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#like yeah the period metaphor but also like

lieutenant-amuel · 1 year

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fallen leaf for the best man valerio pls

Yay, think you so much!! I’ve waited for the ask about Valerio <3

🍃 [FALLEN LEAF] What's the darkest period of time your OC has been through?

Okay, I’m not quite sure how I can answer it without spoiling everything akjskdkd. Anyway, since I want to write but I can’t write anything for Was Born To Lead now, here’s another bad drabble from me, which is either too clear or too vague, I have no idea XD

Valerio was sitting motionless on his bed. It’d been five days since he’d moved into Matías’ house and all that time his luggage stood untouched in the corner of his room.

The usual surge of warmth he felt in those walls had dissipated with the thoughts escaping from his mind. It was empty. As was his soul. He couldn’t think of nor feel anything.

Leticia.

He lost her. Many years ago. Her death left a hole in his chest that would never be filled again. Her soft caramel eyes that sparkled with an undying passion for everything she was doing. Her radiant smile that could illuminate his life in the darkest hours and be the beacon of hope in his directionless journey.

She inspired him. She changed him. She was his everything.

But he had to move on. Because he had to stay strong. For her.

Those short five years of peace. The years when Valerio was truly happy. The years when he had nothing to worry about, when he thought everything was in the past and he would find a way to build a new, better life.

But he had to leave. Against his will. Again. He couldn’t do anything but succumb. He did. And he regretted it.

Smoke.

Fear.

Fire.

Pain.

Weakness.

Darkness.

He opened his eyes and saw his hands. His burnt skin and his scars. He heard surprised voices saying that was a miracle he survived.

He didn’t remember what happened to him until a shadow that heated his blood flickered in his eyes. His mind was clouded by the rage boiling inside of him, and the only thing he remembered that night was a deafening howl that still echoed in his ears.

You’re insane!

Valerio came back. And despite everything that had happened to him, he was happy. The chains that had been holding him back had been broken, and he could finally spread his wings and start a new life. And bring it to her.

But then she breathed her last breath, and it set Valerio’s wings on fire. He fell, and as he kept burning from the inside, he couldn’t fly up. Not that time. He didn’t have anything to live for.

Despite Valerio wiping his tears away, they kept streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t know what to do. And he didn’t want to know it.

OC Ask Game.

#Ask me anything #Ask meme #My OCs #Valerio Álvarez #I’m gonna use as many fire metaphors for Valerio as possible and nobody can stop me lol #This is a part of his aesthetics #If I ever create it just know I’ll 100% include a fire picture there #I really want to say something regarding this drabble but I don’t know what XD #Anyway Valerio suffered a lot and that’s the main point I suppose x)#He went through the whole series of bad things basically in a row and he never let himself take a break suppressing all his emotions #which eventually led to a very very serious breakdown #And yeah this is the darkest period of his life #But as we all know he got better #For now #Damn I really need to write down the timeline of Valerio’s life #I want to do it for such a long time but I always forget T_T #Also there’s one thing I want to clarify but I also don’t want to clarify it aisjkdk #It’s like without clarifying this drabble seems like super confusing but with clarifying it’s a bit spoiler-y x)

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earthlyruins · 4 months

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"beauty and the beast au where zoro's the beast and sanji's—" okay sure yeah but what about when sanji's the beast and zoro's the beaut.

zoro's good with kids and good with math. we've seen this. we've experienced it. he play fights with the kids regularly and helps out with stocks and sales of local shops

think of link twilight princess... big brother swordsman

also better than All of the knights in the village. this includes a very certain red, blue, and green haired trio. they're all very bitter about it. among other things

zoro's also the only person to ever use three swords so like. there's that. everyone thinks he has a few screws loose. he doesn't. or so he proclaims

insert kuina backstory... he makes a promise to himself to become the greatest swordsman in the world. it's just that he's, in a word, broke. and also a little sentimental but don't let nami hear him say that

judge is the head of this mini military and is very adamant on trying to recruit zoro to siege the palace on the hill. for Some Reason.

nami conspires with zoro that it's because he has some long lost enemy up there. Little Does She Know

meanwhile sanji lives alone in the castle, cursed. but not in the way you'd think. rather than a hulking beast, he's pretty much the same if not for the fact that he has a helmet on his head. thanks, dad.

thinking about the rest of the straw hats being little dancing singing objects. that was more or less an accidental side effect of the curse (sanji took off his helmet once, and it knocked luffy into a candle and ussop into a clock and well.)

he's slowly starving (hence why he tried to take the helmet off). the cook who cannot taste his food. throw in a wilting rose metaphor and when the last petal falls is when he dies

fortunately he has an old man by the name of zeff who literally won't let that happen. also all his friends that will fight death to keep sanji kicking

quite literally in some cases

so that's why when nami goes missing trying to explore the mysterious castle and zoro immediately goes to follow her, zeff practically knocks down his door to set the fear of god in him

too bad zoro doesn't believe in any god

but hey fine he won't hurt the creature in the castle. creature. period. zeff hits him over the head with a baguette

zoro finds nami and also sanji. decides in a split moment to announce he'll trade places with her. she is sitting on a couch. unharmed. she wouldn't have Been harmed. nami proceeds to call him a fucking idiot

sanji laughs at him, and zoro refuses to leave out of spite. he learns that sanji is a priss and a prince or sometimes a princess depending on the day, that he has a brilliant passion for cooking (whose skills are similar to a certain chef back in the village), and that when he laughs, zoro finds himself laughing too.

discovers sanji's dream of the all blue, and zoro finds himself telling sanji about his dream of becoming the greatest swordsman, of wado, of kuina

and eventually, Eventually, he finds out the details of sanji's curse. why he sometimes can't dredge out the energy to get out of bed (and why it's getting more and more frequent these days), and why he can't take off that helmet when the key is right there. and what the flower is all about.

