell papes-”
“Ya can’t sell papes when your dead!” Race gets in my face.
Spot, be’n tha ova-protective person he is (he and Jack could do a competition), steps up intimidate’nly. “Enough, Higgins. Becca’s gonna rest now, right Beauty?”
I glare at my husband and shake my head. “No! I ain’t that sick! I just need to- hey!” 
Spot picks me up and begins climb’n tha stairs.
“Tell Jack his sister’s recuperate’n,” he calls down to Race.
“I will do that. Get well, Becca.”
“Bye, Race. Now Spot-” I turn to face him. “Put. Me. Down! I can walk poifectly fine on my own!”
“Then tell me why Race had to carry you here while you’s was unconscious?” Spot says back.
“He… assumed I was too sick to work?”
“Maybe he’s right.”
Spot carries me to tha bed and sets me down, then begins cover’n me in blankets.
“Beauty, you’s sick and need to rest.”
“Yeah I’s sick, sick-a you worry’n ‘bout me!”
Spot ignores this and feels my arms.
“You’s freez’n!”
“I’s fine!” I grumble. “I- Achoo!” A sneeze escapes me.
“For God’s sake, Becca- all a guy wants to do is help ya! Accept some help once in a while!”
I scrunch my face, then go into a cough’n fit. Ugh! I hate colds- flu, whateva.
Spot sits down and rubs my back, support’n my coughs.
“Fine. I’ll sleep, but as soon as I’m bedda I’s sell’n again.”
“That’s all I need to hear.” Spot lays down next ta me and joins me under tha covers.
I inch away. “No, no. You ain’t come’n near me. ‘Cause if I’m sick, I don’t wanna get you sick.”
Spot smirks. “You already have.”
I panic. “I did? I’m sorry, I-”
“Ya made me luvsick!” Spot grins triumphantly.
I blink. “What? Spot, that’s one of tha cheesiest things you’s eva said!”
Spot hugs me closa and kisses my forehead.
“And it got ya all flustered, and it’s adorable!”
“Where’d you get that? Take a page oudda Mush’s book?”
“No- actually came up with that meself. Just get bedda for me, please? I can’t have you’s die’n on me again.” He forces me to lay down and rest my ache’n head on his chest. “If you’s this bad in tha morn’n, I’s get’n you a doctor.”
“Sounds fair,” I mudda as I drift off in a groggy sleep.
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tarotlogy · 1 year
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THE QUEEN OF SWORDS REVERSED
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KEYWORDS
Hypercritical/Self-Critical, Perfectionist, Obsessive Compulsive, Dysfunctional, Damaged, Fatally Flawed, Pessimist, Negative, Severe, Cold, Sour, Bitter, Insensitive, Vindictive, Malicious, Nasty, Cruel, Spiteful, Hateful, Vengeful, Enemy, Trouble-maker, Blamer, Manipulative, Ill-natured, Malicious Gossip, Rude, Pass remarkable, Unsympathetic, Cruel, Sharp Tongued, Un-yielding, Punishment, Un-forgiving, Un-lawful, Liar, Cheat, Deceitful, Dishonest, Mind Games, Lessons not Learned, Repressions, Clouded Thoughts, Heart not Head, Counselling, Stress, Separated, Divorced, Wicked Step Mother, Absent/Cold Mother, Fertility issues, Barrenness, Desire for Freedom Solitude/Space/Privacy
Here we see the result of a brilliant mind put to not so brilliant use. This Queen reversed becomes dysfunctional down to her toes. She can be a pessimist, negative, cold-hearted and severe.  She becomes cruel and unyielding in her ways and attitudes. She is a fearful character and terrifying opponent. Negative and sour she is a product of her past or upbringing.
When we see one with such potential and intelligence, if it has not been nurtured and fed carefully, all those wonderful abilities go unused. This can lead to bitterness and the desire to punish all.
She may still have a brilliant mind but uses it negatively to stir up trouble whenever she feels like it.  She can be dishonest, lie, cheat and break the law.  She manipulates and creates potentially explosive situations, and like a grenade, pulls the pin, throws it in curious to see who will be left standing when the dust settles.  With her malicious gossip, she can turn friends against each other by carefully chosen words and underhand influence. She is so damaged and twisted herself that she knows no better. She has a habit of always wrangling her way out of trouble. She carefully manipulates the situation using her gymnast-like mind so that the blame comes to rest at another’s doorstep. She can then shift the attention from herself and onto someone else.
She is consumed with negativity and if you spend too much time with her she will have you feeling the same as she imposes her beliefs on you with her fancy twisted words. She will have you believing in no time that the world indeed is a nasty place and that no one is to be trusted.
Fatally flawed, she seeks friendship and love but does not really understand what they mean. Quick to pass judgement on others she is a hardliner and unsympathetic.  In the depiction of this card we see the Queen with hand outraised as if beckoning someone too her. However, she holds her sword in her other hand, ready to strike if the person gets too close or happens to annoy, bore or aggravate her.  With her dysfunctional way of thinking she may not understand why she finds it hard to meet or keep someone.  In relationships she can be insensitive to the feelings of her partner and sharp-tongued. She accepts no responsibility in her relationships and will blame her partner for everything that goes wrong.  She can be a very convincing liar and deceitful.  She plays mind games and sets traps for her partner.  He will have to guard his words closely as she is hyper-sensitive and will find the slightest thing to start an argument over. She causes hair-splitting arguments just for the sake of it and always has the last say.  Her partner will find himself constantly apologising to her for things he is not guilty of.  She is clever and cunning and can be ruthlessly cold when severing relationships.  This woman is capable of extreme cruelty and vindictiveness with her partner and possible violence if surrounding cards back it up.
The Queen of Swords reversed can highlight the bitter separated or divorced woman who is consumed with hatred and blame.  In the upright, the Queen of Swords makes a clean-cut or break from her partner but in the reversed she resists bringing the sword down.  She can neither move on nor forgive.  In all reversed cards we can find the extremes of the upright at play so this reversed Queen may wish to cut the ties but is powerless to do so.  If we think back to the 8 of Swords we see her bound up as a prisoner. She may feel trapped and cannot see a way out of her situation as her emotions and thoughts mirror her reality.  She must be made aware of the tassel on her wrist, reminding her that she can free herself if she can just stabilise her mind and find a workable plan.  The Queen of Swords reversed can also suggest the need to let go after the death of a partner or loved one.  She may also repress her sorrow and grief.  Her presence in a reading can sometimes suggest that counselling may be needed.  Look to the surrounding cards for confirmation of this.
This reversed Queen may suggest difficulty in conceiving and fertility problems.  Depending on surrounding cards she can highlight the buried pain of a past miscarriage or termination.
This Queen reversed may indicate that she has not learned lessons from her past painful experience.  She may be heading for trouble again but is either blind to the warning flags or chooses not to see them.  She needs to be reminded of the tassel once more and of all she escaped and overcame to realise that she does not want to travel that road once more.  This could be the scenario of falling for the same type of unsuitable partner over and over again.  Consciously she knows he is wrong for her. She knows she is setting herself up for pain all over again but somehow cannot help herself. She refuses to listen to the advice of friends as she listens to her heart and not her head.
This reversed Queen may just want us to know that she does not want to be in a relationship as she prefers to be single and free.  She may have no intentions of finding herself a long-term partner or marriage as it would be too restricting.  If in a relationship she may wish to maintain separate homes or separate beds.
If you work for this reversed Queen, she can be hyper-critical and find fault in everything you do.  Intolerant of mistakes and those who do not think as she does, she can belittle her staff in front of their colleagues with her demeaning and disparaging personal remarks.  She can be unfair and guilty of discrimination or bullying in the workplace.  She will demand absolute obedience and compliance with her wishes.  Unapproachable and close-minded she will be unyielding in her policies and will not want to hear your opinion or ideas.  She is domineering and ill-natured and is extremely stressful to be around.
When reversed, the Queen of Swords judgement can become clouded and poor decisions can follow.  Her plans may be illogical or too abstract to be implemented.  If too much Water is present she can find emotions getting in the way of clear thought as she allows her heart to rule her head.  In the upright Queen of Swords we find a woman who can express her feelings and stands up for herself.  In the reversed we find this poor Queen blocked.  She is either afraid to speak her feelings or does not know how.  She needs to get things off her chest but it all gets stuck in her throat and is swallowed back down.  She may feel her opinions don’t count or that she may sound silly.  She may also carry such a secret burden in her that if the truth came out she would be destroyed.  She can be quiet and introvert or possibly just have nothing to say.  On the other hand this lady may never shut-up.  She may waffle on and on, repeating herself over and over, talking just for the sake of talking.  She may lack education and ambition.
However, she can also indicate that there is the tendency to be overly critical and hard on oneself. Her appearance may highlight the presence of perfectionist and obsessive tendencies.  Like the Queen of Cups reversed, she may need to forgive herself or someone else.
The reversed Queen of Swords appearing in a reading may just symbolise the need for peace and solitude.
As a mother, she can become very cold, severe and distant.  Here we can find the Wicked Stepmother archetype.  Discipline and punishment will be part of the weekly household routine.  This reversed Queen is not afraid to slap her child and is too ready and quick with the hand, even in public.  Her bark is every bit as bad as her bite with her scathing and insulting remarks.  Her children can lack confidence and self-belief as a result of constant put- downs.   Her children fear her and dream of the day when they are old enough to leave.  This is not a home where friends are actively welcomed.  Indeed her children, if they can, will escape to friends’ houses for a bit of fun and freedom.  Her children will either turn out like her or be determined to break the mould.  The tragedy is that this Queen is a product of her own up-bringing. She may have been raised by cold disciplinarian parents and so sees no other way to rear her children.  Her children’s saving grace may be a father who can balance the scales with a softer gentle side.
We see this mother when we sit in a doctor’s waiting room as she constantly chastises her child for behaviour that no one else waiting can see.  Everyone is relieved when she is called in as she has created a stressful atmosphere and all feel sorry for the poor child.
With her perfectionist traits, she may be overly critical and demanding.  We must remember how intelligent this Queen is and if she was denied the opportunity to develop her own career potential she may attempt to fulfil her ambitions through her children.  She may force them down career paths they are not interested in as a result. She can brainwash them into thinking as she does and holding the same opinions as her.
She has the ability to turn a son or daughter out of the house for a mistake made or perceived insult. She can set impossibly high standards for her children withholding her affection when they fail to achieve. This is the mother who can calmly and deliberately walk away from her children or refuse contact with them for years remaining stony silent after an argument.
The Queen of Swords reversed is not all bad and we should not be too quick to judge her.  She may deeply love her children but finds it hard to express her feelings for them.  This mother carries a great sorrow or sadness and may suffer from depression or mental health issues. She can highlight the difficult struggle of the single parent trying to combine motherhood with work.  The Queen of Swords reversed can symbolise the stressed parent. .
In the reversed we can also get the flip-side of her nature and find this Queen dithering and mentally undisciplined.  She may be eccentric and views her children as free spirits who must be allowed express themselves as they wish.  She exerts no control over her kids and allows them away with blue murder.  She never follows through with punishment.  Her children will walk all over her.  Precocious and mouthy, they can lack manners and obedience as they are never corrected or pulled up over bad behaviour or cheekiness.
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dealingdreams · 3 years
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'you only like him cause he's hot'
So?? Honestly... regardless of that statements validity why would that matter?? Why does a person enjoying something simply for shallow reasons matter??? when the thing they are enjoying is SUPPOSED TO BE ENTERTAINING??
Maybe it is isn't always that deep hmmm?
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inspirational ~ corpse husband
word count: 1589
request?: yes!
“Hi! I was wondering if you could do a corpse husband imagine where the reader has a feeding tube? If you can’t that’s perfectly fine, I just haven’t been able to find one yet.”
description: in which the group plays with a popular streamer that has a feeding tube and corpse tells her how much she inspires him
pairing: corpse x female!reader
warnings: swearing, mentions of chronic pain and cancer, also i only know a little bit about feedings tubes, i tried to do research in order to make myself more familiar but if there’s a lot of inaccuracies or anything i am very sorry i’m gonna try my best
masterlist (one, two)
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Corpse listened to his friends shouting at one another to accuse each other of being sus. As usual, there was no use in trying to get a word in. Corpse spoke so softly that no one would even hear him unless they wanted to hear what he was saying.
“(Y/N)!” Toast suddenly exclaimed. “You’re being very quiet right now.”
“Because my damn tube is mixed up in my headphone wires!” (Y/N) exclaimed, sounding like she was far away from her mic. The group chuckled and continued with their conversation about who they thought the imposter was.
(Y/N) was a known Twitch streamer and YouTuber that rose to popularity when she started a series on her YouTube channel to show her journey through cancer treatments. Long before his own sudden boom in popularity, Corpse had watched all of her videos and became invested in her Twitch streams as well. Being someone who also struggled with chronic illness and pain, Corpse felt a sense of hope watching (Y/N) go through her treatment and still seem to optimistic in life and so productive in her YouTube and Twitch channels.
When Toast messaged the Amigops group to ask if anyone wanted to join his Among Us lobby with (Y/N), Corpse jumped at the chance. He hadn’t had much time to speak with her alone, but he was hoping to be able to tell her how much watching her content lifted him up during his worst times.
The meeting ended with no one being voted and brought them back to the office of the Polus map. Since they were playing with proximity chat, the argument from the meeting immediately continued with Rae and Toast warning everyone to stay away from Sean, who they were susing at the second imposter after already voting out Charlie.
Corpse watched (Y/N)’s pink astronaut run out of the office, silent amongst the chaos. He waited a moment before deciding to follow her, hoping he could meet her somewhere alone so he could talk to her.
He ran into O2 and noticed a pink bean in the boiler room stood by the water wheels. He ran in and stood in the doorway a moment before speaking.
“Hello (Y/N).”
“Ah fuck!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “Corpse! Don’t scare me like that!”
Corpse chuckled. “Sorry, I’ll warn you next time.”
“Are you here to kill me?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m okay with that. I feel like being killed by Corpse Husband in Among Us is like a rite of passage at this point.”
Corpse slowly approached (Y/N) to which she quickly ran away from him to the other water wheel. He laughed again before assuring her, “I’m not an imposter, you can trust me.”
“I don’t think I can, but I will choose to trust,” she told him.
“I actually came looking for you because I wanted to talk to you.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
There were so many things running through Corpse’s mind. He just wanted to blurt out everything he had thought about (Y/N) and her story, to thank her for giving him hope, to tell her what an inspiration she was. But his words caught in his throat and he struggled to get anything out.
Finally, he said, “What’s it like trying to be a streamer with your...with the um...”
“The feeding tube?” (Y/N) finished for him. “You can say it, Corpse. It’s not exactly a secret.”
He sighed, glad that she had a joking tone about it. “Yeah, with the feeding tube.”
“It’s annoying,” (Y/N) admitted. “Like...I’m assuming you’ve seen my streams or my videos but for the sake of anyone watching your stream who hasn’t: I have a nasogastric feeding tube, or an NG-tube, which is a feeding tube that goes in through the nose. As cliché as it is, just picture Hazel Grace from the Fault in our Stars. Additional cliché, I have it because I had cancer and the treatments left me so malnourished that I need a feeding tube even after I’ve gone into remission. So, because it’s tubes that are connected in my nose, I keep getting my headphone wires tangled in my tube or, very rarely, my mic wires, and it’s fucking annoying. It hurts like a bitch when I go to stand up and I yank the wires  by accident or something.”
“Does...does anything else hurt? Because of the cancer or the treatment or anything?”
“Not as much as it used to. I went into remission like nearly a year ago, so I’m doing better. It’s a process, but it’s had an amazing outcome in the end so I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“I find you really inspirational,” Corpse finally blurted.
He felt his face heat up with slight embarrassment as (Y/N) giggled. “You do?”
“Yeah. I followed your series about your recovery and I’ve watched some of your livestreams every now and then. What always stood out to me was when you talked about the negative side effects of your treatment, and eventually having to put the feeding tube in and how you’ve found that effects you, too. Being someone with chronic illness and constant pain, I’ve also had those days where it feels like even getting out of bed is too much work and I don’t feel like I can stream or make a video, but then my anxiety tells me that everyone is going to forget about me if I don’t make some type of content, so it’s just an internal struggle when really I should be resting.”