proceeds to Book It when sanji tells him about judge and his brothers. except he doesn't tell sanji this, so sanji is sitting around in the castle, heartbroken and wondering Why he's heartbroken, while zoro is marching back to his village, Pissed

zeff pulls him aside though and they go and find reiju after zoro tells him that sanji's condition is worsening

zoro comes Back but this time with sanji's real dad and sister in tow and after a lot of tears and yelling (at zoro) ((and zeff)) (((then at zoro again))) they devise a plan on how to take judge down.

zoro plans on beating up ichiji niji and yonji simultaneously which sanji disagrees with. specifically because he wants to be the one to kick niji into next week

yadayadayada insert fight scene bc this is already ungodly long and judge gets exiled and imprisoned. niji gets drop kicked. the helmet comes off just as the timer runs out (thinking that the only way it could come off was to not only have someone fall For "the beast" but to have said beast love himself too. which zoro did. #love)

happily ever after. sanji eats and cooks and zoro fights and they take care of each other and find all blue. okay goodnight

#op #zosan #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece #Yeah.#this got away from me help

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inkskinned · 2 years

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but you couldn't, like, see a gay person kissing.

it was alright that i had been catcalled at 12 years old. it was alright that i had been followed and groped at 15. it was okay men were leery and treacherous. it was okay when a man asked me my age and when i said 18, he said, that age is my favorite.

don't you like feeling sexy? i love action movies, but i often have an internal tally of how often a camera will begin at someone's hips and travel to her face only as if by accident. weirdly, you can't show too-much asscrack in the same movie, even if it was the style in the nineties. sort of only apply a tasteful sprinkling of asscrack.

i am wearing a body type that is very easily sexualized. it's a compliment, you'll miss it. it is not his fault, i am told - and then usually with this assurance, someone will compare me to an object. i am, by the way, not using "i become an object" metaphorically. well, you wouldn't wear a precious watch in a dangerous city - i am the watch, in this situation. can you blame a thief for taking a jewel if it was just left out in the open? i think my personhood is the jewel, but sometimes also it is pain. a dog sees a steak. i like this one because it does refer to men as dogs, even if it does literally compare me to a piece of meat (which is, you know, somehow worse than being a dog. at least call me a bitch, babe).

it's inappropriate to show two men kissing, but it's totally normal to hear that "best" age for childbirth is 15. (it's not, by the way. try 20's & 30's. do your fucking reading). and on tv - let's cut from a murder mystery where a woman is shown brutally bloodied, carved into pieces (only pg-13) into a tampon commercial where she runs around, happy and fluttering, refusing to use the word period, white pants abounding. periods: gross, icky. violence, though, is just a gendered currency.

so it's like - you say "can we please treat women like they're people and stop cutting their heads off in advertisements" and then it's like. no actually we needed that woman's bellybutton to sell drain fluid don't like it don't look. and you say "can you please not make every latin person a drug dealer holy shit" and they're like. unfortunately if we don't make the latin person a drug dealer we literally will go rabid. and you say "okay can we at least agree you super don't need to use racist epithets why is this even a conversation we're still having" and they're like. actually my child is a make-a-wish kid and his only wish was that i get to use words that make your skin crawl and if you don't let me use the words it's because you love cancer don't you.

so it's kind of a lost cause. because when something is complicated even a little bit, you find yourself trying to explain that the solution isn't make women cover up, it's that the idea "sexualization of nonconsenting parties is wrong" can also hold hands with the idea "not every expression of fondness is sexual in nature, nor is nonhegemonic sexual expression somehow more inflammatory or inappropriate than its counterpart"- and both of those ideas can also hold hands with "the male gaze is rarely censored despite the massive amounts of societal harm it imposes." but like, that's a big thought. let's just slap "pg-13" on the movie because they actually use the word lesbian. and let's cross our fingers and hope no kid figures out they're lgbt+ before college - otherwise they have access to literally no resources, since even google will censor the results in case they're pornographic. now, if you wanted to know how to hide a body...

when i was a kid i used to keep my eyes on my toes while walking past bra stores, feeling uncomfortable. it was gross to look at ladies, i knew that much. the way the women were posed was... not for me. not even for the people shopping. it was weird. i don't think anyone actually there-for-the-product was like yeah this is inspiring.

and i remember in high school my friends and i were still talking about how uncomfortable we felt in victoria's secret, shuffling our way out into the new england chill. little yellow leaves around our feet. a guy held the door open for us. a few seconds later, he jogged up after us. we were so startled we turned to look. "sorry," he said. "i just wanted to ask how old you all are." we were young then, so we lied and told him we were older. we'd talk about this later - we all thought maybe one of us had dropped our wallet or something. he smiled dolefully. "i just wanted to say you all are fucking beautiful. you have amazing tits on you."

sometimes i wonder. what if one fraction of the effort they put into making sure no gay thing ever occurs onscreen just went into controlling and educating their own fucking population. now wouldn't that be something.

#this is all over the place #im still recovering from nona #this doesn't make sense #i think what im saying is #fuck censorship #friendly reminder the hays code was LITERALLY created to appease nazis :)

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thatlittleegyptologist · 1 year

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What are Hieroglyphs? - A Q&A from a Poll

I ran a poll last week to see what people most wanted to know about how Hieroglyphs and languages such as Old/Middle/Late Egyptian work. While certain responses had more of an interest, the most common tag/comment I was getting was 'umm all of them?'. So, I'm going to do just that, but under a cut, because no one needs a post that's going to be as long as this one is without choosing the colour of the sky. Trust me, this is colour of the sky long.

So, without further ado, these were the results of the poll (yeah it's not finished yet, really, but the percentages haven't moved in 4 days and the poll ends in about 12 hours so here we are):

I'll start with 'least interest' and move onto the bigger things, as some of these I can get out of the way pretty quickly. I'll apologise to screen readers in advance, because you might imagine how difficult it is going to be describe hieroglyphs in a way that makes any meaningful sense, especially if they're using different cultural concepts. So, here we go!

How long does it take to translate?

Honestly, it depends on the text, and to some extent the language I'm translating it from. For me, Late Egyptian is the easiest, so a text in Late Egyptian (with all that entails) is a breeze. Others will find Late Egyptian really difficult because that form of the language (used from the Amarna period onwards when the written language changed to reflect the spoken language...except on monuments and tombs which kept using Middle Egyptian) uses a lot of semitic loanwords and has differences in orthography (the way signs are laid out and spelt), as well as changes in grammar (moves to frontal exposition so all the markers come at the start of a sentence).

Once you're past the 'oh it's in a form of the language I like/hate' you're into 'what kind of bullshit is this text going to pull on me?' and that can be easy or nasty grammar, lots of spelling mistakes/no spelling mistakes, what kind of text it is like biographical (formulaic, tend to be easy) or literary (not formulaic, full of metaphors and strange sentence composition), or religious (formulaic, but *Chalmers pointing* Dear Lord what is happening in there?). You can get a formulaic biography that's nasty to deal with (Tjetji) or a 'I'm so full of metaphors that I can fight god' literary text that's actually pretty nice to deal with.

In any case, if we're talking about something longer than 5 lines of text we're talking hours to translate. It's not like the films where they just read it on the fly (though you can reach some level of that), you are going to need a notepad, a dictionary, and several hours. This obviously lessens the more experience you have.

Why are the signs so specific?

We're dealing with a language whose script communicates in what are essentially pictures with sounds. It's also an art form as well as a written script. This means that it can, through necessity, create a new sign to express something. More often than not, these signs are very specific, which means you don't see them all that often (hello religious texts again) or they've combined two signs together (overlapped them essentially) for space reasons and it's ended up as it's own sign eventually. I mean, if you had the ability between trying to use what you've already got, and drawing an entirely new sign that is literally a picture of what you want...you're gonna draw a picture. This is why you get the penis glyph. There was always going to be one because at least half the population has one. There are also tit hieroglyphs. Equal opportunities and all that. The tit ones have less applications though, sadly.

How do you remember all the values for all the signs?

I'm gonna be annoying and say: Practice

But it's true. Just like children learning to speak, it has to be repetition repetition repetition. The more you see it, the more you're exposed to it, the more likely you are to remember sign values. There are still some signs I have to look up because they never stick in my head, but mostly I'm able to transliterate very very easily. Once you've got sign values down, you're more likely to begin to recognise them in word groups, which means you're more likely to just know the words by sight. It is very much like learning to read. First you learn the letters T, H, & E, and then you learn that T, H, & E together spell the word 'the' and then you simply recognise the letter group as the word from then on. Same principle for hieroglyphs! Some people will be able to remember them effortlessly. Some people will never be able to remember them. It's all about how your brain works, so don't beat yourself up about it.

How do you work out the grammar?

*laughs nervously* erm....so y'know how I'm bad at remembering grammar? This is going to be a wild ride. In the simplest terms, there are markers within the Egyptian, just like we use certain endings (like '-ed' for the past tense or -ing for present action) or markers (! ? . , etc), so do the Egyptians. I'm not going to cover them all here because goddamn no one needs to know those unless they're actually learning the language and it would get LONG. But I'll show you at least the past tense, pronouns, some special markers called Particles, and prepositions.

Pronouns

Simple, yet important. These little guys come at the end of verbs (at least in Middle Egyptian). They have every pronoun we do except the singular 'they'. Now there are several different types of pronouns depending on whether they're the subject/object attached to a verb, or subject/object that are independent of the verb. This is where you get the 'suffix' (attached to the verb as the subject), dependent (not attached to the verb but related to it), and independent (come at the start of the sentence, not attached to the verb but still the subject. Usually Participial Statements have these). I'm only going to deal with the Suffix pronouns here because sweet jesus this is a whole chapter to itself in a normal grammar book and I'm not doing that. They look like this:

For other hieroglyph readers sake: I am of the school of hieroglyphs that uses =i instead of =j, and I don't use z for one of the s signs. That's why you're seeing that difference.

For the rest of you: Sometimes there are variants of types of signs for a pronoun, so I've listed them all. The most common one you'd see when translating is at the start of each entry.

As you can see, the pronouns are fairly distinctive in construction, especially when they come at the end of a verb in a sentence. The only ones that would give you any real issue would be the =n (we/our) and =t (she/her) pronouns. This is because they look like the 'past tense .n' and 'marker of the feminine verb .t' endings (sometimes they omit the plural strokes the =n 'our' pronoun and that's just not cool). When you're starting out, you essentially have to look at the context the word is in, and partially continue with the rest of the translation to see if a pronoun is there or it's a tense/feminine marker. Correctly identifying which one it is, is again down to experience. Thankfully this one is something you pick up pretty quickly, because your sentences won't make much sense otherwise.

An example of a pronoun in action is the following sentence:

You can see that the pronoun =k (you) comes after the verb 'sDm' to hear, and before the object of the sentence miw (cat). Any of the pronouns above can be inserted where =k is, and the sentence will read as necessary.

Prepositions

Prepositions often tell us where one noun is in relation to another (e.g., The coffee is on the table beside you). But they can also indicate more abstract ideas, such as purpose or contrast (e.g., We went for a walk despite the rain). Prepositions also indicate direction, time, location, and spatial relationships, as well as other abstract types of relationships. Just like we say 'the cat is on the mat' or 'the fox at the house', Middle Egyptian can do the same thing. Here's a list of prepositions:

These, of course, occur anywhere within a sentence in Middle Egyptian just like they would for English. They can also take pronouns like xr=f 'under him' in order to give a subject or object for the sentence. If you were translating and you saw one of these, you'd know that you were about to change direction/time/place or get more information on a relationship in that sentence.