“Being a content creator and having an illness is tough,” (Y/N) agreed. “It feels like you can’t take a day off. I sometimes regret making that series because on days that I felt absolutely awful, I didn’t want to film or edit anything, but I felt like I had to because so many people were watching. Ironically enough, that became the topic of one of those videos; I just sat in front of my camera looking the worst I think I’ve ever looked on camera and talked about how exhausted I felt just from being alive, but felt like I couldn’t rest because of my channel. That’s when I started taking longer breaks between videos and streaming. Your fans won’t leave you, not the true fans anyways. They’ll always be by your side even if you decide to disappear from the Internet forever.”
Corpse half smiled to himself. “I’ve thought about doing that sometimes.”
“It’ll be easy for you to do that where you’re faceless. No one would bother you even after you left the Internet cause they’d have no idea it was you unless you spoke.”
A brief pause in their conversation caused them to hear Sean yelling as he ran past the room. (Y/N) giggled and walked out of the room. Corpse followed, hoping to continue the conversation somewhere else.
“It means a lot to me that you think that about me, though,” (Y/N) continued as she ran into the storage room. “I find you pretty inspirational too.”
This took Corpse by surprise. He didn’t know how to respond. Sure, he heard that all the time from his fans, and it always meant the world to him to know that people found him to be an inspiration, but it felt different to hear that from someone he had looked up to for so long.
“I wish I could’ve been a faceless creator like you,” she said when Corpse didn’t respond. “One of my biggest regrets is probably showing my face online. Although, it wouldn’t make sense for me not to show my face when I’m making a series about cancer treatment, but people can be mean. Even when someone is struggling with illness or a disease, the Internet doesn’t care. Whatever makes them feel better over someone else feeling like shit.”
“I still get a lot of hateful messages even though I’m faceless, though.”
“You do, but you’re so unbothered by it. Publicly anyways. When I get messages about how sickly I look I get so overwhelmed with sadness and I just wanna delete my channel forever. I can’t even fake not caring because it really does effect me.”
“Stick with me, I’ll teach you my ways. My favorite is trolling the troll.”
(Y/N) chuckled. “I’d like that a lot.”
Corpse watched (Y/N)’s pink bean approach his black one. “I’m glad we had this chat, Corpse. It made me really happy, but now it also makes doing this a lot harder.”
Corpse gasped as a kill animation popped up on the screen and (Y/N)’s astronaut quickly disappeared into the nearby vent. He was stunned into silence for a long time, just watching his ghost floating above his dead body. To make matters worse, (Y/N) had closed the door to storage so no one would find his body unless they had to go in there.
Charlie’s ghost floated through the walls and came to float next to Corpse’s. “Figured out Jack wasn’t the other imposter, huh?”
“Yeah,” Corpse said, laughing. “She really had me fooled. Buttered me up with compliments then killed me.”
“I taught her well,” Charlie comments before floating away again.
Corpse couldn’t help but laugh about the situation. He wasn’t mad, more impressed than anything. And he was a little happy; he got to talk to someone that had always been an inspiration to him and he made a new friend.
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ouija board
in which it gets out of hand. . . but only a little
warnings: v spooky
(heads up this one’s kinda long, whoops lol)
(@qoinq-qhost u were looking for more danny being a lil shit? vvvv)
Sam was just about ready to get the seance rolling.  Thundery and weeping outside, candlelight inside - it seemed like a good night for it.  This time around, there were four of them: her, of course; Felicity, from third-hour, had brought the board; her bestie Star (who Sam had almost uninvited, as she hadn't been deemed goth enough, but she owed Felicity a favour and letting this slip was it); and Star's boyfriend-of-the-week, Jake (also not goth, and very much on thin ice).
They sat clustered together on the full-moon rug in Sam's room, a jumbo bag of Chex Mix forgotten on the floor by Jake's backpack.  Only the little brown bits were left.  "You're host," Felicity was saying, scooting up into a proper cross-legged sitting position and centering the board on the carpet between them.  She produced the most important piece - the polished wooden planchet - and dropped it into Sam's waiting palm.  "You start."
Star opened her mouth, almost thought better of it, and then asked, "Are we going to get a demon?"
"That's not how this works," said Felicity, shooting Sam a look to keep her quiet.  Felicity had the tolerance for questions like those, and the patience not to be cross.  "We're not summoning demons.  We're communing with the dead.  There's a difference."
"Is it still going to be scary?"
Sam bit her tongue.  With luck, it would be, and she wouldn't have to deal with Star's antics next time, whether they were at her house or not.
"I don't know," said Felicity, "Maybe.  We've never done one at this house before.  We might not get a ghost at all."
Sam shrugged, setting the puck down in the center of the board and keeping her first two fingers on it.  The others scooted closer, getting comfortable, and followed suit.  The candleflames throughout the room were perfectly still.
"Is there anyone here with us tonight?"
For a moment: nothing.  She glanced up into the empty air, as if she could spot a slinking shadow on the wall or a flickering shape hovering by the ceiling.  She couldn't, even though she wanted to.
Then the slight pull of the token under their collective fingers, and the drawn scraping sound as it crawled slowly across the board: YES.
So they weren't going to come up empty tonight.  She glanced over at Star, wondering how intense things would get before she'd bail.  Sam was certain that, at some point, she would, or maybe she was getting her hopes up.  Star didn't exactly look like goth material.  All things considered, this was probably the wrong scene for her.
But she had owed Felicity that favour.
"Why are you here, spirit?" Felicity asked, shifting a little in place.  Right to the point.
The planchet under their fingers was still.  Sam knew the rules better than anyone: if the ghost chose to answer, it would have to tell the truth.
The ghost chose not to.
Star's eyes darted to Felicity, but there was a hesitation before she spoke.  When she did, the words were wrung-out and barely there.  "Ask him if he's friendly."
"You ask him," said Jake, nudging her with an elbow.  Between the four of them, he was the least invested in the endeavor, seeming more bored than anything.  He shrugged, trying to scoot his letter jacket a little higher on his shoulders without having to take his fingers off the puck.  The jacket refused.
"Okay."  Star took a deep breath, turning her eyes back to the board.  The planchet, for the time being, rested on YES.  "Ghost," she said, somewhat uncomfortable at directly addressing the dead, "Do you mean us harm?"
Immediately, she could feel the wooden puck go cold under her touch.  It slid off YES, veered partway across the board, and went still again.  The chill at her fingertips vanished.
"Don't like the looks of that," muttered Felicity.  "Sam, you think we should call this one off?"
Sam gave it a moment of consideration.  "I don't know.  Maybe, but not yet.  Let me try once."  She cleared her throat.  "Spirit - will you tell us your name?"
The planchet didn't have to think about it this time.  Star could feel the cold tingling in her fingers again as it moved, slowly but deliberately, and spelled out: JAMES.  She frowned.
"What's your purpose here, James?" Felicity ventured, but the ghost revealed nothing.  The silence stretched on; finally, she sighed.  "Doesn't like me much, does he?"
"I don't know," said Star, which she thought sounded better than a flat-out no.  It didn't do any good; Felicity was already looking a little put-out, and Star reached up with her free hand and patted her on the shoulder.  "Don't feel bad.  We still like you plenty, even if that silly ghost doesn't."
Sam fought back a groan of distaste.  Whatever Felicity saw in Star, Sam was seeing none of it.  She wanted to tune Star out, didn't want to see her so distracted as if communing with the dead was a mere game.
If things started to hit the fan, Sam was sure she'd never want to come again.  In fact, she was starting to count on it.
But would provoking the ghost be worth it?  "James," she said, still contemplating it, "Why are you here?  What is it you're seeking?"
The puck meandered for a moment, as if conflicted.  It rested on the empty part of the board between F and S, turned around, and aimed mostly toward H.
That was when Star jerked her hand back, as if the planchet had burned her.  All of a sudden she seemed to be paying attention; Sam wondered if she had finally realized what, exactly, they were dealing with.  Whether she did or not, it was too late.  She'd disrupted the connection.
Sam had never seen it, but she'd heard the stories of what happened at sessions when someone did that.
Every single candle around the room went out at once.
"Star, what the hell," said Felicity, "Remember how earlier I said you couldn't do that - "
Star's already-high-pitched voice was pinched.  "Sorry, sorry!  It's just it got cold all of a sudden, I thought he wanted me to - "
Sam scowled in the dark.  "What are you talking about, no it didn't - "
"It did so!  Just now!"
"Oh for fuck's sake, I knew we shouldn't have invited you - "
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
The flash of lightning through the window made the ghost into a spindly and angular silhouette, floating in the air by the glass and jolting Star and Sam both out of their argument.  The planchet on the board, still under six fingers but by now forgotten, shot out from under them and flew across the room, bouncing off the side of the desk and skittering somewhere under the bed.
Oh, it was hitting the fan now, all right.  "This is your fault," Sam hissed through her teeth, glowering in Star's direction, but already her mind was racing to find a way to appease the disturbed spirit.  She'd held plenty of seances before, but generally found audience with lesser or fragmented dead.  Only twice had she been forced to close a session early.
Never had she met such an angry spirit before - and not only was it angry, it was in her room.
"Ideas," Felicity snapped, in an effort to keep Sam from boiling over, and in the same effort to keep Star from tears, "What do we do?"
"Run, maybe?" said Jake, but the sharp and thunderous BANG from the walls around them cut him off.  His eyes darted to the door, but it slammed itself shut before he could get up to his feet and make his escape.
"Hold on a sec, guys," said Sam, "Jake, sit down, we're not done yet - hang on, I said!  I got a flashlight."  She groped for her backpack, brushed over one of eight plushy spider feet, and yanked it unceremoniously into her lap.  Half-unzipping it, she produced the promised flashlight and clicked it once, twice, a handful of times in quick succession as nothing happened.  "Shit.  Shit shit shit - "
"There," Star whispered, her eyes fixed on the shadowy side of the room behind the bed.  She pointed with one manicured finger, making the rest of them turn to look.
The ghost was only there for an instant, hanging in the air as a smoky and ill-defined shadow against the hazy grey light from the window, but flickered away an instant later.  The pounding rain outside almost masked the haunt's staticky and echoing laughter.
Felicity put a hand over Sam's and tried not to squeeze it too hard.  Her fingernails dug in a little anyhow.  "Do you think we can still close this out?"  She didn't sound too hopeful.
"No," said Star, with a sudden and bone-chilling certainty.  "He's staying."
Sam looked over at her, agape.  How can you know that? she wanted to say, but her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't force it to move.  Star's eyes were on her; just for a moment, Sam swore there was a glint of something behind their usual blue-grey, but it was there and gone before she could be sure.
"We're staying," she said again, and this time Sam heard the echo in it, and this time the glint of green in her eyes lingered.  The ghost had her, appearing as a dark and swaying wisp in the air behind her, hands on her shoulders, keeping her still and calm.  Her eyes - the ghost's seyes - were on Sam, and a sudden, absurd thought struck her:
Isn't James his middle name?
The knot of rising terror in Sam's gut broke, and cold tingling relief poured over her.  For a moment she let it, willing the adrenaline to fade and the pounding heartbeat in her ears to settle, and then shifted gears.
That sonofabitch, I'll kill him for this one.
"No, you're not."
Star's head and the shadow's head cocked to one side in unison.  "No?"
Sam was locked on the spirit but her voice was directed at Felicity (and Jake, but to a lesser extent).  "Come here."
Felicity hesitated.  "What, are you serious - ?"
"Come here," Sam snapped, setting her first two fingers on the center of the board, ignoring the fact that the planchet was still misplaced somewhere under the bed.
"I don't like this," Felicity whispered, but followed Sam's lead regardless.
Star's fingers came out and rested gingerly on top, and Sam was certain that, underneath the veneer of shadows, the ghost was smiling.
"You listen to me, James," Sam commanded, with a seriousness that made Felicity and Jake both flinch, "You'd better get out of here."
Star's mouth turned up in a smile.  "And why's that?"
"Because if you don't, I'll banish you into next week."
"Sam," Felicity breathed, "I don't think that's such a good idea - "
"I'll do it," Sam reiterated, cutting Felicity off.
The smils on Star's face widened.  "Promise?"
Then the fingers on the board were moving, overcome by a pins-and-needles sensation that turned the board to static beneath them, and came to rest solidly over GOOD-BYE.
"See you then. . . "
Sam looked over and Star looked back at her with those big blue eyes.  She didn't seem distraught but Sam had to wonder how much of what had happened she'd remember.  She'd heard on several occasions that those puppeteered by the dead didn't tend to recall the influence, and Star wasn't horribly upset.
Still - she felt that ghost had crossed a line somewhere.  Crashing a seance, fine.  Overshadowing at said seance, even if he'd picked the least-favourite attendee?
That didn't sit right.
"You okay, Star?"
Star blinked once, twice, then cocked her head to one side and smiled.  "Of course I'm okay," she said, as if she hadn't been overshadowed at all, but the next thing out of her mouth, spoken with the utmost certainty, sent a chill down Sam's spine.
"He wasn't really going to hurt me, you know.  He let you win."
- - - -
Sam shut the door as the others left and then rounded on the ghost.  "I know you're still here.  There's no way you'd dip after a stunt like that."
(Damn right I wouldn't) said the shadowy thing under the bed, hauling himself out of the darkness a moment later.  In the light from the ceiling fixture overhead, the shadows fell apart, relenting to his more human texture and shape, and he shook the dustbunnies off once he got up to his feet.  In his hand was the forgotten token that went with Felicity's board, and he held it out to her.  "This is yours?"
Sam grabbed it from him, and only then did he get the impression that she wasn't entirely happy with him.  "You could have given me a heads-up, y'know."
"Hey, I was in the area, thought you could use a hand.  For goth cool points, or whatever."  Danny shrugged, leaning back and half-sitting on the side of the bed.  "I mean they do think you can scare off a real ghost now."
"And what the hell was with you overshadowing Star?" Sam went on, and at last the dopish grin at the corner of Danny's mouth vanished.  "So, okay, maybe I didn't want her to come.  But that doesn't mean you get to - "
"Wait, wait, hold on," Danny put a hand up in concession, "I didn't - well, I mean I did, but.  Listen for a sec, okay?  You don't like her, fine.  But I think something's up."
"Something's up," said Sam, nonplussed.  She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly in the desk chair and making it creak.  "You overshadowing people as a joke is what.  And whatever you were telling her in there, guess what  She remembers it now."
"That's what's up," said Danny impatiently, "I didn't tell her anything."
That made Sam pause.  "What?"
"You heard me.  But that's not it, let me say something else too.  I swear I'm not making this up: she saw me the second I drifted in the window.  I'm invisible and she's looking right at me.  The whole time.  It was like she was watching me."
"Bullshit," said Sam, wanting to believe it was.
Danny shook his head.  "You heard what she said.  After you banished me into next week."
"That you let me win," Sam recalled slowly.  In the moment, it had struck her as dumb-chills naivety on Star's part, but the way that Danny talked made it sound like she was serious.  Perhaps she'd just wanted to think that Star was that stupid.
"She knew it, and I didn't tell her.  I'm dead serious, Sam, she practically invited me to overshadow her.  I didn't even have to go all the way in her.  You saw it."
Sam had most definitely seen it.  "And what does this mean for the rest of us?  Or for you?  You're gonna tell me - what, she's going to miraculously guess you're half-ghost too?"
"I don't know - but you saw her the same as I did.  She wasn't scared of me.  Hell, I gave you guys a name and she was the one that didn't call me by it.  Like she knew it wasn't quite right."
"I get it," said Sam, thinking that maybe she would have been just as well off not calling him that either, "But what are we supposed to do about it?  Are you saying we should invite her onto the team?  Or what?"
Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair and letting it come to rest on the back of his neck.  He shrugged helplessly, his gaze picking out dustbunnies and imperfections in the floorboards at his feet.  "I don't know yet.  Keep an eye on her, maybe.  See if she starts saying things.  She's not as stupid as she looks, Sam.  Low bar, I know, but the last thing I need right now is somebody else to have to watch out for.  I know you don't like her.  I'm not asking you to."
He met her eyes then,  and the earnestness in them struck her.
"Just, don't let that put her in the way, okay?"
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couchpotatoaniki · 3 years
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Our Fruitless Tree
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As children, the three of you were inseparable. To show this, you planted a mulberry tree together--a symbol of your love and ever-lasting friendship that would withstand the test of time. But would it really?