I've constructed an example here:

MEg readers: There's probably supposed to be some sort of nominal -pw construction in the first sentence to get the 'is' sense, but it's late and I am le tired, so please ignore this potential glaring error. The gist of the sentence is at least right.

Everyone else: You can see I've used the prepositions xr 'under' and mi 'like' to construct this sentence. If I was translating this from the Egyptian, they would be the grammar markers that tell me something in the sentence has got or changed a location, or that it was a comparison. Basically, if you're looking at a word and it's not a verb/pronoun/adjective/noun, you're probably looking at a preposition.

Particles

These are tiny words, which don't always translate as anything, but give more meaning or information about a sentence. Basically, they have a grammatical function, but don't actually translate. In English the word 'to' performs this function, as it appears with many verbs 'to fly' 'to go' etc, but doesn't actually translate (yes, I'm aware 'to' can also be a preposition). I'll only deal with a couple of the more common particles here because there are a lot of them, and you don't need to know all of them.

iw is probably the most common particle. As far as we're aware it doesn't have a translation (there's debate), but it always comes at the beginning of a clause. We don't even know why they use it, because it's one of the particles that you get taught 'always comes at the beginning of a sentence/clause' but then once you learn more MEg (Middle Egyptian) you realise that it barely shows up at all. Anyway, the little guy looks like this:

In a sentence it looks like this:

This is a few lines from the Shipwrecked Sailor, a literary text from the Middle Kingdom. You can see the 'iw' particle used twice in this sentence and both times it does not impart any direct meaning to the translation, but it does tell us of a new clause.

ir is another particle that turns up semi regularly and has the meaning 'as for/if' depending on the context. The original context for it, is that it stemmed from the preposition 'r' 'to/from' (see table above) and evolved into its own usage. It looks like this:

So if you see it in a sentence before a noun like so:

ir will only translate as 'as for' when before a noun. That's how they mark that sort of grammar.

However, if 'ir' is before a verb, this happens:

The sense becomes 'if' when before a past or present tense, meaning the particle has express a conditional sense. If it was before something other than the past or present tense, the sentence would read entirely differently, and thus wouldn't have ir there in the first place. That's how we know to translate it that way. mutters something about the ir conditionals

Past Tense

I'm not sure I need to explain the past tense to most of you, but rest assured that Middle Egyptian also has the past tense. This can usually be identified by the .n ending after a verb, but before the pronoun. You might be sitting there saying 'wait, lottie. isn't the pronoun for 'we' also an 'n'?' and yeah you'd be right! It's all to do with context.

Let's take a very basic sentence:

You see the 'n' sign above the pronoun =i ? That's the .n of the past! It tells us that the verb preceding it, in this case sDm 'to hear', is being read as the past tense and thus we have to translate it with the -ed past tense ending in English. Yes, it does look very similar to the 'n' pronoun for 'we' (=n) and the preposition for 'to/for (a person)' (n). It's because they are all the same sign, they're just being read in different ways.

What do all the .'s, ='s, and brackets mean in transliteration?

So as I just showed you, the marker of the past tense is denoted with the water sign 'n' which is attached to a verb in transliteration using .n at the end. You've also seen me use the equals sign with the pronouns like =i. In Egyptology, at least, we use these symbols as a way to differentiate between different markers of grammar and basically make it easier to spot when we're just reading someone else's work. Say you've got sDm.n=n mdw r=k 'we heard the words concerning you'. Here are the glyphs:

You can see that sDm is easy to see (the ear reading sDm, and the owl reading m as a phonetic complement, forming the word) and then you've got two water symbols for n, and three vertical strokes. Now, as I've already shown you, the n of the past tense, and the n that's the pronoun for 'we' look pretty much the same, but you know they're different. However, when they're together in one sentence it makes them difficult to distinguish. In order to make them distinct when transliterating we use .'s for marking the endings of verbs be they tense markers or say the feminine .t ending. For pronouns we use ='s so that it's clear they're separate from both the verbs and grammar markers. Otherwise you'd end up with sDmnn mdw rk and it would really tell you absolutely nothing if you were reading it without the glyphs.

I should note at this point that some schools of Hieroglyph teaching use the . for both the verb ending marker and for the pronoun. So it'd look like sDm.n.n and that would be completely fine. I didn't learn this way, so I won't be using it. I'm just mentioning it here for the sake of completeness.

For brackets, I'll do a quick run through: … denotes a lacuna (a hole in the text) with no restoration, [ ] denotes a lacuna with restoration, < > denotes an omission made by the original scribe, whether intentional or accidental, and ( ) denotes a modern addition, usually in the translation to give proper English sense or to provide clarification. In cases where an Egyptian word is legible but the meaning is unclear, ___ denotes an unknown transliteration and a (?) denotes an uncertain translation.

How do you know where a word stops and another one begins?

Ahh the classic! This is a two parter: the first part is 'usually there's a sign that tells you' and the second part is 'more experience with hieroglyphs.' With experience you tend to learn how the most common words are formed, so you know what those look like and how they're spelt. This means that you tend to be able to pick those out of a sentence, and whatever is left must be a word/s you don't know. Over time you'll begin to realise what signs do and do not form words, so if you're trying to read a word and it doesn't make any sense you probably need to separate the signs you're looking at. It really is just practice and becoming more familiar with the language.

The other way, is learning how to spot what are called 'determinatives'. A determinative is a sign that helps to categorise a word without having any consonantal value. It’s just there at the end of a written word, like a man with hand to mouth at the end of the word ‘vomit’ in Egyptian tells the reader (most of whom were illiterate) that the word had something to do with something that comes from the mouth). Not every determinative has the same value as the word it’s written for, and some can even be metaphorical in nature. If I bring back the first sentence I used in this post 'You hear a cat' I can show you what a determinative looks like:

Since you know that sDm is the verb 'to hear' and =k is the pronoun for 'you', then miw must be the word for 'cat'. But there are 5 signs and only 3 consonant values in miw, which ones are we reading? The answer is the first three signs: the m 'owl' the i 'reed leaf' and the w 'quail chick'. So what about the last two signs: the seated cat and the pelt? Well those are the determinatives I told you about. They're part of the word, but they don't have any sound values. They're just there to tell us that the word is about a cat (seated cat!) and an animal (pelt!). Now I could have written the word miw 'cat' with just the seated cat sign, as that by itself has the 3-consonantal value of miw, but here, along with the pelt, it's just being used as a way to reinforce to the reader that this word is animal based and that animal is a feline.

It also helps that words in Egyptian tend to have no more than 2 or 3 consonants in them (some have 4, but they're not as common). So if you're transliterating and you've got a word you don't know that appears to have more consonants in it...you might want to take a look at it because you've probably added two words together, or joined the past tense marker or pronouns into the word you're looking at. In fact, knowing the grammar markers, and the pronouns, and what a determinative looks like is what helps you pick out the words more easily. It's sort of a process of elimination of words/grammar you do know, to see what's left and that's where you get the dictionary out and start looking things up.

I'm going to try my best here to show this in diagram form. Ideally, this would be done in person where I could write it on a board and go through it in real time, but since I can't do that I'll have to go with this:

This is an excerpt from the 'Dialogue Between a Man and His Ba' and you're looking at it going 'oh dear god'. So let's start by marking out where our words separate in blue:

So, these are all the words within this sentence, and I hope it at least shows you where the transliteration is following. However, how do I know this? You can see the pronouns in the transliteration marked with the ='s sign. I'll mark those in pink:

So you can see for four words in these two sentences they end with either the =f 'he' (second person masc.) or =i 'I' (first person masc.) pronouns. Those suffix pronouns only come at the end of words, so those must be the ends of those words, and what comes before is the word. Cool. So, what about determinatives in these sentences? Can seeing them help us see the end of any other words? I've marked them in green:

So, now you can see where the determinatives are. The walking legs determinatives noting a verb of 'motion' appear twice before pronouns, and that's fine, they're marking the end of the word where the pronoun goes anyway! Some of them don't though! The first set that don't are the Ra 'sun' symbol and the single stroke, which are determinatives for the word hrw 'day'. These determinatives are a) showing that the word hrw has something to do with the sun (passing of time), and there's only one of them (hence the single stroke). Thus we know this means 'day'. The next is the bird and plural strokes at the end of qsn.t 'suffering'. Plural strokes don't usually come in the middle of a word, so that helps us to identify the end of a word quite easily. The bird is what's known as the 'bin' or 'bad bird', which turns up as the determinative for words that have bad connotations (not always being used in a bad way though). In this case we have the word 'suffering', so the bad bird is here to tell us that. With those two together, it tells us this is the end of the word qsn.t. After the word 'gs' (meaning 'side') you can see I've highlighted the single stroke determinative. This is because that sign can also be read as 'm' like the owl sign in the sentence before it, and what they're using this sign to denote is that 'hey we're not dealing with a preposition here this is a noun!'. The last set are from the word nHnw 'praise singer'. You have the man with his hand to his mouth indicating that the word is something that comes from the mouth (in this case singing), and then the seated man is not a pronoun (this is one of those cases where you'll have to watch out in your translations!) but another determinative telling us that this is a 'person' word i.e. someone who does the action. Thus we translate it as 'praise singer' rather than 'praise singing'.

There are no tense markers, like the past, in these sentences so I'll skip that. There is another grammar marker of the .t ending in qsn.t, but that would require explaining an entirely different verb form and no one is here for that. I'm just noting it's there for people who can read this and are like 'girl there's one right there!' I know and I'm choosing not to perceive.

Anyway, the last things to look at are prepositions and particles. Do we have any of those in these sentences that could help us identify where words begin/end? I've marked prepositions in red and particles in yellow:

So we have one preposition and it's the preposition 'm' in/from. So we know, thanks to the pronoun before it that it doesn't belong to that word, and since 'm' as a preposition is a single sign, it can't belong to the next signs. Then we have the two particles. One is right at the start and is the 'iw' particle that has no written meaning. It's at the beginning, so we know that this is the opening to a clause and therefore the signs that precede it in the text (which aren't shown here) don't belong to it. The pronoun attached it is the 'he' at the beginning of the clause. The other =f pronoun attached to tkn is what's known as a resumptive pronoun, meaning it's there for emphasis but isn't read in translation.

The other particle is 'mi' 'like', which comes after a determinative stroke for 'gs' (side), and before a lot of signs that end in the two men (hand to mouth and seated). So we know that if 'mi' is a particle by itself, it doesn't belong to the signs that come after it, and therefore is its own word. If you tried to read it with the other words, you'd get miirnHnw and since we know that Egyptian words tend to be 2-3 consonants long, with a max of 4, this is too long to be an actual word. Therefore mi has to be separate from ir and nHnw.

There's another little bit of grammar I didn't cover, because 'too advanced for this post', but for completionist's sake: there's another type of pronoun in here called a demonstrative pronoun. In English it's what the words 'this/that' are referred to. Here the word 'pf' (the sign group with the rectangular box and the horned viper) is performing that function meaning 'over there'. So in the sentence we have: aHa=f 'he should stand' (subjunctive + second person masc.), m 'on' (preposition), pf 'the other' (demonstrative pronoun), gs 'side' (noun), mi 'like' (particle), ir 'does' (infinitive verb), nHnw 'praise singer' (noun). If that makes sense? It probably doesn't, but that's how we know pf isn't connected to either m or gs. Somewhere my lecturers are feeling a weight lifted from them and it's because I'm finally able to express this without confusion. Sadly they'll never see it lmao.