Pairing: Servant!Hongjoong x Royal!Reader x Nobleman!Seonghwa Genre: Royal AU, Arranged marriage AU, Love triangle, heavy angst, fluff, childhood friends to lovers (?), Fantasy AU, Warnings: swearing, mentions of conception, blood, death (unknown terminal illness; tree), unrequited love, extremely poor story-telling, magic torture,  Word Count: 5.8k+
@atozfic​ IT MAY BE SHIT, BUT THIS ONE’S FOR YOU /g
A/N: the bridal bouquet in this is inspired by Princess Diana’s. I dunno, I just really liked it.
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“Y/N! Come look over here!” Seonghwa yelled at you, hand waving in the air to beckon you over where Hongjoong and he stood. Even as children, the two were taller than you, as if their bodies had not cared you were of a higher status.
You were the only child of the Kingdom’s royal family, meaning that you had little in the way of friends. Especially when the future crown stuck to you, intimidating any future playmates. Luckily Seonghwa was the son of a family friend--a nobleman with immense power, who’s faithful lineage dated back to the creation of the kingdom.
Hongjoong was similar, the only difference being that he came from that of a servant family than of one of power, a debt made by his ancestors that had sold his life to serve the royal family. But being your servant had taught him from a young age that, unlike what everyone had tried to make you believe, you were pretty much a normal human with feelings, the weight of an entire empire on your shoulders from the day you were born.
“Coming!” you yelled back, hurriedly making your way towards your only two friends, the younger holding something behind his back while the older was practically bouncing with excitement. “What are you hiding from me?”
Grinning, Seonghwa’s hands pulled into sight, unfurling to show off the sapling in his hand. “It’s a mulberry tree! You love mulberries, don’t you?”
You believe that was the first time your heart skipped a beat--at the young age of 11--but you wouldn’t realise until a quite few years later, when life was much different, though the relationship between the three of you had not changed all that much.
That day was a precious memory, where the three of you had planted the young mulberry sapling in a secret garden that your father had built just for you, but you had opened it to Seonghwa and Hongjoong; a place where none of you had to bare the titles hovering over your heads.
Even the Earth was indiscriminate when it came to dirtying your clothes as you all kneeled to plant the young sapling easily becoming the most important thing in your friendship.
Had the three of you acting as if it was your shared child, arguing who would water the roots, talking to it as if it could respond.
As the years went on, life was much different than when you were all naïve children, but the care and love you had never weakened, even during the occasional arguments that burst between you all.
With age, Hongjoong’s untameable burnt-chocolate hair lightened to a gentle chestnut, long enough that he had to tie it back into a little bun. Seonghwa’s hair, on the other hand, had changed from a soft platinum to a dirty blonde, messy strands now pulled down into a neat style.
The two were lean. Both still taller than you, though Hongjoong was only a few inches from you.
The three of you truly believed you could withstand the test of time. That your relationship would never change no matter how long it had been.
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“Are you ready for tomorrow?” you whispered, hand clamped to the stone railing of your balcony. “It’s your last chance to back out, Seonghwa.”
You could hear chuckling beside you, deeper than what you used to hear as a kid, though you dared not to look at the boy--the man beside you. “You know very well I can’t do that, Y/N. Would rather it be me that’s marrying you than some officious fool who knows nothing of your happiness.”
Sighing, you leaned over, letting your necklace dangling slightly in the air from around your neck. “Doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own happiness.”
You felt two colder hands wrap around your exposed arms, feeling nice against the humid summer night. Seonghwa’s chin rested down on your shoulder, as he looked on the same scene you were. Soft breaths against your skin had it erupting with goosebumps, and you prayed your friend had not noticed.
He did, but didn’t pay much heed to it--as per usual. If only he would put a little more though into the strange quirks you developed over time--developed around him and him only--maybe he would have realised that you loved him.
More than a friend.
Both of you were too lost in the moment to realise someone had entered your room. The final person to complete your trio. Hongjoong, dressed in his crisp cream and gold uniform, overlooked the scene of you two.
He didn’t know why his heart hurt so badly.
Clearing his throat certainly got your attention, ripping away from each other in fear that someone had caught you two a night before the wedding doing something you shouldn’t have. Was nothing like that, but people--especially those in the castle--tended to blow things out of proportion.
Upon seeing that it was only Hongjoong, you two had released a breath of relief. “For heaven’s sake, Hongjoong! You almost gave me a heart attack,” you said. Seonghwa had his eyes averted to the polished marble floor, unable to meet his friend’s, cheeks flushed.
You thought it was because of embarrassment that someone had caught the two of you so late at night.
It wasn’t.
“I think it would be best for you to return to your room, Seonghwa. Before someone actually does come looking for you. Don’t want someone to see you too,” Hongjoong laughed, now an expert at making a light-hearted aura around him with years of practice.
“Alright then. Good night,” the nobleman smiled, finally bringing his sight up to see his best friend, heart beating feverishly when he saw the gentle smile pulling at his lips. Couldn’t tell it wasn’t real, not even as he left the room.
Now it was just you and Hongjoong.
“Come, let’s take a walk.”
For as long as you could remember, the boy had been attentive to your needs (despite his occasional silly behaviour), long before he was told that it was his job. You’d like to think of it as his sixth sense; knowing how you were, what you needed, when you needed him.
Maybe that’s why he could tell that you had pre-wedding jitters, feeling so sick you barely had the life in you--skin looking more dreary than usual. You needed time away, even for a few minutes, to take a breather from all the commotion.
The two of you walked in silence in the sleeping halls, like two thieves in the night, careful not to wake anyone up.
Hongjoong was aware you liked Seonghwa, but he knew it was unrequited. Why, he could not his finger on. You were prefect, a person who deserved all the love in the world--in the universe.
You knew better than to ask where he was taking you; after all, you trusted him. And maybe because you also knew him well enough to know where he was taking you.
To the secret garden.
“She’s withstood all the storms and droughts the earth has threatened her with. No wonder her bark is so thick and her roots so tough.” His voice was tender as the tips of his fingers brushed against the rough bark, the trunk appearing darker under the absence of the sun. “Gotten so big, hasn’t she?”
As if his actions were a trigger, your hand reached out to stroke the mulberry tree too. “She has...” Tender look in your expression had his breath caught in his throat. Your eyes shifted to meet his, which were already gazing at you. “Do you think she’ll bare fruit this time?”
“The frost has long passed, so not this year, I believe.” Hongjoong couldn’t bare the instant hollow look in your eyes, saddened to his core until the light reignited in your irises--almost glowing in the dark like the fireflies surrounding them.
“But she will next year, right?”
“And she will bare the tastiest fruit. Better than those sold on the markets,” he reassured, though he had an inkling of suspicion that this fruit would not come any time soon. Not after all these years. But that spark in your eyes was the only thing he could not bare to extinguish, so he kept his lips pursed.
“I was reading up on the symbolism of the mulberry trees across cultures,” you said, moving to sit on the wooden swing that hung from one of the stronger branches; the rope had rose vines growing around it, which Hongjoong made sure to maintain so it was safe for you whenever you came. This was your favourite spot, after all.
He raised a brow, moving behind you as his hands rested on your back momentarily before pushing you slightly. “Is that so? Mind telling me?” He already knew from his extensive research to look after the tree, but there was no harm in hearing it again.
Excitedly, you let a wide grin play against your lips as he gradually pushed you higher and higher. “So, in Xiqen, it’s seen as a link between Heaven and Earth, and in Mika, it represents a support, nurturing and self-sacrifice.”
“Is that all?”
“Uh...yes.”
“Strange... I could’ve sworn there was some significance of the mulberry tree in Zepheth.” He began to slow down when he saw your back slump over slightly. Probably because he knew that it wasn’t a happy story.
“There is,” you mumbled, eyes downcast to the evergreen grass rather than meet his soft chocolate ones. “Just... it’s very sad.”
He held your hands in his larger ones, both of you loving the warmth it provided despite the slight heat of the night. “Not all stories are happy. Need to hear the sad ones too, to truly understand the picture.”
Words were a bit cryptic, even for him. Regardless, you had continued. “In Zepheth, there were these two lovers who were forbidden to wed, so they secretly arranged to meet under the mulberry tree. However, they were found out, and killed under the tree, staining the white berries red... It symbolises star-crossed lover and the final union of death.”
The air seemed to be still, despite the rustling of the leaves and chirping of the hidden crickets. Hongjoong kneeled down, pressing a hand onto your cheek to soothe even the slightest bit the grief in your face. “Good thing the other two have nice symbols. Cancels the bad things out.”
Chuckling slightly, you rested your own hand on his, nuzzling into his palm as your eyes shut. Stark contrast between your skins, yours being softer than silk while his were calloused and rough. But it felt nice against the supple flesh of your cheek.
You both thought so.
But with the moon so high and hair beginning to stick to your necks from the humidity and heat, you thought it best to return. “Escort me to my chambers? After all, it is a very big day tomorrow and we both have to rise early for the final preparations.”
As if he needed reminding of that. “Very well then.”
Your servant wasn’t happy with the proceedings--not when he knew that Seonghwa’s eyes did not meet the passion you had in yours, despite your many years of friendship. But he had to agree with him on one thing.
Seonghwa was the best and safest choice you (and the kingdom) had in this moment of time.
So Hongjoong didn’t protest when you walked down the isle in the most breath-taking attire, adorned with pearls and jewels, and a gorgeous bouquet of green and white; gardenias, lily of the valley, earl mountbatten roses, freesia, and ivy--and most importantly, white mulberries.
He didn’t challenge when the vows were spoken and Seonghwa promised to love you and only you forever.
He didn’t object when the Priestess gave the crowd one last chance to speak or forever hold their peace before the deal was sealed with a kiss.
Despite his gut and every other fibre in his being screaming at him otherwise.
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Another two decades passed, and now strands of white hairs were peeking through, but unlike before, much had changed. You were now a parent of three--triplets, conceived within the first few tries.
Yunho, San, and Wooyoung. The mulberries of your eyes.
You suppose that’s when the rose-tint on your married life began to fade. Though he was extremely affectionate in the beginning, Seonghwa never touched you like that again after the birth of your children. Though the three kids never really noticed it much as it was all they had known, you could see it clearly.
How he would spend more and more time in his office. How he would climb in bed and talk about your day, but doing nothing more. It was if you two had reverted back to friends--that very thought breaking your heart when you had loved him so dearly.
Felt as if he looked at your feelings as if it were a trinket in a shop before putting it back, not finding it suitable enough for him.
But for Seonghwa, that wasn’t the case at all.
He tried--he really did--to love you.
By now, time had made him wise enough to know of your compassion for him and he begged himself to return your feelings. Spent many nights while you were asleep praying to the entities residing in the Heavens, crying on the hard floor of the palace’s temple until his arms grew sore and his legs went numb.
But he could not look at any other. Seonghwa could not stop his heart knocking against his chest, his cheeks pooling with heat, whenever he saw Hongjoong smile, or laugh, or do the most menial of tasks.
Could not stop the thoughts of him being by his side rather than you--and it killed him to think that, especially when you have been nothing but kind and loving to the both of them--never giving your personal servant too much work or being too stubborn in wanting your husband’s affection. Instead of pressing too much, you worked on the kids and kingdom.
You were kind, selfless.
Maybe Seonghwa should have let someone else marry you. Maybe they could love you back for all those times he couldn’t.
But he supposes that the best thing out of this marriage was his children. Despite Yunho’s hyperactivity, San’s clinginess, and Wooyoung’s mischievousness, he loved the three to the moon and back.
Helped you in raising them over the last two decades into great people.
It was the only thing he couldn’t bring himself to regret.
That, and how it had given him the excuse to be closer with Hongjoong too, the two of them learning how to look after the triplets (one already proved to be a handful, but three was a nightmare) while you were unwell or busy with other business.
There were times where he glanced at his childhood friend, playing games with the young kids or feeding them or changing them, and had completely forgotten about you. All that swirled in his head was if this is what it would look like if Hongjoong and he had a family together.
Then Seonghwa would snap out of it a spilt second later, cold shame eating away at the warmth in his chest because how could he ever think of such a thing about the mother of his kids?
Meanwhile, Hongjoong--your intelligent and faithful servant--had figured this out too. Figured out the reason why he felt so sick to his stomach when he saw you be so loving towards a man who doesn’t love you back, and why said man could not reciprocate your feelings.
If Seonghwa felt guilty, then Hongjoong felt a million times worse.
Felt as if he was the reason you were in so much pain--and he could tell you were, because he was the one you came running to in the beginning, when your husband kept his wall up around you and you became so frustrated and upset that you spilled waterfalls of salty tears onto his jacket, mumbling words of pain and heartbreak that stayed within the walls of the secret garden.
It stayed safe there, as Seonghwa no longer visited.
Not even you had visited less, despite being consumed with your children and the work of the kingdom. The tree was a sign of your love for each other, it was your very first child.
Hongjoong, too, had stayed. Continued to care for it, to keep it company on his breaks, to talk about his problems since he certainly could not tell you or Seonghwa. His own tears often landed on the roots of the tree, nurturing it with his pain.
Perhaps that’s why the tree had not bore any mulberries, from the saltiness of the water or the anguish it carried.
But he kept whispering the same thing to you whenever you asked, that the mulberries would definitely come, and they would be tastiest you would ever have. Better than those from the markets.
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Five more years had passed and you grew ill. Hid it well, so well that no one except the royal physician knew of your condition. Not even Hongjoong knew, so you took that as an achievement. Rarely anything got by him, especially when it came to you.
Dr Yeosang had looked at you with dreary eyes, putting his equipment away which had signalled the end of your appointment. “Anything?” you inquired, coughing into a blood-stained napkin.
“I’m afraid there is still no diagnosis. None of the symptoms match up to any known illnesses and it appears that it is not spread by people since everyone else in the palace is as fit as a fiddle.”
Your smile was small as you chuckled. “Everyone except me, it seems,” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Yeosang simply sighed. “I believe it’s time. Tell your family before it gets even worse--which it has been doing since the first appointment. At least Hongjoong.”
“You know very well I can’t do that. We’re in the middle of a drought and there’s raids going on in the North--”
“Every kingdom faces those, and yours has already dealt with such situations in the past very well.”
You looked away, cheeks now starting to sink in from the lack of appetite. “I know,” you whispered, ”but I can’t bring myself to say it.”
He licked his lips in contemplation, understanding why you wouldn’t want to tell anyone. A monarch is as strong as the kingdom--any instability in the family will cause instability for the nation. And the same goes for a parent and their family.
“I suppose I can try to hide it a little longer... but a month is all I can do--from the rate your illness is progressing.”
Lips tightening in a thin line, you nodded. There was never going to be enough time. Would go greedy, wishing for a month, then another, then another. But your timer was non-negotiable.
So the first thing you did when you left the royal physicians was go see your sons. If there were anyone who needed your attention, they would be your boys.
Short on breath, you tried to travel swiftly through the hallways--bones, now weary with age and sickness, no longer moving the same way as you used to. As you made your way to the royal family’s private wing, you overheard wisps of conversation through a nearby door.
Slowing to a halt, you listened closer, recognising the voices but not seeming to put names to them--brain too muddled to think straight.
“--know.”
“You can’t do that, Seonghwa. Not to her.”
“I can’t force myself to stop caring about you, Hongjoong!”
Your heart stopped mid-beat.
“Keep your voice down!” There was a pause while the floorboards of Seonghwa’s private office creaked, most likely Hongjoong’s habit of pacing while he was thinking. “You need to. I care about you as a friend, but nothing more.”
“You think if I could, I would’ve done so already?” your husband’s voice was seething. “Heavens know how hard I have tried to love her, b-but I just can’t!”
“Well I can’t love you back, if that’s what you’re asking for.”
Another stretch of silence passed, and you could almost imagine the two glaring at each other as they normally did in a fight. “Because you love her. Am I correct?”
A soft sigh came from who you assumed was Hongjoong, quiet but still loud enough for your ears to capture (greatly timed to cover your own gasp at the revelation).
“I don’t know...”
“What do you mean by that?”
“...Nothing.”
“Hongjoong, you know you can tell me anything. Regardless of our positions before or after this conversation, we will always be friends.”
“This is better kept between me and the Heavens.” He sighed once more. “All you need to know is that we can’t be together because I don’t love you and I have my loyalty. End of discussion.”
Had it been anyone else, Seonghwa would’ve had them arrested for speaking that way to their king. But neither of you could ever so that to him. He was your rock, your old friend--his loyalty shining bright even after all these years of serving you.
Before Hongjoong could open the door, you had fled the scene, not wanted to be caught eavesdropping on such a private conversation--even if the topic had concerned you.