So what do we have left unmarked? Those are all your verbs, nouns, and adjectives! tkn (stay close), hrw (day), qsn.t (suffering), aHa (stand), ir (does), nHnw (praise singer). Once you remove all your grammar markers what you're left with can only be those three. The only one that isn't clearly marked is 'ir', and that's because it tends to just show up as the eye sign, or the eye sign with an r 'mouth' sign beneath it. Here it's just the eye sign, and an inexperienced reader will likely either read it with the particle 'mi' making miir, or with nHnw making irnHnw. Either way they're going to run into some issues, and unfortunately the only way they'll stop making that mistake is experience with translating MEg.

I hope that this post has at least somewhat cleared up the confusion about how Hieroglyphs and Middle Egyptian work. If I'm honest, I think it's more likely to have confused some of you even more. I apologise for that. Trying to explain a dead language, for which most of you have no reference point, on a medium like tumblr is pretty difficult. If what I've said here is too complicated, I would suggest getting yourself a copy of Mark Collier's 'How to Read Egyptian Hieroglyphs'. That book is about £10, and it's really easy to get hold of. The British Museum shop has copies you can buy (it got a reprint thanks to the Hieros exhibit) and I know it's on Amazon too. Go forth and get the book written by the man who taught me how to read them! sorry Mark

Congrats on reaching the bottom of 'Do you know how to read hieroglyphs? Which one?'

𓋹𓍑𓋴 ꜥnḫ wḏꜢ snb

#scheduled #this took me the best part of a week (over several evenings) to write and create all the hieroglyphs for

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wellntruly · 8 months

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If you read the novel Catch-22 (1961), about U.S. Army pilots & sundry stationed on a Greek island during World War II, you will encounter this off-hand description during the period where Yossarian is hiding in the field hospital:

At which you will either pause worryingly, or you’re normal.

I am not normal, because I have watched the television show M*A*S*H (1972-1983), about U.S. Army medical staff in a mobile surgical unit during the Korean War, and which features a character called Hawkeye Pierce, who frequently looks like this:

Now this bathrobe, iconic simply, appears red to the observer. However, deep into the run there is a line in which Hawkeye refers to it as "purple"—great consternation. But film cameras and light waves being what they are (capricious, devilish), it could very well be maroon in life. It could very well be maroon. It’s what I assumed after that comment. But what I'd never asked was, what is it made out of? Is that corduroy, could it be corduroy, could this be—

Oh noooooooo!

Why is Hawkeye the only one who is wearing the robe of patients from the last war, I ask you! Is it for the METAPHOR. To make me YELL. Did the costume department make it for him, or did they just already have one on hand in the WWII storage? Wait it wasn't real was it? Where is it, where is this robe!

Well babe, it’s in the Smithsonian:

A) of all, fucking fantastic, could not be a place I more want Alan Alda’s bathrobe as Hawkeye Pierce to be than the National Museum of American History. B) well well well well well, what do we have here:

[sic]

So looking THAT up brings you nothing that makes any sense, even trying to correct for spelling. But not to fear: historical re-enactors are here.

On the website of the “WW2 US Medical Research Centre,” an absolutely delightful combination of words and spelling brought to you by two European history buffs, and that’s Europeans who are obsessed with history, specifically American medical units in the 1940s, there’s a page for pajamas, and why look who’s here:

OH ho oh HO!

“Progressive Coat & Apron Mfg. Co.” is so similarly bizarre that I would be very willing to bet that something like idk, the imperfect process of digitizing thousands of records for a website catalog, could have absolutely resulted in “Agressive Coat and Manufacturing Company.” Which would mean yeah, yeah yeah: vintage World War II, slash Korea, just five years later. It was authentic, what they gave Alda to wear, along with his dog tags.

Just Hawkeye though still, which is what's odd.

BUT HANG ON.

Heeeeey now!

So I was recently reminded that in the pilot episode, but the pilot episode only, Wayne Rogers as Trapper John McIntyre also has the regulation corduroy MD/USA bathrobe! In fact, he actually has what would appear to become Hawkeye’s—observe the location of the embroidery. Pocket, like Hawkeye’s in every robe appearance after this first episode, the robe that ends up in the Smithsonian Museum. Whereas the one with the embroidery on the chest that's hanging above Hawkeye's cot here, a common variant that shows up when you’re searching around on military history websites, after this appearance I believe is seen just once more on a visiting colonel later in the first season, then quietly vanishes. Alda ends up in Trapper's, and stays in it for keeps, while Rogers gets, of all things, a cheery goldenrod terry number.

But like, why. Why just Hawkeye in the WWII surplus robe. Both Doyle and Watson have avenues here that I like to think about. For the Doylist side, I suspect it was a decision of like, this is simply too matchy. It’s 1972, our TV screens are small, we gotta take any chance we can get to distinguish these tall white men constantly wearing the same of two monochrome outfits.

In fact, I actually wonder if there was a world where Trapper might have stayed in the maroon and Hawkeye could have ended up in Henry’s robe.

The light blue & white striped bathrobe McLean Stevenson wore as Henry Blake was sold at auction in 2018, and the item description contains the curious detail of it having a handwritten tag inside reading “Hawkeye.” Well heeeyy again.

And here’s another curious detail:

There was a blue & white striped Army-issue robe as well

Now Henry’s is clearly NOT vintage WWII, lacking the pocket embroidery, being terry cloth, and also of course: pastel. But it’s INTERESTING, isn’t it? They had to have been GOING for that look, with that same unusual collar shape and that multi-stripe patterning.

(Also, for real 'what the hell even IS this color' fun, this militaria collectors purveyor has one of the maroon versions too, with photos you can page though and laugh as it flips between looking clearly purple and clearly red in every other photograph. Cameras!!!)