Just before entering the Princes’ linked chambers, you caught your breath, willing your pounding heart to stop beating so feverishly.
There was too much going on. Too much, and your brain can’t seem to wrap itself around it all.
“So that’s why,” you whispered, lacking breath in your lungs. “His heart belongs to another...” Then a fit of coughs burst once more and your hands scrambled to retrieve a fresh napkin tucked beneath your sleeve to catch the blood.
Upon hindsight, it was a bad idea to stop in front of your son’s private room, because your extreme coughing had caught his attention. Yunho’s confused eyes melted away to concern, especially after seeing the dark red liquid tainting the pure white cloth.
“Mother!”
His cry had attracted the attention of your other two sons, who swarmed around you as Yunho cradled his arms around you, guiding you to his bed.
San brushed the strands of hair that had escaped from your tight bun away from your face while Wooyoung rubbed your back in attempt to sooth your violent coughing. “What’s wrong, Mum?”
“We need to tell Papa!”
“We need Dr Yeosang--”
“He knows,” you tried to say, doing your breath to bring your breathing back to normal. “The doctor. He’s known... for a long time.”
“What do you mean ‘a long time’?” San asked, his hands clasped around yours, a desperate look in his eyes begging for an explanation. “What’s going on, Mama?”
Not right now. You were supposed to have a month extra. They weren’t supposed to find out so soon. “I...” you throat felt tight and dry, “I’m very unwell. The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong because he’s never seen anything like it before.”
“Then we get a new doctor!” Yunho piped in, voice raised and slightly frantic. You really didn’t need them panicking.
“If Yeosang doesn’t know, then no one will.”
“What about Dad?” Wooyoung asked. “Does he know? Uncle Hongjoong has to know, right? Uncle Hongjoong always kn--”
“Neither of them know. We must keep it that way. So you need to pretend that I’m healthy and well for just one more month. That’s all I ask for. One month.”
You looked between all your children, trying to memorise their faces because Heavens know how long you have left.
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As promised, the boys kept your secret for as long as they could--caring and tending to you as much as they could without arousing suspicion from Hongjoong or Seonghwa.
But before your month was up, you had collapsed just after a dinner--slipping in and out of consciousness while your old friend carried you up to Yeosang’s office, the rest of your family in tow, beyond worried.
Yeosang later explained, when you were fully awake, that whatever illness you had was growing at a much faster rate than he anticipated, and you had a few weeks at most.
Now, you were bedridden in your chambers, limbs too heavy and painful to move, lungs feeling like they were being pressed down from the gravity and it got harder and harder to keep your eyes open.
Not a day went by where your sons or husband visited you, and Hongjoong had rarely ever left your side. As strong as they all tried to be, their puffy crimson eyes and sniffling noses were all too obvious.
“Seonghwa? Hongjoong?” you said, voice faint and dry. “Could you go out... for a few minutes. I need to... talk to the boys.”
They exchanged glances, before following your quiet word. “What is it, Mama?” San said, crouched beside you as he held your hand once again.
Even as a man in his mid-twenties, your little baby still called you ‘Mama’ and refused to let go of his mother’s hand. Found you as the most comforting thing in the world.
“Remember... the mulberry tree? The one I showed you?”
“Yeah, Ma,” Wooyoung said leaning against the wall that faced you. Despite his playful and nonchalant nature, you knew he was the most emotional one out of the three. Which was why you were very concerned over his silence for the past few days until he finally spoke now.
“I want you three... to look after it once I’m gone.”
“You’re not going, Mother,” Yunho sniffled, tears in his eyes threatening to drop. He was the oldest (by a few minutes) and was still the most respectful. But even then, he was still a kind and soft-hearted boy, much like his brothers.
“But promise me... regardless. That you’ll look after her. And when she finally bares fruit...”
“It’ll be the tastiest fruit,” your sons recited in unison, eyes glossy with unshed tears, “better than any other on the markets.”
With the little strength you had left, you mustered a weak smile. “My good boys... You will become... fine kings one day. I have no doubt.” You let go of San’s hand, hand instantly being consumed by the cold from the lack of insulation and warm blood pumping through your veins. “Now... call in your Father and Uncle.”
And they did so, leaving the room to leave the three of you alone. “What is it, my dear?” Seonghwa caressed your cheek lovingly, but you both knew that it was more of a platonic gesture than a romantic one--more for you than it was for him.
“I know...about your love for Hongjoong.”
You could feel the tension in the air thicken to such a degree that you could slice it with the letter opener that resided on your bedside table. It was Hongjoong who spoke up. “Y/N, you need to know that we never--”
“Did anything... I know.” You look to him, that same weak smile plastering on your face. “Such a loyal friend. Never did deserve you, did I?”
He shook his head as he came down to hold your hand. “No--don’t say that. If anything, I didn’t deserve you as a friend.”
You chuckled softly, careful not to trigger another one of your coughing fits. “If I can’t say things like that... then neither can you. But I would like you both to do two final things for me.”
“Anything,” his voice was still strong, unwavering, but you knew Hongjoong long enough to see the stormy ocean behind his calm gaze, the turmoil he must be feeling right now from losing his closest and oldest friend.
“First thing is.. be happy,” you shifted your gaze over to your husband, “and you too. If you can’t with me... then at least with each other.”
For the first time, your servant let go of your hands, denying your request. “I can’t be happy without you.”
“Then learn to do so. After all, you have... the rest of your life.”
He couldn’t verbally agree to that, not when what he said was true. Not when his own heart lay in your possession--and would to until the day he passed as well. So Seonghwa took the painful step in asking what your second wish was.
You recalled the Zepheth’s symbol of your most beloved possession. Star-crossed lovers and the final union of death. Though the three of you were stuck in a sick triangle of unrequited love by the Heavens, it felt fitting for your story.
And perhaps, with your permanent presence, the fruit would finally grow.
“Bury me under the mulberry tree.”
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Extra, alternative ending below If you’re not a fan of fantasy or torturous spirits or man-eating trees, just stop here.
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Two young travellers searched around the ruins of a lost palace, greenery overflowing, filling every nook and cranny of the battered stone walls--a rather beautiful sight of Mother Nature reclaiming her lands.
“Where even are we, Mingi?” the shorter, more muscular one of the pair said, stumbling over vines and rubble as he followed the much taller man.
“Not where we’re meant to be, I think,” he quipped, looking at the architecture to find some clues of their whereabouts.
The other rolled his eyes. “This would’ve been a lot easier if you didn’t drop the map in the river.”
“Hey! In my defence, it was really windy and the rain made the ground slippery. Leave me alone, Jongho.”
“Not until you give me a damn map.”
Like the archaeology student he was, Mingi studied the tattered tapestry and engravings on the walls until it had hit him. “Holy mother of fresh, sweet hell.”
“What?”
Without answering his best friend’s question, the man too off running, as if he already knew the layout of the place. Jongho ran after him, screaming and almost tripping over the vegetation in the way of his heavy boots.
Once Mingi stopped, his friend held his knees, heaving to catch his breath. “What... the hell... was that for?”
Swivelling on his heel, the tall explorer had sparkles in his eyes. “This is it! The Lost Kingdom! The thing we’ve been looking for!”
Jongho’s head snapped up. “You mean you’ve been looking for? I was just dragged along by your antics as usual.” He narrowed his eyes when he finally saw where his friend took him. “A tree? You took me to see a goddamn TREE?!”
Mingi got closer the enormous mulberry tree, gazing at it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Not just any tree. It’s the Queen Y/N’s tree!”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jongho sighed, feeling the rage burn within him like a furnace, “you took me to see a dead woman’s tree?”
“Yes, but--”
“WE ALMOST DIED, MINGI! TWICE!” He held up two fingers, expressing his point further. “AND ALL THAT FOR A GODDMAN TREE?!”
“The lore surrounding it was well worth the trip,” a voice said, the two boys’ head spinning to see a person dressed in old, fancy clothing, perched upon the swing--now completely covered with vines and moss. Both of them swore they hadn’t noticed them there. Yet, they brushed it off anyways, thinking that they just had silent movement.
“Who are you?” Mingi asked, head cocked to the side as he became familiar with the sight of them.
“The protector of this tree,” they replied. “Who are you?”
“Some travellers...sightseeing,” Jongho piped in, sceptical of this person who looked like they were in their twenties, just like them.
“You were talking about lore?” The older of the two inquired, already greatly invested in the whole place. “Are you familiar with it?”
“Why, I must be. After all, I look after her,” they said, lovingly stroking the trunk of the tree. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, please!” Mingi sat down, like a child excited for story time despite knowing the book by-heart, while Jongho stayed stood up beside him.
“Well, once upon a time, there was a very strong and powerful Kingdom--”
“The Lost Kingdom!” the child-like man shot out, too giddy to hold back.
The person giggled, his antics reminding them of someone they used to know. “Yes, I believe that’s what you call it. Well, there were three children that lived here; one was of royalty, one of nobility, and the third was a servant--but they were the best of friends, despite their status.”
The muscular boy narrowed his eyes at the childish tone the person was using, not liking how it sounded--how it started to make him feel weary.
“They planted this tree,” they tapped the trunk with their hand, “right here, and nurtured it for as long as they could. As they grew older, the royal and nobleman got married and had children together, while the servant dedicated his life to helping them.”
Jongho sat down, feeling more dreary than normal, coughing a little, while Mingi did the same, not feeling so well either.
“They were all still close, regardless of personal disputes between them, but their love for each other began to weaken only once the tree remained barren of fruit. But they kept up hope, saying that it will the next year.”
The travellers had found it hard to breath, as if there was a pressure on their lungs, squeezing them flat.
“But then, the royal found out they were dying, so they asked to buried under the mulberry tree. In their mind, their body would give the tree the nutrients it needed to finally bare the mulberries they so desperately craved. But no fruit had bore, making the spirit of the royal restless.”
Jongho coughed violently, thick red liquid dribbling down his chin, looking over to Mingi who was hunched over in pain. "But... that’s a fruitless... mulberry tree.”
It appeared to be the wrong thing to say, as their brows furrowed, scowl pulling at their lips, the swing stopped swinging. “And who are you to say that?”
“Because I study... goddamn plants.”
Then it clicked in Mingi’s head--what was going on. “Jongho... shut up--” His chest squeezed harder, a yelp escaping his lips as he toppled to the side.
“Carrying on from that rude interruption,” the person glared at the younger of the two, who was now lying on his side, curled into the foetal position, “the nobleman and servant then died a while after, and were buried side-by-side with the royal.”
Overgrown roots of the tree began to soften, becoming more flexible like snakes as they began to slither their way to the two young boys.
“But even their bodies weren’t enough. So the royal’s spirit swore to use whatever they could to make the tree finally bare fruit.”
The roots wrapped around each boys ankle, spiralling up until it wrapped the two of them in a cocoon. And neither of them could do anything, too tired to yell or move around, succumbing to the sweet release of sleep.
Getting up off the swing, the person rested their forehead on the trunk of the tree.
“And it will be the tastiest fruit. Better than any other on the markets.”
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A/N: If you didn’t get it, the tree not growing any fruit was a metaphor of unrequited love. I feel like I didn’t really explain that properly, but there you go.
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artsydudejude · 2 years
Text
Anonymous prompt: Fritz and Rita’s first meeting (part 1/2)
Rita does not like to start fights.
All things considered, in fact, she feels like she’s exercised some pretty impressive self-restraint in recent months. It’s not always easy to hold her tongue and walk away, but she chooses to, for the sake of her own health and peace of mind. If it means being the bigger person, she can put away her pride and not let a simple disagreement turn into a broken nose and a lifetime ban from Red Lobster.
Joining fights, on the other hand… well, there’s no shame in that. If someone else has already dealt the first blow, then what moral ground is there to lose?
So when she hears the unmistakable sounds of an impromptu brawl happening just behind the bar where she’s parked her bike, Rita wastes no time sticking her earrings in her pocket and rolling her sleeves, chomping at the bit for that next rush of adrenaline.
Except there’s no real fight going on. Instead, she rounds the corner to find some frat house reject laying kicks into a balled-up figure on the ground, bellowing the kind of language that makes her think that this guy doesn’t have a very good reason to be beating someone’s ass in an alleyway. Rita, on the other hand, feels entirely justified in her decision to grab the nearest makeshift weapon (a miraculously unbroken liquor bottle, good for her!) and bash it over Mr. Slur’s head with all the fury that her five-foot-five frame can muster.
As predicted, the guy goes down in an instant. Rita spares a second to press a finger to his neck, just to make sure she hasn’t done anything too crazy, and huffs a sigh of relief when she finds a pulse. Good. She does not need anything else on her conscience.
A pained groan cuts through her train of thought, and she turns to find the balled-up figure from before attempting to sit up, with an arm curled protectively around their ribs and a curtain of greasy blond hair obscuring their face.
“Oh, shit,” she blurts out, scrambling to crouch beside them, “Hey, buddy, you alright? Do you, like, need a hospital, or somethin’?”
The person shakes their head, waving a hand around dismissively, before spitting up what looks like a gob of blood onto the asphalt. They gingerly begin to get up (and Rita gets up with them, worriedly hovering), still holding their ribs and groaning as they finally manage to stand. In the dim light of the back door’s exit sign, Rita tries to get a good look at them.
He’s a guy, as far as she can tell, with straight hair down to his collarbones and a short, ill-kept beard. A pair of round sunglasses (at night???) completely obscure his eyes, and the rest of his face is pale and sunken. He’s taller than her, even while slouching, but skinny enough that Rita thinks she could knock him clean on his ass even if he weren’t at his current disadvantage. His jeans and his well-worn bomber jacket both hang off his frame, and his sneakers look to be held together with nothing but duct tape and a prayer.
He looks like shit, is what Rita thinks. Damn her bleeding heart.
“Hey,” she says, clapping a hand on The Guy’s shoulder. The Guy jumps at the sudden contact, looking up from where he was prodding at his (probably badly bruised) side. “Do you live around here? I can give you a ride home, if you want,” Rita offers; because she’s nice like that, dammit.
The Guy shakes his head, hands burying themselves in his pockets.
“’No’, you don’t live around here, or ‘no’, you don’t need a ride?” Rita asks.
“First one,” The Guy mumbles, barely opening his mouth.
Great. “You got anywhere nearby you can stay at?”
The Guy grimaces, glancing briefly downwards where Rita spots (Jesus fuckin’ Christ!!!) a sad pile of blankets laid out on the ground next to the bar’s back door. Great. Perfect. Just when Rita thought her heartstrings could hold their own against this sad, scrawny man.
“Okay!” Rita announces after an awkward pause, “Okay. C’mon, buddy, you’re gonna stay with me tonight. No arguments,” she says with finality, gripping The Guy’s jacket and pushing him in the direction of her bike.
He digs his heels in for a second, reluctant. “I—uh, you don’t have to—,”
“No arguments!”
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artobotsrollout · 3 years
Text
Transformers: Harbingers
The Pirate Scream AU
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Before I talk about it you guys are the best thank you for indulging me and my AU from this post xjdjd. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
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@badlydrawntransformers @cosmic0de @warrioroffandoms @measlyfurball13 And a bonus thank you to those encouraging me in the tags as well ❤️
I plan to do art for it as well as accompanying written bits and maybe even an animatic but till then have some general info under the cut.
Also there is transformers: Prime spoilers below so open at your own risk.
TRANSFORMERS: HARBINGERS
So this AU comes from the same place many AUs heavily involving TfP Starscream come from: the unfulfilled potential in our boy Scream. Now deeper discussion of that is not gonna be in this post. It'd be a whole essay.
It also comes from just how salty I was that the Team's kindness never really benefitted them much and they kept getting slapped for it. And OP really wanted to win over a con and Starscream kept wanting a partner. ALSO ALSO Optimus was portrayed as keeping his emotions in check and then never really gets a message that it's okay to be emotional so... I'm doing that here.
And the Starscream Pirate AU was born...
Aka Transformers: Harbingers (maybe idk if it's catchy enough djjsw)
Why Harbingers? ''It's just a SHIP Starscream chills in for awhile in the show' ' I hear you say. WELL HANG ON!! I got two very good reasons!! .
First off: Starscream, with the help of some Cybertronians who he wins over one way or another (Ill get to that), help him essentially use the remains of the Harbinger to put together their own functional ship. It's smaller than the Nemesis and will take some pirate ship inspiration. While it is a hardy beast it's a bit jury rigged.
Second of all:
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Imagine being a fictional character living in a ship with a name that basically means 'Foreshadowed bringer of change' and then going back to Megatron and his bullshit. I'm gonna grab this and run all the way with it. Highway to Hell just came on my Spotify so... That may be an omen.
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NOW LISTEN
I feel like Starscream and Optimus could really have had such an interesting dynamic but we never really got to see that in TfP and I feel cheated. Also both could have mutually benefitted a great deal.
So what do I do? I shove them together to be sorta begrudging Co-Captains. As a result there's a lot of shenanigans to be had!
How this happens OP has some run ins with cons and, through a way I'm still deciding, has the opportunity to extend a hand to Starscream. Starscream, being kindness starved, doesn't entirely know what to do about Optimus being nice to him one whole time with no sarcasm or ulterior motive and sorta starts trying to get his attention.
Starscream and his crew are a bit of their own team at this point. MEANING sort of new LOGOS!
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I'm yoinking the crossed out Decepticon logo from the Dark Energon Starscream and Dark Energon Knockout toys cause I mean... It's right there and also kinda like a skull and crossbones. It fits too well guys.
Starscream essentially manages to win over the autobots enough so they can sorta make a mutually beneficial, if strained, alliance to aid their aligned goal: killing Megatron and revitalizing cyberton. This is aided by some slight changes to the plot of course. It's also a benefit, much to Ratchet's delight, since they finally get some cybertronian tech to work with.
And so they gotta work together to take Megatron out and there's much bonding moments esp later when the autobot base is destroyed. Starscream extends his hand to them and offers them a more permanent position onboard. (rubbing in how unfortunate their situation is and how this is such a big favour but he's paying Optimus back.)
And insert team dynamic stuff!! Like cons teaming up with Bots, Starscream and Optimus trying to stick with it leading their own teams but keep accidently backseat-leadering one another. I will write some other ex-con and bot dynamics cause there's a lot of chaos to be had.
Optimus doesn't open up to his crew for morale sake and masks his emotions well, and Starscream is... well Starscream is Starscream so he masks what he truly feels a lot and doesn't share a lot of personal stuff besides complaints with his team either. So there's a lot of tension.... That is until Starscream has had it at just how good a poker face Prime has.
Because he's absolutely paranoid got a harmless curiosity about Optimus's ulterior motives and wants potential dirty secrets he can use as blackmail to have power over the Prime, he essentially puts cybertronian booze (but kid friendly version of course fbejek) in Optimus's energon heavily expecting him to spill the beans when heavily drunk. What he doesn't expect is that Optimus is just... LIKE THAT to his core. He's smart but very sad and guilty. And maybe a bit weepy and exhausted cause this man has not shown an emotion for eons now. /s. Starscream doesn't know wtf to do but swayed by how earnest Optimus is he sorta softens up and does open up. Might have helped that he took a swig of the tainted energon to get on his level though. But it also helps that neither is the others subordinate so they don't need to maintain their image as badly with the Co-captain as they do their team.
The ex cons sorta accidently absorb some of the autobot's morals over time. The cons help the autobots have some fun. There's a lot of stuff learned both ways. Also the cons realize how cool humans can be and after a lot of argument and forced time spent with the kids, they want to protect earth too.
Starscream, helps Optimus open up a bit more and allow himself to be emotional. He also shows him how to be a little selfish. Optimus in turn helps him with self confidence and making friends. Both help each other with the shit Megatron put em both through and overall boost one another up. (This also does change the start of the war a bit but I'll get to that in another post.)
Miko tries to fight all of the cons at first but quickly changes her tune cause "BOOYAH PIRATE CONS!!"
Other bits about this AU:
Starscream will eventually get a slight design change. It'll be less scrappy and look more confident and put together. It'll be minor
Because they are on a flying ship but have less energon than the Nemesis, everyone gets equipped with mods for flight. There is a jetpack upgrade one can get or Knockout can straight up help change their alt mode surgically.
I'm working up a list of who gets what flight mod but... Ya'll should know that Wheeljack dares Knockout to make him into a flying car. Largely cause I just got the image of Wheeljack flying above vehicons and just turning into a car and dropping on them. That and driving up the side of the Nemesis and confusing the fuck out of Megatron. Out of all the characters you know that would be a Wheeljack thing.
Arcee and Knockout grieve together.
Knockout loves bugging the hell out of Ratchet. It's extra fun for him cause Ratchet often can't do shit about it since they both need the room and tools.
Knockout and Wheeljack become an insufferable duo with the nicknames they have for everyone.
Wheeljack won't leave Starscream alone and keeps coming up with worse and worse nicknames like he did with Ratchet.
Starscream and Ratchet become complaining buddies.
STARSCREAM'S SEEKER SQUAD REJOINS. Well some of them. Skywarp, Thundercracker and maybe other peeps.
Miko manages to befriend Skywarp and Bulkhead now has to watch both Miko AND Skywarp. Wheeljack refuses to help Bulkhead round them up.
Raf hits it off with Thundercracker.
Knockout: "FINALLY a team with fragging MANNERS!"
Instead of Beeftimus Prime from the forge, Optimus actually gets access to a third alt mode and.. Idk something else primely. So he actually gets wings.
Starscream and the other fliers are greatly amused because Optimus, as great as he is at his poker face most of the time, hasn't yet figured out how to not emote with the pair of wings he gets from the forge. Thundercracker is the one who eventually informs him while the rest of the crew are booing loudly in the background.
I actually do have designs of TFP Skywarp, Thundercracker, and Ironhide in the works.
Fowler and Starscream have insult battles. Oddly both grow a weird almost fondness for these verbal sparring sessions
They frequently raid the Nemesis
Miko keeps talking in a pirate voice. Smokescreen has joined her.
AND A LOT OF OTHER STUFF I'LL GET INTO WITH MORE DETAIL AND ART. I'll also talk more in depth about some of these things that isn't a ramble like this post is. xnwjskw.
Feel free to ask about anything you're curious about.
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riathedreamer · 3 years
Text
Zero is Null
A discussion of Zero’s love-hate-relationship with RvB and struggling independence; including a hotdog too big for the bun, tragic backstories, a single bow-chicka-bow-wow, and a cookie at the very end.
Welcome to what will be a lot of text. Basically, it will explore why Zero fails as an RvB (with emphasis on RvB) season. I will not be the first one to bring forth some of the points, and I promise to be fair and civil and fun. This isn’t supposed to be a piece of hate – in fact, I’m writing this because I love Red vs. Blue.
Okay, first of all, to increase your fun – take a guess on just how much of Zero is spent on fight scenes. You see, I’ve calculated the exact amount, and I will reveal it later, but for now, take a guess and remember the number. Maybe you are the winner!
Alright, time to share my thoughts. Wait! Since I suffer from anxiety and have this one annoying voice pretending to be all those critical statements my opinion could be met with, let’s give it an actual voice and address the points throughout this review.
“Why would I care about your opinion, Ria?” – I don’t know, you’re the one who clicked Read More.
“Your opinion doesn’t matter!” – Of course, it doesn’t! Geez. Do you think your opinion matters, though? Listen, we’re on Tumblr, the actual equivalent of screaming into the void. And it’s fun, too!
“If you don’t like it, don’t watch!” - *activates Uno Reverse Card* “You can’t talk about something you haven’t watched!”
“You’re just a Hater” – Actually, this is a point I’ll come back to. Like a cliffhanger. Also, at the end of this, there’ll be a cookie. But this will also include me talking about the stuff I like, because, surprise, Zero is not without talent!
“You just don’t like it because the Reds and Blues aren’t in it!” – Actually, that’s a good point, so instead, this review will start with a sole focus on Zero and discuss the problem that lies within that story. Then we can address why the lack of OG cast is understandable and problematic and weird.
But first! Backstory.
When the first 5 second teaser dropped back in spring (you know, when we were young and innocent and the world didn’t feel like an apocalyptic movie yet), I held onto that one image of what I thought (hoped) to be Grif and Simmons in the sunset, hopefully addressing Grif’s hateglue arc, but boy was I wrong because a) that’s not Simmons, that’s Sarge, and b) the image was from a PSA since the Reds are not in Zero.
Actual face-reveal of me below:
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Admittedly, when I heard that the Reds and Blues were not going to be the main characters (or even show up), it felt like a gut punch. However, I actually found myself getting excited due to the creators’ hype. I want to praise them for this. It’s been a while since an RvB season was talked so much ABOUT before its release; it had advertisements, it had creators and voice-actors talking about it. Please. More of that in the future. Their passion rubbed off on me, and that deserves recognition. So it pains me that this was clearly a passion-project, and then when I gave it a try, I didn’t want to touch it again for weeks.
Here’s the thing. I cannot whole-heartedly say that Zero is bad. It’s not gonna melt your eyes. It’s not even so-bad-it’s-good. For me, it’s meh. It’s a Saturday-morning-cartoon aimed for a younger audience with a rushed plot and clichéd characters. The problem is that it calls itself RvB, and with that title comes something to live up to – but more importantly, something to continue.
My main issue is that Zero forces its story into existence by ignoring established content rather than adjusting to it. Let’s call this for the hotdog-too-big-for-the-bun syndrome solely for the sake of the bow-chicka-bow-wow that’s coming now. Bow-chicka-bow-wow. Many of the separate issues I will dive into all add to this hotdog-issue, so I will scream “Hotdog!” whenever this is the case so we can all keep track of my argument.
You can continue the story of Red vs. Blue without the Reds and Blues. While that would personally crush my heart, it can be done. There’s a story of Red vs. Blue that can be continued. The world can be expanded, the previous actions of the Reds and Blues can be explored from another angle.
So.
How does Zero do this? It doesn’t.
I just want to make it clear that new elements can definitely be added when it comes to worldbuilding. That’s literally the point of sequels. But Zero’s settings are presented with so little grace and with no connection to previously established worldbuilding. We get Alliance of Defense and GLASS thrown in our face as very big important organizations – yet we’ve never heard of them before. A big central plot point of RvB is the UNSC and Project Freelancers, and those were introduced naturally with the plot. We already have big established intergalactic organizations. What is AOD’s connection with those? We aren’t told. We are just told they exist and expected to accept it, no questions asked. If this was a whole new world and story – fine. But when you need to build on an already established worldbuilding, you need more grace than this. Chorus was a whole new setting, but it was explained, and it was connected to the previous plot. Same with Iris. Same with Desert Gulch. In Zero, it feels lazy. It feels forced. These organizations are just there because the story is built around them (HOTDOG).
This vagueness when it comes to wordbuilding is also reflected in the settings - we have a desert, a training base, a lab, temples, Tucker’s workplace, and we do not know if all those are set place on the same planet. If that is the case, what is this planet’s relationship with Chorus? Is it Earth? And most importantly, what is the deal with the temples? Why are they connected to Tucker’s sword if it isn’t the same planet. Are they made by the same aliens? Are people okay with this? Why haven’t these temples been explored before? Chorus makes sure to establish this, while Zero doesn’t, adding to a growing amount of confusion.
Okay, so no connection with previous worldbuilding. What about characters? I mean, we got Wash and Carolina and Tucker! So we have RvB characters, it gotta be RvB! Technically – yeah. But it feels dirty. These three characters are not here to be characters. They are here to be props to the new cast. They are not given any development. Their presence isn’t even that important, and if this was a whole new show, they could easily have been replaced with an unknown face. Worst of all, they feel miswritten.
Carolina and Wash are working at a new military organization? Leaving the Reds and Blues behind? To help people? First of all, fucking bad idea, Carolina, the last time you left the Reds and Blues alone, they changed the timeline. But most importantly – Carolina and Wash just joined this new super elite military organization? After being mistreated and manipulated by such an organization in the past?
Carolina is there to introduce the characters. That’s it. We are force-fed their personality by having her literally read out loud their personality. There is no gentle introduction to the new cast. We are not allowed to get to know them naturally. Why show when you can tell, huh? That’s Carolina’s role. That’s why she is there. To introduce the cast and explain their story. That’s it. (HOTDOG).
How about Wash? He is there to get beat up and be a damsel in distress so that the new cast has a reason to explore the plot. Oh, and that brain damage that was the consequence of previous seasons – gone now. The guy who literally has trauma from having an AI explode inside his head is fine with having a computer inserted into it instead. Because that’s needed. To explore his brain damage wouldn’t work now when his role is to be a prop to lure the new cast for one episode and then be put onto the bench for the rest of the runtime (HOTDOG).
And Tucker – he is there to die for a second and have his sword taken from him. That’s literally it. And for the few moments he is there, he feels like old super flirty Tucker, which erases the character development he went through in previous seasons. Okay, so Tucker dies, and then not dies, and then he is put on the bench with Wash where they can sit and talk or whatever (‘cause holy shit, the new cast is not allowed to that), because he isn’t important. The sword is. Tucker is just a prop, even more than his sword is (HOTDOG).
Damn. Wash gets beat up. Tucker gets beat up. Dies. Gets his sword taken away. Almost seems like a Red’s wet dream. Sorry not sorry, Blues, you were done dirty.
So there are miswritten old characters. Even worse is the retconning. The plot needs a “normal” Wash, so, bam, magic computer solution. Never mind Wash’s trauma and character traits. Never mind the logic of the new worldbuilding which also includes a character suffering for years to heal an illness. But the brain damage that was such a big consequence that it became the main part of the plot of the last two seasons – gone. I mean, a gunshot to the head can be healed by CPR. That’s canon. But no one gave Wash CPR so it’s a big thing, okay. It was canonically a big thing, and Zero erased that. This is not me saying that a Cerebral Enhancer couldn’t work in the RvB universe. Imagine it being done right. Wash struggling with the choice of getting used to his disability or accepting the possibility of help - at the cost of reliving his trauma. The struggle between what to choose - what should he choose when he wants to help as many as possible, the sacrifices he thinks he has to make, the way it could have been used as a part of his character growth. But in Zero, the enhancer isn’t a part of Wash’s character. It’s there so the story can work without having to deal with the previous plot’s consequence (HOTDOG).
Same with the sword thing. They sorta explain it by having Tucker flatline, but it’s weak. Honestly, I find it sorta offensive. What about Locus’ sword as well? It’s twisting previous lore to make the new plot work (HOTDOG). (Also, are we not gonna talk about the ultimate power being Spencer Porkensenson’s helmet? Have the writers forgotten Spencer Porkensenson? Have we as a community forgotten Spencer Porkensenson?)
If you have Red vs. Blue in your title, you cannot ignore what you inherit from it. You need to respect the worldbuilding, the established characters, and the previous plot. Zero does not do this.
Let’s talk about the Triplets. No, really, let’s do it. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about them before, because season 14 was a mixed bag for me (that I have now learned to appreciate. Thank you, Zero.) because I have heart at the size of the Grinch and can only love a few characters at a time, and that did not include the Triplets. Can’t even remember their names. Well, I can, but I can’t for the love of me remember which state is which, and my tongue is twisted every time I try to say Ohio, Iowa, and Idaho, and I know it’s on purpose. I know it is. And it got me good. That being said, the fandom actually embraced them really, really well! Seriously, I’ve seen more content for the Triplets than for Zero as a whole.
Why talk about the Triplets? (Was Iowa the lesbian? Or was it Ohio? Fuck.) Because like Zero, they introduced new characters with a story of their own. The Reds and Blues didn’t play a role. But here’s what I feel like the Triplets got right. They didn’t change the settings to force their narrative. They used stuff already established (Project Freelancer), added their own story as a continuation of that. They even included old characters in the beginning (Wash and some other Freelancers) but it felt natural and it didn’t feel like it happened at the expense of the old characters. Wash’s writing felt natural, and his presence wasn’t needed to tell these new character’s stories. He wasn’t a prop to them. He was there to establish the setting and to establish the relationship with these new characters, and then he and the other familiar faces (helmets??) left, and we as the viewers were left with these new characters. And the new characters told their own story by themselves. It felt like, hey, here’s something you know – remember Mother of Invention, and remember Wash’ lower rank, but now, try to imagine being even lower rank than him, aren’t you curious about those fates? Now let’s hear their story! It was new, it was something else, but it didn’t wreck what came before it, and it stayed true to the classic vibes of RvB.
As I said before, the hotdog-issue is my biggest problem with Zero. It infuriates me. I will return to this. But there are more issues, even if we try to look past the title-related problems.
If we try to imagine Zero as its own story and universe (as it should be, in my opinion), it still earns the meh review from me.