Anyway now we turn to the Watsonian explanation, which seems to run like this: the men at the 4077 were just casually passing their robes around to each other. It's about the intimacy in the face of war, etc. I can see bathrobes going missing when they bug out, getting stolen from the laundry by Klinger and scrapped for parts, being handed off to a poor cold Korean kid who needs it more, and then they need to get to the showers and one of them is like hey, just take mine, and then it’s his now. And eventually most of them end up in warmer-looking civilian robes than the Army holdovers that were being distributed early on, but Hawkeye, he just hung on to Trapper's.

And as a side effect, still looks like he's been injured in World War II.

#thank you for going with me on this journey #and thank you in particular: to Joseph Heller #really froze me in place at that line buddy #M*A*S*H #M*A*S*H hours #Catch 22 #Joseph Heller #WWII

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prismaticfaery · 1 year

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Little Bunny

John Price x Fem!Reader

Summary: Never in a million years would Captain Price think that he'd have a chance at a family, but with how dangerous his profession was and his chances of becoming a father becoming a reality, you and him have to learn the hard way that moving on is the best you both can do.

**TW: Pregnancy, vomiting, swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, labor, childbirth, anxiety, panic, angst, unrequited love. (Forgive me if I miss any!)

Rating: Mature

This is not short, it's 10K words! Also, don't expect too much of a happy ending!

Part Two

A/N: I was debating posting this for so long out of fear it was trash, please be gentle with me! To add, termination is always going to be your choice and it’s okay to consider that option!

Fluorescent lights hung overhead, your eyes poorly adjusting to the harsh lights as you fumbled with a pen nervously between your fingers. You had filled out a small packet of papers on a clipboard, the receptionist telling you that your doctor would see you soon and to make sure every bit of information was filled in. When you had initially told the receptionist that it would only be you when she asked if you were accompanied by a partner for a confirmation of pregnancy ultrasound, she gave you a look, and you knew she was silently judging you for your situation.

“Y/N?” You hear a nurse call out while propping a door open, breaking you out of your trance.

It was two weeks ago when you had realized your period was late, your work schedule and general hecticness in your life made you suspect that it was stress at first but when your period never showed even a week later, and with having a pretty normal cycle, you darted to the commissary on base and bought two boxes of pregnancy tests– two different brands to make sure. Yeah, you had been more tired lately, and you had lost your appetite more than a few times, but you knew that those could also be normal premenstrual symptoms.

With your uniform pants and panties down to your ankles, you held two different pregnancy test in your hands, the trembling in your arms and hands from fear only became worse when the test slowly turned positive. With a harsh breath in, you hold it for a moment, fresh tears stinging your eyes when you finally release your breath. Your body felt frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Do you tell him now? Do you wait? You were on birth control and never missed a dose, but of course, it’s not always foolproof. You weren’t even with the baby’s father on an exclusivity level, only really depending on each other for comfort and pleasure when you both needed it– not to mention he was your Captain, your superior.

A hiccup leaves your throat, the metaphorical golf ball stuck in your throat nearly choking you as you place your head in your hands, those fresh tears gathering in the corners falling into your hands. You were active duty in the SAS and newly recruited into Task Force 141, though just a Sergeant, and you were living in the barracks, which was not the place to bring a baby up in, nor was it even allowed. You weren’t prepared for a baby to come along, and you knew that your Captain had no intention of having children while he always had a target on himself. You knew he wouldn’t take this news well.

“It looks like you’re reaching nine weeks, strong heartbeat at 168 bpm– see it here?” the doctor pointed to the tiny fluttering heart on the ultrasound monitor.

“I do,” you smile lightly, your eyes never leaving the small floating jelly bean that jerked and wiggled inside of your body.

“Do you have support at home?” The doctor asked, her eyes meeting yours with a certain softness, knowing that you checked your marital status as “single”.

“Well I have my mother, but as for the other half of the child, he won’t be very happy,” you say, sitting up and adjusting the paper blanket draped across your nude bottom half.

“Reach out to your mother, okay? Best of luck with everything,” the doctor takes her leave, giving you the privacy to clean up and put your uniform back on.

You sat for a moment, the silence deafening save for the nurses speaking at their station outside the exam room door. You peek over at the ultrasound monitor, which had been paused on a picture of your tiny baby. Your heart ached, and you found yourself struggling to turn your head away, until a knock at the door sounded.

“Here are your papers, there’s also a script for prenatal vitamins and some brochures,” the nurse smiles, handing you the small stack, “take care of yourself.”

The door closes behind the nurse and you decide that it’s time to finally get dressed. You wipe the ultrasound gel from your abdomen and lower region, and silently slip your clothing back on, your eyes never leaving the monitor until you notice a small black and white photo had been printed and attached to your after appointment papers. Your heart skipped, quickly tearing the photo from off of the stack to hold in your hands, your little baby’s side profile had been captured and you could see the tiny arms and legs scrunched up to its body.

Checking the time on your watch, you pick up speed, remembering that you had a debriefing on a Task Force affair with your Captain soon and you were definitely going to be late arriving at it. You knew he wouldn’t be happy with your lack of punctuality, but you had proof that you were tied up in a last minute affair.

Once arriving back at base, you could see the familiar form of Soap who was also a late arrival to the debriefing, but you knew it was because of his poor time management skills, or he was just waking up from one of his naps. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he spins around in a wild fashion.

“Good grief, ya scared the shite out of me,” Soap held a hand to his chest.

“Sorry, I was just curious if we could walk together to the debrief,” you question, your eyes pleading for him to agree as to save yourself from being individually called out by your Captain.

Soap nods, his longer legs falling into step with yours, “you’re not usually late to these things, something must have had you tied up,” Soap scratches his head, yawning into his unoccupied hand.

“Oh you know, women’s issues,” you shrugged, Soap wincing at your words.

“Ah, I don’t think you need to explain,” he chuckles, knowing damn well that he was treading into territory he was very familiar with, having to be around female soldiers– especially with being around you so much– taught him more than enough.