These isolated issues include awkwardness, the writing, lack of self-awareness, and pacing. First of all, holy shit, this is a tell, don’t show. Nothing is subtle, nothing is allowed to develop. It’s like the show thinks you are six years old with an attention span of a goldfish. You are not just led by the hand – they have literally pulled off your arm by the end of the show. We are force-fed every bit of information, every bit of personality from these new characters.
The voice-acting is a mixed bag for me. Sometimes it’s pretty good, sometimes it’s not. Some of the problems can definitely be blamed on the dialogue that you can only do so much with. It’s not good. I can’t remember any good jokes (the one joke I really appreciate was the cast on armor, and that was freaking visual humor. That was so RvB. Kudos to that. It was fun. More of that, please.), and RvB is known for having memorably good lines. This is a show built on good, clever, funny dialogue. Zero does not deliver. You have to sit through clichéd lines – “You’re not my dad”, “I trusted you”, “Come with me”, “It can’t be!”, “She’s way too powerful”, and “We have to do this together” – performed unironically. I cringed more than I laughed. Worst thing is that Zero could be a good parody. Sometimes, it feels like it is. One-dimensional characters, a villain wanting ‘the ultimate power’, very overpowered characters, bad one-liners, etc. But Zero takes itself seriously, and I was one of the people rooting for Jax to show up at the end and yell “Cut”. That would have been a funny-as-fuck twist. A spin-off parody. If I can’t have “Sarge the Movie”, I would have taken that and loved it. I would have forgiven everything. “We put so much info into finding that power, but we had no idea what it was” is really a line in the finale, and I cannot believe this is real in a show that somehow still tries to present itself as serious. What a plot.
We have to talk about pacing. God, first of all it should be stated that RvB is a mess when it comes to pacing. I honestly get what they were going for. Sometimes, RvB has come across as a bit boring when you get three episodes stretched over three weeks without much going on. I know season 11 did not have the warmest welcome because it was seen as boring until the finale. But when you see season 11 as a whole, as a movie, as a part of a trilogy, it works so well. Zero is more focused on being episodic. They want something to happen all the time so we will stay tuned. The thing that will happen – a fight. Oh god. The fight scenes.
I have done the math. I have run the numbers. I deserve a freaking cookie for this. Are you ready?
If you put all the episodes together, you have a runtime of 106 minutes. HOWEVER, with the introduction of credits in every episode, you gotta account for this. Removing the credits, this gives us 94 minutes of actual runtime. Out of that, 45 minutes are dedicated to fight scenes. That means 48% of the show is fight scenes.
If I wanted that many fight scenes, I’d watch Death Battle. Except the actual RvB Death Battle episode has a runtime of 20 minutes, and out of that, 5 minutes is dedicated to the actual battle. For the people who hate math – that’s 25% of the actual runtime.
RvB Zero has more fight scenes than a show called Death Battle. Take that in.
The pace suffers from this. Where’s the time to explore the characters? Where’s the time for good dialogue? All I can think of is this:
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I get that RvB is a show that’s literally making fun of itself by acknowledging all their characters do is stand around and talk. I get that you want characters to do more than that. But for the love of Church, would it kill the new characters to stand around and talk? For just a minute? Stop fighting, I am begging you, stop fighting! Am I a pacifist now? Am I purple? Have I joined Doc’s team? What has Zero done to me?!
The good thing though is that fight scenes are very good. They’re entertaining. However, they seem to deconstruct themselves when we need to get a fight scene in every episode. Usually, the few fight scenes in an RvB season were in some of the most climatic episodes. In Zero, I can hardly keep up with the pace because they won’t stop moving. Fight scenes aren’t plot. They aren’t character development. You need more than just fight scenes. They entertain, but there’s a limit to that.
Noël Wiggins, the co-writer, stated the inspiration was a Saturday-morning cartoon. They nailed that vibe. If that was their goal, hurray, they have accomplished something! Because of the poor plot and constant fight scenes, it feels like you could just switch on the TV and drop in at any moment and let yourself be entertained by the cool and colorful soldiers punching and kicking each other. I will admit that the fight scenes entertained me. But they don’t make it a good season.
If I were the six-year-old with the attention span of a goldfish that the show believes I am, I honestly would enjoy it. The stiff dialogue and the constant tell-don’t-show makes you feel like an audience that’s not supposed to do anything else but admire the flashy fight scenes. I miss the cleverness of RvB. I miss the characters I get to connect with as I see them grow.
I miss the tone of RvB. Because this isn’t RvB to me.
It’s not that RvB hasn’t changed its tone before. Holy shit, I sorta do want to experience the absolute shock the RvB fandom went through when s6 aired and they were given new characters and serious plot. I would have loved to experience that, but I was too busy being ten years old. The Freelancers seasons also introduced a new tone and more fight scenes with very talented fighters compared to the Blood Gulch gang, but a balance was kept by having half of the season still revolving around the Reds and Blues. But Zero – Zero is so much change. And it’s on purpose. At least this has been made very clear from the beginning.
They constantly seem to appeal to new fans, rather than be directed towards older fans of the show. If you want an entirely new audience with a season with a new cast, new worldbuilding, and new tone, I’m confused as to why they don’t just make a new show. The hotdog-problem begs for this solution. This story and environment and characters feel so out of touch with the original RvB, that with a few rewrites and lack of Halo-armor, it could just be a new show. Problem solved.
If not this, then present it as a spin-off. In all ways, it feels like a spin-off (again, see everything marked HOTDOG). But the creators refuse to do this, and I don’t understand why. I could forgive many of these issues, had they officially separated themselves from canon.
Ah, what’s the idiom? You can’t both swallow and blow? (You can hear the Bow-chicka-bow-wow in the distance). Something about eating cake and having it. Forgive me, English isn’t my native language. POINT IS why are you calling yourself RvB while actively fighting against the core essence of RvB? In my humble opinion, you can’t be both. Marketing it as a spin-off would have granted it some defense when changing, well, literally everything, and I just, would someone please properly describe why it isn’t a spin-off? Isn’t this season marked by its association with the plot of RvB rather than a continuation of it? Zero presenting itself as not a spinoff feels like a toddler clinging to the hem of its mother’s dress while forcefully running away from her, ripping the dress in the process.
When they do connect with the original RvB, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. When they let Carolina, Wash, and Tucker appear for a moment, it feels like luring viewers in with the RvB title. Look at me. Look at me! I’m not saying this is the case. I say that it gives me the annoying vibes of being lured, rather than letting the characters be a part of the show for their own development, rather than having RvB in the title to continue its story. I should not be getting these vibes at all. But I am.
If you want to use RvB in the title, something from the core of RvB needs to be embraced. Things can be changed. They should. Something new should be brought in. But there’s a limit to how much you can change and replace and twist until it would have been better with an original show. As a season of RvB, it should tell the story of Red vs. Blue.
From my perspective, Zero fails to do so.
It pains me that the old cast has been replaced, but as stated earlier, a season could have worked without them. However, I do not like the take that one should be excited about all the new characters. That it isn’t a big thing that the OG cast got replaced. That we should just deal with it. Just, try to imagine another show suddenly replacing the main characters with characters we’ve never met before. Imagine RWBY suddenly only focusing on a new team of huntresses with the previous main characters reduced to an Easter Egg presence, or Camp Camp suddenly being about a new team of campers, no warning given. Can you imagine the outcry? So maybe let’s agree that a replacement of the main cast is a big thing and should be addressed and it’s valid to be upset about this change.
Could Zero have worked? It’s hard to answer this. How can I accept something as RvB if the season actively pushes away the core of RvB aside for an isolated story that could have been told in any other media? As a spinoff, I could have ignored it. To enjoy Zero, I have to fully separate it from RvB in my mind, and then it’s alright. S’not good. But it’s not bad. It’s entertaining enough. I really ended up liking Raymond and Tiny, and there were a few good jokes, and the fight scenes were admirable (but too much) and I love the creators’ passion. But it’s not RvB. I also wish that the new characters had been attached to previous worldbuilding, for example soldiers on Chorus or agents from Project Freelancer. That way we could build on familiar lore which would have decreased the confusion and added a much needed connection with the previous seasons of RvB.
God, the anxious voice is back (by the way, it sounds like Tutter from “Bear in the Blue House”).
“You’re racist” – I hope not. Literally, I do not want to be. Tell me if I’ve ever crossed some lines, because I swear, that is not my intention, I will apologize and most of all, change and do better. I included this because I’ve seen this take thrown around in the big ugly mess that is the fandom clashes regarding Zero. And racism is problem within RT community (this includes AH and RvB, sorry, I just use RT as an umbrella term for the latter), and I’m not saying it hasn’t been a problem with this season. Writers should never be harassed, and never-fucking-ever because of their skin color, and voice actors shouldn’t be treated like they are responsible for the choices of the show. But I was legit nervous to post this review, and I hope it’s been factual without feeling like personal attacks on the creators because that has never been my intention. I was delighted to hear about the diversity behind this project, and Torrian’s passion legit blew me away because it’s been a while since I’ve seen that for an RvB project. I’d hoped for it to be good, and when I feel disappointed, it’s for the reasons stated in this analysis. That said, Zero is made by a diverse cast and it’s made with love, and both of those things are so, so great, but it does not mean that Zero cannot be criticized. It can, and it should. It’s a product, just like all the other seasons, and fans are allowed to discuss it – both what they loved, and both what they found troublesome. And to repeat previous points, and be respectful, always, fuck racists, and never-fucking-ever harass the staff behind a season, what the fuck is wrong with you if you do this.
“Don’t you get it, it’s different because it’s trying something new!” – Hey, remember the philosophical question: if you replace all the parts of a ship one-by-one, is it still the same ship when you’re done? If it doesn’t include the Reds and Blues, if it ignores previous plot, if the old characters feel miswritten, if it values animation over dialogue, if it values fight scenes over comedy, if it wants to be Fast and Furious instead of Red vs. Blue – is it still Red vs. Blue? Because it doesn’t feel like it to me.
“It's been 17 seasons, it’s time to let the Reds and Blues go so someone else can shine!” – I simply do not understand us having been with the Reds and Blues for 17 seasons should be an argument to let them go, rather than be an argument as to why their absence hurt like hell.
“The Reds and Blues ran out of things to do!” – Did- did they, though? I mean, if we were discussing pretty much any other show, I’d probably agree that they were running out of content. But for the Reds and Blues… I think the PSAs nailed it this year! I’m not kidding, I had more fun watching the Reds and Blues discuss how to do laundry than watching Zero. You could literally give me an hour of the Reds and Blues trying to bake a cake or clear a gutter or simply settling down with an ordinary life, and I would trust them to make it worth the watch.
“The flaws were due to the fact it’s only 8 episodes long!” – Look, I can only judge a product the way it’s presented to me. I cannot come up with excuses for it. If they had 8 episodes to work with, they need to come up with a plot that works with this runtime. Seriously, this excuse cannot work when 48% of the season is spent on fight scenes. They could have used more runtime, sure, but the show needs to be able to pace itself and be planned accordingly.
“The OG cast couldn’t be a part of this year, hence Zero!” – That might be true. But. Would one year without RvB kill it? Is Zero necessary? Again, I just can’t judge excuses for the show. But trouble with the cast has been an issue before. Season 15 solves Geoff’s sabbatical by actually making Grif’s absence a part of the plot. Zero’s lack of Reds and Blues just feels like this excuse to tell a story that needn’t be a part of RvB.
Am I a hater? I guess? I greatly dislike Zero for the critique stated above. I do, however, not harass the creators and no one should ever do that. However, I have to admit that I feel there’s been this weird rejection of any critique of Zero where everything’s been brushed off as haters gonna hate, including the critique stated above. And I think that’s a problem because critique, as hard as it can be to hear (and I know this. I’m an author of original works. Weird flex, I know), is valid and necessary and shouldn’t just be shrugged away. As always, both sides of the fandom should always be respectful, but my own opinion is that addressing the flaws of Zero should not be controversial.
Does this super long rant/critique/whatever mean you cannot enjoy Zero? Gods no! I almost envy you if you enjoy this season, but holy shit, feel free to love it and tell the creators that you love it! Me pointing out the issues I have with the season shouldn’t be stopping you. I loved (and still love) s15 when it came out, and it was majorly rejected by the fandom. There were many, many critical posts, people were going on about how RvB should have ended with s13, and it evolved into the writer receiving death threats (me, once again: never ever harass the creators, assholes). But I didn’t tell people to stop being negative. I actually agreed with many of the flaws that were pointed out, and I enjoyed the season despite this, because that is possible. We, as RvB fans, should agree that RvB, is... I mean, it’s not the greatest, most flawless of shows, but we love it nonetheless. So go ahead and love Zero. This is not a stop sign. This is my opinion that you chose to read.
Wait, I promised you a cookie, didn’t I? Well, you’re not getting one. Why? Because I’m a Red and this is my chance to piss off a Blue. As Caboose wisely said: “Well, at least I don't go around... knocking on people's non-doors... and promising them cookies... and then NOT. GIVING. THEM. COOKIES!”
Blue Team sucks.
End speech.
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kiame-sama · 4 years
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Take my trash! I forget where I put the actual requests for this one, but I have had many from both Wattpad and Tumblr for this next installment of 28 years.
Here you have it, pregnant with Alluka!
Warning; ANGST, mentions of adult themes from 28 years, pregnancy complications, cute moments with infant Killua and Alluka, Killua is the unsung hero we never knew we needed, maternal struggles, lactating
You woke up late at night, feeling your stomach rolling in pain and that feeling of being sick rising up in your throat. You were quick to wiggle out of Silva's relaxed grip and immediately headded directly for the toilet, almost gagging as you went.
To say it was an unpleasant way to wake up would be an understatement, as if you body were rejecting everything you had ever given it. You were faintly aware of the feeling of someone holding your hair away from your face as your poor body shook with great force. Once you finally felt your stomach settle once more you pulled away, feeling a large hand gently rub your back.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know... Just felt so sick so suddenly... You don't think it could be- but I thought I wasn't able to after Killua... And it's so soon after..."
"I doubt you're pregnant again."
"... And if I am?"
"(Y/n), I refuse to lose you for any reason. You almost killed yourself being pregnant with Killua. I don't think your body can honestly handle another pregnancy so soon."
"But..."
"If you are pregnant again, your body will likely reject it or you'll lose the child early on. You know this. You're already in such a delicate state when you're pregnant, adding another one so soon after giving birth would be the worst decision."
"I... You're right. I don't think I can handle it again so soon."
Silva almost seemed pleased at your agreeing with him, grabbing mouthwash for you to get the terrible after-taste out of your mouth. He gently helped you to your feet and held you steady, making sure you were alright minus the sudden sickness.
You didn't want to admit he was right, but you knew it to be true. Your body already tries to reject any pregnancy you have and with how exhausted and beaten you feel after having Killua, you couldn't imagine going through it again immediately after. You would have to do everything you could to cancel the pregnancy early on, before you felt too attached to the life growing inside of you.
A soft whimper came from the room you had been sleeping in just moments ago, hearing the whine develop into an upset cry. All of the noise and movement must have woken Killua from his peaceful sleep. He was only a month old and you still had more time to cherish him before he would be taken away to be trained as your other sons had been.
You made sure to move quietly and gently, lifting the small boy from his crib and cuddling him securely in your arms. His whimpers quieted as you held him, slowly swaying ans humming to the small child to get him settled once more. His bright blue eyes blinked open to look at you as he stopped crying, his soft white hair ruffled slightly and just made him look cuter with his disgruntled expression.
"Shh, little one. You're okay. You look just like your father when you frown like that..."
The infant merely gave a tired grunt and cuddled back down into his swaddling, eyes closing as you carefully returned him to his cradle. Warm arms wrapped around your body and held you close to a firm chest, slightly soothing you. Silva had been surprisingly supportive of your maternal need to care for the infant and had actually started to behave like a father would towards the young child.
You let him lead you back to bed, returning to the warm blankets that seemed extra inviting at that moment. As you settled down once more, Silva's chest at your back as he held you close, you were content to drift off to sleep. That is, until you felt a hand slowly trailing down your front.
"... I swear, Silva. If you're about to try and fuck me right now with our son in the room, you're going to have a bad time."
"It's not like you don't enjoy it."
A sigh of irritation left your lips, feeling his hand slide ever so slightly lower. Enough was enough and you wanted to sleep, so you turned your head and bit down directly on his arm. There was a beat of silence before you heard the softest of laughs rumble from his chest.
"Alright, you've made your point. I'll let you rest... For now."
Releasing his arm from your jaws, you turned back to rest your head against the pillow. You didn't break skin, but you certainly left a clear mark behind on his fair skin. A small bit of pride bubbled up in your chest at your small victory over the white-haired man as you let yourself get pulled back into sleep.
~~~~~~~~
At least two months had passed since your sudden evening sickness and no other signs of pregnancy had occured. Just to be on the safe side, you and Silva both decided to use certain birth controls to ensure you would not be carrying another child. It made you sad to think about at the time, but you knew it was for the best given all that had happened up until that point.
You thought all of those different foul tasting medicines had done their job and you wrote off your absent menstrual cycle as your body still recovering from being pregnant. However, when the second month came and left without your cycle, you were becoming far more concerned. When you brought it up to Silva, he reassured you that there was no possible way you could still be pregnant with all of the different contraceptives you had taken.
Now you were almost certain you were still pregnant, seeing your stomach slightly swell once more. But that shouldn't be possible given how thorough you had been early on to stop the pregnancy. You decided you needed outside opinion on the matter and made up some small excuse about your head hurting and wanting to be checked.
Naturally, Silva didn't question and almost immediately retrieved the kind doctor to check you for anything and everything. She explored every possibility and ruled out almost any kind of illness before she got to your stomach, noting the way your body had been reacting. As a precaution- despite Silva's insistence you were not pregnant- she decided to do an ultrasound of your stomach.
Sure enough, there was a small heartbeat in your body.
"..."
"..."
"... How the hell is it still there?"
"I guess all of those contraceptives didn't actually work."
"That's not possible."
"Hm, it would seem the little one disagrees with you."
"We're getting it out of you right now."
"No you damn-well aren't."
"(Y/n)-"
"Clearly the first attempt didn't work. If something is so determined to stay alive that it refuses all efforts to remove it, it should be allowed to live."
"For fuck's sake-"
"N. O. No."
"Damn it, (y/n)-"
"I said 'no' and I meant it!"
Silva let out a highly frustrated and irritated snarl, obviously beyond irritated with the sudden turn of events. Your kind doctor sat in silence as the two of you snapped at each other, trying to go unnoticed given how angry Silva was. The raised voices brought attention to the both of you as Zeno casually strolled into the room, eyebrow raised as he looked between you and Silva.
"What are you two snapping about now?"
"I won't let him get rid of our child."
"Killua is too young to start training."
"I'm not talking about Killua."
"... What?"
Zeno looked to be honestly surprised at your words, trying to make sense of what he was saying as he took in the ultrasound machine near you. The back and forth squabble had apparently woken Killua from his afternoon nap and the sudden entrance of his grandfather made him whine. The complaint from your young son had you moving to stand, only to be stopped by Zeno who picked up the squirming child and gave him to you.
There was certainly a fair part of you that appreciated your father in law, since he tended to take your side whenever an argument came up. He had to qualms about telling his son to be quiet or saying he was being unreasonable when he became too posessive or controlling of you. Not to mention the fact that Zeno had no qualms in telling Silva off or intentionally poking fun at his son on any given day.
"It's too soon for her to go through another pregnancy, especially after carving her stomach open for that brat."
"Well, you aren't wrong. It is probably too soon. (Y/n), what do you make of all of this?"
You hummed, soothing little Killua who lay in your arms and chewed on your fingers in fascination. You knew they were right, but you also knew that you wanted to give it a chance.
"We already tried once to end this pregnancy and that clearly didn't work. Something with a will strong enough to persevere despite any and all attempts to stop it should at least be given a chance."
Zeno nodded and gave a hum of contemplation, narrowing his eyes in thought. As the elder considered everything at hand, Killua decided you weren't paying enough attention to him and let out an ear piercing squeal, holding his hands up to you demandingly. It was hard to say he wasn't absolutely adorable even if he was a demanding and bossy little thing.
"Alright. Keep the child. But, if it begins to have too much strain on your body, it will be removed. Does that sound fair to the both of you?"
You wanted to argue that it was your choice even if you wound up dying, but you knew it would backfire on you, so you simply nodded. Silva also seemed as if he wished to argue before relenting and growling out in annoyance already frustrated due to your denying of his advances with Killua's presence in the room at night. This only added even more time he was unable to take you as he wished, growing increasingly irritated by the day.
~~~~~~~~
The more your stomach swelled, the more you wanted to just cuddle up with your growing family and enjoy the quiet. Silva, though liking your affection with him, still felt frustration gnawing at his mind the longer he spent unable to indugle in his desires. There was little he wanted more than pinning you to the bed and satisfying his growing need for you. He was halfway tempted to do it regardless of the pregnancy or how you felt, but he kept himself contained, counting down the days until he could do as he wished.
There were still days that he was unable to resist holding you close and just feasting on the sweet milk you produced. It was barely enough to tide him over and keep himself from jumping you.
The words that would best describe his behavior was a tiger in a cage, anxiously pacing and growling out his frustration. You almost wondered what was in store for you as soon as you were finally without child. Some part of you hoped he would be merciful, but you also figured that would never happen, especially with how pent up he would be come the end.
The gentle heat that came from Silva helped you relax as you rest your head against his chest, Killua was napping and you almost felt like you wanted to do the same. Silva's large hands gently supported your swollen stomach and took the pressure off of your back, allowing you to cuddle close to the intimidating man. His gaze seemed distant as he stared down at your stomach, callused hands gently sliding over your soft skin.
His eyes suddenly moved from where they were resting to look at you with a raise eyebrow, making a small squeak of surprise escape your lips. A slight smirk pulled at his lips, one of his hands gently resting on the back of your neck as he pulled you into a deep kiss. A soft whimper whined from your throat as he slid his tongue in between your lips.
You pulled away from the intense kiss, panting lightly from the sudden show of affection. His blue eyes seemed almost hazed with need as you found yourself pinned beneath him on the plush couch. Your heart thundered in your chest as you pressed back against him, turning your head to the side.
"Stop, Silva!"
"I don't think you can make me."
"Stop it!"
He seemed like he was lost in whatever haze had been taking over his mind before a sudden shrill screech broke him out of his lustfilled gaze. You turned your head to look back at where the noise had originated, stunned to see Killua standing at the doorway, holding onto the door-frame. Somehow he must have gotten out of his crib and opened the door to get to where he now stood.
You were amazed that this child, this infant, was not only able to escape his crib, but was currently standing and staring at the two of you. Silva seemed to regain control of himself as he moved away, letting you get up from where you had been pinned to the couch. The moment you sat up, your little five month old walked to you as if it were the most normal thing on the planet.
Typically, infants began trying to walk at around 7-8 months old, and even then they would need something to hold onto in order to balance properly. Not this kid apparently. If there were ever a sign your little Killua was different from other children, it would be this.
As he reached your side, he held up his arms in a demanding way towards you, clearly wanting to be picked up.
He gurgled at you and started chewing on his fist, watching you closely. You were about to say something as Silva jealously wrapped an arm around you only for Killua let out another screech. You wanted to smile as Killua clearly did not like it when Silva touched you, already showing how much he favored you over his father.
You silently thanked the child, pleased that he had snapped Silva out of his aggressive and forceful behavior. At least you knew your children were on your side.
~~~~~~~~
It was a month before your due-date but Silva was already stressing. He would pace and constantly check in on you, making sure to have any and all possibilities in mind. There would be absolutely no repeat of your prior pregnancy and he was determined to not leave your side for a single moment.
He had taken to pacing around you at almost all hours other than the the ones he spent holding you in his arms. Nothing seemed to be able to soothe him and you found yourself speaking softly to him and telling him everything was alright even though you were the pregnant one.
At least you had some semi-stable company, Zeno sitting with you and watching his son pace as you absently listened to the large television and whatever was on it. You were surprisingly comfortable despite everything that had been going on. Today was the day your eight-month old was being taken away.
You were upset with how early it was and Silva himself almost tried to stop his father from coming to collect the child. Though it saddened you, you also knew that it would be hard to deal with your final month of pregnancy and take care of your eight-month old child at the same time. Besides, Zeno wanted to start training Killua earlier than the others given how quickly the child picked up walking and language comprehension.
At least Zeno decided to stay with you for a few hours instead of just taking Killua away, letting you adjust to the idea of your son leaving your side. You were thankful for the few extra moments with your son, content to sit and relax among the other family members.
A faint uncomfortable feeling hummed in your mind, making you frown and try to move around to a more comfortable position. But no matter where you moved and no matter how you tried to settle back down, that annoying feeling persisted. Unfortunately, Silva seemed hyper aware of every move you made, so when you slightly winced from the growing irritation in your body, he was by your side immediately.
"Tell me how you're feeling, you don't seem all that comfortable right now."
"I'm fine, just a bit tired..."
"Are you certain?"
"Yeah. I'm certain. Still at least a month away from my expected date, so we have-"
You cut off, feeling that small ache turn into a sharp pinch that suddenly stabbed at you, like a needle being jabbed into a water balloon. You practically felt all of the color drain from your face as you suddenly rest your hand on your stomach.
"... Silva?"
"Yes?"
"I think I need to see a doctor now."
"Wait, why-?"
"RIGHT NOW, SILVA."
The sudden urgency in your voice spurred both men into action. Zeno quickly moving from his seated position, setting Killua aside in the small play-pen before helping you to lay back against the couch. Silva was out the door seconds after the words left your lips, racing off to round up anyone and everyone you would need.
You figured he wouldn't take you with him and would just lead the doctors to you since there were so many things that could go wrong, he didn't want to risk moving you. It was still so early, so why did your water break so suddenly?
~~~~~~~~
You were exhausted and wanted little more than to sleep after a long eighteen hours of being in labor. Eventually, after the immense pain you were in, doctors decided that you would need to have a c-section to ensure both your safety and the safety of the infant. Why they didn't come to this conclusion earlier even though you had Killua in a similar way, you didn't know.
At least you were able to rest now. You partially wanted to stay awake to be able to hold your newborn, but thee fact of the matter was, the child was born prematurely. Naturally, all sorts of precautions had to be taken to ensure that your newborn would live, so you didn't argue too much. You'd rather your baby be safe even if you weren't allowed to hold them.
"Any thoughts about names?"
Your gaze slowly drifted over to the location of the voice, seeing Zeno looking up at Silva, hands behind his back. He likely thought you were already asleep, given the ordeal you had just gone through. Silva hadn't named any of your children up until that point so you wondered what he would respond with, if he responded at all.
"No idea."
"Come on, Silva, you must have at least one name in mind."
"... Alluka?"
"That's the first time you've come up with a semi-decent name."
You let out a tired chuckle, appreciating the flat tone Zeno used whenever chastising Silva. A large hand gently held your own and you tiredly turned your head to look at Silva, who gently kissed the back of your hand, all previous conversation forgotten. For a moment, you hoped things were going to be alright, and you let yourself drift to sleep with Silva's deep baritone voice as your lullaby.
~~~~~~~~
Several months had passed being allowed to croon and fuss over the infant, adoring the black-haired, blue-eyed child. It seemed as if your sweet Alluka never ran out of energy and always had a smile no matter what. Only rarely did the infant ever cry and was easy to soothe the few times it happened.
Silva wanted little to do with the newborn, but still entertained any time his darling asked questions or spoke in such a cheerful tone. At least she was alright. If anything, she seemed to be better than alright.
Silva watched as his darling angel fell asleep, her body curled on the couch around the mass of blankets where the infant slept. He was getting tired of sharing his (y/n) with the infant and frustrated with how often (y/n) pushed away his advances. He was her husband, he should have the right to all of her attention and not be forced to share her with anyone.
It was still early on, but Silva figured she had enough time with the parasite and she would get over her sorrow if he took it away.
He silently slipped his hands beneath the sleeping infant, lifting it away from the curled up woman who peacefully slept. Moving silently, Silva left the cluster of rooms with the infant in his arms.
~~~~~~~~
Slowly waking up, you moved carefully to not disturb the child in your arms, turning your head to look at the mass of blankets. Your heart made a hollow thump when you saw the empty space your baby once lay in.
In seconds, you were on your feet, searching through every room for any sign of your lost infant. How could your little one wander off without you noticing? You turned over every piece of furniture, every blanket in the rooms, searched every corner, but there was still no sign of your lost infant.
You stood in the middle of the main room, arms wrapped around yourself as you desperately sucked down breaths as your chest tightened up. You felt like you couldn't breathe and your panicked gasps became wheezing and strained, evolving into what was a continuous crying wail of pain and desperation.
You heard the door open suddenly, but it did nothing to stop or distract you from your long mournful cry. You held your arms close to your body and your voice hitched with every small breath you took, feeling as if the world were falling out from underneath you. Large hands gripped your shoulders, one coming up to grip your chin and tilt your head back, only straining your already shallow breaths.
"(Y/n), what's wrong?"
"..."
"(Y/n), tell me what is wrong."
"..."
"Damn it, say something!"
"You took Alluka, didn't you?"
"... (Y/n)-"
"You took my baby!"
Though he said nothing further, only allowing his grip on you to go slack. You knew you were right. You knew he had taken your child from you while you were resting. You felt your breathing become even more strained as you gripped your chest over your heart, feeling your body swaying and shaking. An old voice reached your ears, but it did not soothe you, nothing but the soft babbling of your child would be able to.
"Silva, what on earth-? Ah, I see she isn't too pleased about Alluka."
"He took my baby..!"
"Wait, did you not know the child was leaving today?"
"He told me nothing...! He took my Alluka while I was sleeping..!"
"Silva, you told me she was okay with you taking him!"
"He told me nothing..!"
Your shaking had not stopped, if anything it only became more intense and your breathing more unstable. It felt like your heart was desperately working to beat and keep you alive, but it felt like it was being crushed by the muscles around it. You heard Zeno say something more to Silva, but you couldn't make out the words, feeling like all of your senses were leaving you.
"..?"
"(Y/n)..?"
You don't know when your legs gave out beneath you, but in seconds you were falling, barely able to see through your own eyes. It was as if you were fading away, but you didn't know why. There was no sound beyond that of your tiny shallow breaths before those too faded away into the empty void.
~~~~~~~~
"What did I tell you about taking her children away from her!?"
Silva just glared out of the corner of his eyes at his father, not saying anything in response. For a moment, it looked like Zeno was about to say something before his attention suddenly snapped over to (y/n), who had been quietly sobbing. Silva also looked back at his wife, his eyes widening slightly when he saw just how pale she had become, as if the blood under her skin had gone still.
"(Y/n)..? (Y/n)?"
Silva softly called out to the woman, trying to rouse her from whatever it was that had made her look so lifeless. Then he realized something, she was barely breathing. Her tired eyes gazed at a far away place before her body lurched and began to fall backwards. He was quick to catch her before she hit the ground, but something was wrong.
His angel's eyes had closed and her breathing had ceased. He checked her pulse only to realize there wasn't one, her heart wasn't beating. He didn't think, he simply just acted, beginning to put pressure on her fragile rib cage. Each steady and rapid pulse of pressure made her body slightly react as he desperately worked to get her heart beating again.
He wanted to scream in frustration each time she didn't revive before an arm began pulling him back, other hands reaching out for his angel. He fought against the firm grip as more hands seemed to join the first, forcefully pulling him away from his love. He fought to break free and was snarling in rage the closer those hands got to his darling, not wanting them to touch her soft skin.
A firm pressure on the back of his neck slowed his movements before stopping them all together, his eyes still staring and hand still reaching desperately out to his darling as his vision went black.
~~~~~~~~
"Well, this is just one big cluster fuck."
Maha growled out as he looked between the unconcious family. Luckily, it didn't take long for doctors to get (y/n)'s heart beating again despite the heart-attack she had endured as a result of her infant being stolen. Silva was still in a deep unconscious state from the forceful suppression of his nen. The both of them lay on the same cot in their unaware states, as Zeno and Maha knew the uproar Silva would cause if he woke without his darling (y/n) by his side. Alluka lay in peaceful slumber in his mother's arms, swaddled carefully and securely.
Zeno was still furious with Silva for not only taking the child away too early for the second time, but for doing so without (y/n)'s knowledge. But that fury was surprisingly outweighed by the pity he felt for his son. The sheer broken and miserable cries Silva had let out were not only a foreign noise, but one Zeno had never heard from his son before. It was like everything in the world had shattered into tiny fragments, leaving behind a broken and empty shell of his son.
He would never admit it to anyone, or even bring it up around Silva, but he saw true tears of agony in his son's bright blue eyes. He had seen Silva in a frazzled state, in a despondent state, and even a mournful state, but he had never seen such a shattered spirit like what he saw in Silva. As if every passing second (y/n) did not draw breath was pulling more and more of Silva away each time.
The man he had trained to be a ruthless and cold assassin crumbled into a terrified and lost soul. So filled with pain, so filled with agony, even he would not wish it upon his worst enemy. To see his son- a strong and steady man- crumble away into a broken shell so quickly was something that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He would say that Silva brought it upon himself with the actions he had taken, but even that would be unfair. There is little more unsettling or sad than seeing someone with such a strong will become no more than a fragile whimpering shell.
Silva was the first to stir from his unaware state, his eyes were empty and dull. He truly seemed as if all the life in him had been ripped out like the stuffing of a toy. As his gaze slowly drifted, there was a sudden revitalization of energy when he saw (y/n) laying next to him.
He immediately had his hand upon her neck, checking for the pulse he feared wouldn't be there. As if a great weight had been lifted from his chest, he let out a long sigh of relief the second he found the soft pulse. He didn't seem to realize that he had an audience, merely enraptured with the moment.
He protectively wrapped his arms around both his darling lover and his young infant, holding them close and refusing to let either go. (Y/n)'s vacant expression became a vague smile as she slowly seemed to curl into Silva's arms, holding her baby between them protectively.
Zeno would deal with his son and the clear poor decision making later, for now he let the family rest in quiet comfort together.
At least they were all still alive. That, he could work with.
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oldfritz · 3 years
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I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too
Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!
My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one. 
Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.
That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:
‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.
...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)
Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.
With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’  Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).
All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.
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digitalstowaway · 3 years
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Yes to the mia & miles AU sick fic pLease 🥺
This was longer than I thought it was going to be I'm Sorry. here's the og post that this fic is about. Sometimes...... Diego cares about Miles enough to not let him die. Sorry if you're emetophobic!!
--
Diego didn’t hate Miles. Hate was a strong word, his mother always told him. And once Diego realized that Miles was an awkward, tired kid who had probably been abused for over ten years, he couldn’t bring himself to actually hate him. He felt bad for him. He could understand why Mia was falling for him more and more, taking extra steps to make sure he was safe and just okay.
And when Miles was dreadfully ill, Diego supposed that it wouldn’t hurt to go so far as to show him a little kindness.
He knocked on the bathroom door. “Kid, can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Diego had been the one to volunteer to follow Miles to the bathroom after the poor kid took off from the kitchen, the salad Lana made him half-eaten. He had looked over the plate and asked Lana if she had put pine nuts in it. And then asked, with a grimace, if she knew that Miles was allergic to pine nuts.
She had stood there, frozen and spluttering, and while Mia comforted her, telling her she couldn’t have known, Diego rushed after Miles to check to see if his windpipe had closed up yet.
But Miles was just over the toilet, heaving and sweating. His neck was blotchy with painful-looking hives that spread up towards his face.
“Your won’t stop breathing on us, will you?” Diego asked.
Miles shook his head.
It was a rare occasion that Diego actually wanted to help the kid. He couldn’t imagine the pain he was in nor the embarrassment he felt while being sick in Lana’s home.
He helped Miles out of his jacket and then his waistcoat and tie. For some reason, Miles allowed it. Maybe the kid was feeling so poorly that he was glad that someone was around to undress him. Maybe he knew he was in for a long battle and didn’t have the energy to put up any arguments with Diego.
“Is this all that’s going to happen?” Diego asked. “Because if we need to take you to a hospital, we should know now.”
“I’ll be fine. I can go home in a moment—”
“I don’t think that’s such a great idea. Lana probably won’t let you leave.” Diego undid the top buttons of Miles’ shirt, revealing that the hives were spread across his chest. “She has to finish you off. Poisoning you wasn’t enough to get the job done.”
“It’s not funny!” Lana’s voice from the other side of the door cried.
“Is she out there?” Miles asked, curling over the toilet again.
“Seems so.”
Diego had only met Lana a handful of times, but it was enough to know that she adored Miles. She coddled him, making him meals and defending him against Diego’s jabs. It was obnoxious to see Miles peek behind her back and smile as she told Diego to find someone “his own size” to pick on.
But Diego had to admit that Lana was good for him. For as many times as she scolded Diego, she reminded Miles to be mannerly and polite. And he was slowly behaving better when she wasn’t around. He didn’t have so many snarky comments or dirty glares to toss around. They were replaced with quiet “please” and “thank yous.”
He was physically changing as well. His hollow cheeks were filling out. He wasn’t so pale and distant-looking all the time, showing that Lana’s meals were letting him catch up from whatever neglect his body had been through.
There was another knock on the door. Miles wrapped an arm around his stomach, moaning.
“Miles?” Lana cracked open the door just wide enough to poke her head through. “I’ll let you get back to your privacy in a second, but take the spare bed when you’re feeling better, okay? You can stay here for the night.”
Miles responded with a whimper. Diego nodded on his behalf.
“I’ll make sure he gets there.”
Lana’s head disappeared. Her arm followed with a small stack of towels she laid on the sink.
“Miles?” she said, her face reappearing. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be,” Miles choked out.
“I should have known you were allergic to pine nuts.”
“There was no way for you to have known.” His face scrunched up. He bared his teeth. “Get out. Please.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I’m really sorry!”
Miles retched. The door closed.
Diego didn’t know what to do. Miles looked to be in pain, his body spasming and tensing up. Anything Diego could think about giving him—antihistamines, tea—would surely be brought back up in a matter of seconds.
Diego looked away from the yellow bile Miles spit up and turned to the towels Lana had laid out. There was an impressive variety. A few small clothes and various sizes of hand towels. Diego grabbed a smaller washcloth and wet it in cold water.
Miles shook on the floor. He whimpered again. It was odd to see the kid so vulnerable.
“When I said get out,” he said through labored breaths, “I meant you, too.”
“Too bad, brat. You’re stuck with me. I know you probably really want to be alone right now, and I can’t blame you, but I think someone should stay here. So it’s either me, Lana, or Mia. And Mia is a sympathy puker.”
“And Lana would probably cry.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll sit here in silence if you let me make sure you’re not going to keel over.”
Miles was retching again, and Diego felt terrible as he saw tears begin to collect with the sweat on his face. Miles sounded like he was choking, fighting against what his body wished to do.
“Just bring it up,” Diego said.
He laid the cloth on the back of Miles’ neck and then moved it to his forehead. Miles jerked. A little more yellow bile came up. And he fell against Diego’s chest, face worryingly pale where the hives hadn’t taken hold.
“Miles?”
Diego grabbed his shoulder, making sure he didn’t slide head-first into porcelain. He pressed the cloth to Miles’ cheek. And for once, Miles actually looked like the kid he was. He looked small and fragile, and Diego worried that he would break if he held him too tight.
“Why are you being kind to me?” Miles asked.
“Because if I leave you to die on this bathroom floor, Mia will be upset with me.”
“I won’t die.”
“I don’t know. You look halfway there.” Diego ran the cloth to Miles’ neck. “Has this happened before?”
“Obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know I’m allergic.”
“I mean recently.”
Miles sighed. He pushed himself up and dropped his head over the toilet again. Diego steadied him.
“Not since I was a teenager,” he said.
“Oh, yeah, because that was so long ago.”
“A young teenager.”
Diego tried imagining Miles even younger than he was. He had trouble taking a few inches off his height (and Miles was already not that tall) and a little sharpness from his jaw. And where was Miles? With his mentor/adoptive father—or whatever fucked up relationship they had.
He had imagined, judging from the pictures Diego saw when he was being nosy, that Manfred von Karma lived in a gothic mansion with stone walls and long corridors lined with candles. He couldn’t imagine anyone there with anymore fondness for Miles than Diego had for him. No Lanas or Mias.
Miles cried out, his hand grabbing a fistful of his shirt. Diego didn’t say anything but laid his hand on his back.
It was hours later, after alternating between dozing and retching, when Miles was ready to pull himself off the bathroom floor. Diego hovered and when Miles’ face turned a dramatic shade of white, he quickly threw Miles over his shoulder.
“Put me down!”
There were weak punches at his back. Diego ignored them as he carried Miles to the guest room.
“This is indecent!”
“Calm down. You wouldn’t have made it here by yourself.”
Diego threw him on the bed. He pulled Miles’ collar open, looking at his chest. The blotchiness had died down. It didn’t look so intense. The angry welts were gone, replaced with a splotchy rash that looked like clouds.
Miles didn’t put up any more of a fight. He crawled to the top of the bed and laid down. His brow was still furrowed in pain—or maybe only discomfort at that point. He closed his eyes, curling into himself.
“Want me to tuck you in?” Diego asked.
“Please don’t touch me.”
“I think I’ve touched you enough today to last us the rest of our lives.”
Diego’s shirt was wet from the cold towels he laid on Miles and the sweat the boy had rubbed onto him whenever he swooned. He felt a touch gross, but he could only imagine how much worse Miles felt. Diego hoped for his sake that he would be well enough to drive himself home by the morning to shower and change into fresh clothes he could relax in.
Miles fell asleep within minutes. His face finally relaxed. His body was no longer so tense. And Diego was able to collapse into the stuffed chair in the corner of the room. He liked the kid the best when he was quiet.
And resting.
Maybe Diego had earned himself immunity from biting insults. Or at least a break.
Lana poked her head inside the room. “I heard you two moving around,” she whispered. “Is he sleeping?”
Diego nodded. “I think he’s over it.”
“Good.” She stepped into the room. She carried a glass of water. “I can look after him tonight if you and Mia want to head home.”
Home sounded nice no matter if it was his or Mia’s apartment they ended up crashing at that night. But he was still worried about leaving the kid.
Lana sat at Miles’ side. She brushed his hair back from his face and stroked his brow, gently calling his name. He woke slowly, his swollen eyes not wanting to open.
“You need to drink a little water. Sit up for me.”
He did so the best as he could. Diego was shocked to see him allow Lana to support his head and help him hold the glass to his lips. He fell right back asleep with Lana pulling a quilt over him.
“How do you do that?” Diego asked.
“Hmm?”
“Get him to act like that.”
“It’s all about getting him to trust you.” Lana stroked his hair one last time. “Go home. I’ll make sure he’s alright. This is my fault, anyway.”
Diego stood and stretched. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. If he had any self-preservation skills, he would have told the person who cooks for him every week that he’s seriously allergic to pine nuts.”
Lana smiled. “Maybe.”
Diego left the room and found Mia waiting for him, ready to leave. She asked how Miles was and offered to drive them back to her apartment for drinks. She was sure that he needed it after being locked in a room with Miles. How they both came out alive was beyond her, she said.
Diego touched the wet patch on his shirt where Miles’ head repeatedly fell onto his chest and said nothing.
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lord-rosenth0rne · 3 years
Text
Long Rant ahead. Scott Cawthon debacle.
I hate the whole black and white outlook on life. This 'for or against' crap is going to destroy everyone and everything. Those who follow a black or white mindset tend to not know what they are talking about considering if they did, they'd know that very rarely, situations are black and white. It's void of critical thinking and common sense. It can be defeated by not jumping on the bandwagon, stepping back, and taking in the situation.
-Sexuality is not black and white.
-Gender is not black and white.
-Mental illnesses are not black and white.
-Religion is not black and white.
-Relationships are not black and white.
-Intentions are not always black and white.
What the hell makes anyone think anything political IS?
Take Scott Cawthon for example. How he is as a person vs. the whole donation thing does not add up unless you realize he did not donate for the reasons the majority of Twitter and some here on Tumblr think. It doesn't take a detective to connect the dots. Were making those donations wrong? Personally, I think donations to any political party are wrong and people do it regardless, but for the sake of the argument, no. Candidates should win with their policies, not for who uses the most money. Policies are another thing that's never black and white either. It would be fun to see how far each candidate could get on a set amount, but I digress.
Note: tl:dr: READ IT before commenting. We'd all be in a better position if people didn't comment on shit they didn't read. "Oh I didn't read BUT-" Get out of here with that. I believe if you do not read someone's stance on a subject, you don't have a leg to stand on in a conversation and just like the sound of your voice.
Scott Cawthon is a straight white male who is Christian and a Republican. Apparently, people have it in their heads that he cannot be a good person because of it. However, he is not a bigot nor does he hate the LGBTQ+ community as he has LGBTQ+ people on his team. He would not openly hire them if he was a bigot. He also has a history of donating to pro-LGBTQ+ charities (I've already seen people try to dismiss this because of the Republican donations and they're also very wrong in doing so. It's the biggest "I STILL WANNA BE SALTY" I've ever seen. Yeah, people have a right to be angry and upset, but they do not have a right to throw out evidence).
Putting that together should tell you what his intent was with those donations. He doesn't agree with the anti-LGBTQ+ crap, but he saw something else that held potential. He votes for economic well-being first and foremost which isn't bad for any of us. Imagine believing if you vote/donate to a candidate that you back everything about them 100%. We'd all be in trouble in that case since you are no different every four years, supporting one thing your favorite candidate believes but ignoring the rest. Oh, they could be for LGBTQ+, anti-segregation, and women's rights, but they could also be for something that could hurt you or your family in other ways and you either ignore it or don't realize it. Most people aren't very well informed on candidates anyway. There's no such thing as a good politician or a perfect one. You'll suffer one way or another for backing a candidate 100%.
Also, for those who say "donating to people who want me dead", stop being dramatic. If someone wants you dead, you would be dead already. They will not wait for laws to be passed for the ability to kill you. Considering murder carries some serious consequences in our society, they would not care for laws in general if they're willing to commit murder. It's like stricter gun control only affecting the law-abiding: If someone wants a gun bad enough, they'll ignore laws to get it. As for any laws, laws can always be appealed with enough pushback from our communities. Protesting wouldn't be used if it did nothing.
And those calling Scott a coward for retiring, if you were smart, you would too with these circumstances. His family has been harassed and threatened with harm by deranged people. He has a pregnant wife who is being directly targeted. For her sake and the rest of his family's sake, he's pulling out of the spotlight in order for all of this to blow over and the disgusting behavior to disappear. To continue to be in the spotlight would encourage those with harmful intent to follow through with it. You would either be stupid or arrogant to stay.
You can sit there and disagree until you're blue in the face. It doesn't negate the facts at hand. People talk about acceptance and being tolerant but the moment something comes up that they don't like, they toss it all away and go feral. No empathy. No understanding. No thinking for themselves. They just jump on the mob mentality bandwagon and bolt with it. Maybe later they'd see the error of their ways but by then it's too late.
I didn't play FNAF but I did enjoy watching people play it. I've watched interactions between Scott and other people and I know he isn't a bad guy, just someone with opinions I do not agree with but I don't agree with a lot of people. "Misguided", a word many people who are defending Scott like to use, isn't the case. He had reasons for his donations whether you like it or not. There are the worst people out there who haven't been called out properly on their shit yet everyone decided that this was enough to dogpile him. It's actually kinda gross, considering Trump is no longer president AND the donation wasn't recent.
I'm honestly surprised no one has questioned the intent of the person who leaked old news, especially since Trump is no longer in office. I do not believe them to be some innocent party who 'happened' across this VERY PUBLIC information. I think it was being held onto for a slow news day and a way to get a lot of clicks for their article. They most likely got what they wanted the first time considering they doubled down for a second article to fuel the fire while also knowing Scott's family was being targeted. I don't support people who start blatant witch hunts either. There was no reason for this to go as far as it did and no excuse for the harassment. You can still be angry and upset with him but you are not allowed to send death threats and harass them.
Congrats, Twitter. I deleted my account after this debacle. Should have deleted it a long time ago with how toxic it's been but I forgot I even had one. Kotaku, you're also put on a "do not visit" list with Chick-Fil-A and Burger King.
If I went into the political and personal background of every creator I liked and boycotted them over it, I would have nothing, and neither would you. There's got to be a time you have to separate the art from the artist or you're going to have nothing.
If you want to be angry and upset with him, you do have a right to be. If you don't want to support his projects, whether he comes out of retirement or not, more power to you. If you want to just leave the fandom, no one's forcing you to stay. But don't approach this with a black and white mindset and think that's how it has to be. That's not true. It will never be true. Few things in life are black and white and you're better off making informed decisions after weighing the situation.
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