Opening the door to the small debriefing room, you could see Ghost leaning back in his chair, one leg over the other while his arms crossed against his chest, his usual black balaclava covering his face. Gaz was in the seat adjacent to Ghost, his face blank– an almost bored expression showing.

Price’s body language was showing very clear annoyance as he watched you and Soap enter, the awkwardness in the room causing you to fumble into your seat, the loud scraping of the chair leg against the tile floor made Price audibly sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You two are late, don’t let this happen again or I’ll have you assigned cleaning duty for a week,” Price points his finger first at Soap, then at you, your eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

As the debriefing went on, you could feel the familiar crystalline blue eyes of your Captain steal glances of you. You make yourself small and scarce in the meeting, your arms folding across your upper body and your body slinking into your chair. You felt strange about having such a huge secret being hidden away from your Captain who was more than deserving to know about it, but you needed time to formulate a plan on how you were going to carry out telling him. It would be better to tell him sooner than later though because you could be deployed at any time and that would be a dangerous situation for you and the life that was growing inside of you.

“Ghost, you and Gaz will be going to Russia for some recon, I need intel– any intel on where they’re moving next,” Price nods his head in Ghost’s direction, handing Gaz a debriefing packet on his and Ghost’s deployment that they’ll go over together at a later time.

You feel your body tense as a very heavy wave of nausea washes over you, Soap noticing your eyes fluttering and your skin becoming ashen and shiny from sweat. Pushing his seat out with the back of his legs, Soap rushes over to the trash bin, knowing all too well you wouldn’t make it yourself. He shoves the bin into your lap where you attempt to shield yourself with your arms as you empty the contents of your stomach. Gaz winces, and Ghost is pretty much unbothered but keeping a watchful eye on you.

“You alright?” Price askes as he makes his way over to your hunched over form.

“No, I really need to go,” you heave a sigh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave that, I’ll have someone clean it,” Price nods, motioning for you to leave.

Long having discarded your uniform, you sat on your bed, staring at the white wall across the room. So many thoughts flooded your brain, and you felt like you were losing control of everything in your life all in the span of a few hours. You were young, and still inexperienced in life, halfway to reaching your thirties. The dried yet still sticky feeling of tears coated your cheeks and you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest every time you even thought of mentioning this pregnancy to Price. How the hell was he going to take it?

You knew that it would go two ways most likely– one: he’d walk away and break all contact, or two: he would tell you that he would support you and the baby, but would not be present.

A knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts, your voice cracking as you told the visitor to come inside. Price’s tall body stands in the doorway for a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind him softly. He knew it was risky coming into your room so early in the evening but he was willing to take that chance.

“Everything alright? Soap said you were dealing with something– didn’t know the pain got so bad for you during that time of the month,” Price sits beside you on your bed, his taller form making yours tiny in comparison.

“I’m alright, I just need to rest,” your voice is small with a tinge of exhaustion, playing into Soap’s assumptions of you being on your period.

“You been crying, love?” Price’s large hand caresses your neck, his thumb dancing across your cheek soothingly.

“A little, yeah,” you smile softly, leaning into his touch.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really, if that’s okay?” Your breath catches in your throat, you knew damn well you should tell him, but fear froze you in place.

“I understand, hormones and all that lot can be difficult,” Price sighs, the hand that rested on your neck falling back into his lap.

You suck in a breath as his words repeat in your head. Did he already know? Or did he have an inkling of an idea? No, that wasn’t possible.

You feel the familiar burn of bile rising into your throat, your legs making a mad dash for the bathroom across your small barracks room. Heaving what little was left in your stomach, you could feel your Captain’s cool hands gather your loose hair from your sweat covered neck and forehead. As you breath in and out heavily, a soft cry escaping your lips from the horrifying nausea pounding through your body, you feel Price’s free hand rub soothing circles along your back.

“You’re alright, sweet girl, let it out,” the deep gravel in his voice was soothing.

You gag and heave one last time before you begin to feel like the nausea is subsiding, Price’s arm reaching over to flush the toilet and then bring your body back to lay against him as he leaned back against the tub. Your shorter legs are pulled up to your chest as his thick arms engulf you.

“I’m pregnant,” a sob escapes your throat, a trembling hand brought up to your now teary eyes, wiping away any stray tears that escape.

Everything goes silent around the two of you, and you could tell John was formulating his response and keeping himself from reacting in a way he would regret. His arms go slack around you and you begin sobbing even harder at his action.

“Did you not take your pills?” Was all he could muster asking.

“I did, I did-!” you cry, turning your body to face him now.

“Y/N, you know what this could do to us– to me, right?” Price’s voice was dangerously low now, a look of pure anger painted on his face.

You knew all too well what this situation could do to you both. Demotion, dishonorable discharge, enemies who had a target on both of you– but more specifically him, would know that there is something precious and innocent that could be easily taken away.

Price goes quiet, his eyes downcast as he thinks to himself for a moment, “I think you should consider your options.”

“So that’s it? You’re putting all of this on me?” your heart begins to sink into your stomach, knowing damn well that this was his way of telling you that he wanted to cut all contact and act like this situation never happened.

“What will you have me do, Y/N, hm?” He points a finger at himself, the tip poking into his hardened chest.

“At least consider options with me– it takes two-!”

“No, Y/N. No,” Price rises to his feet, leaving you in a puddle of anxiousness on the bathroom floor, your eyes frantically watching his hand swing the bathroom door open.

“Please don’t–,” you reach an arm out to him, but he’s gone so quickly from your sight.

You find out the next day that you were pardoned from work, formation, and PT for a full month, knowing that Price did this to allow you time to think about what to do with the pregnancy. You hardly left your room, and when you did, it was usually just to eat and do laundry. Soap tried to stop you a few times to catch up and ask how you were doing, but you instead offered a smile and a quick, “I’ve gotta go,”. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried out of his mind for you, sad eyes watching you disappear down the hallways. He was often your partner in missions and would offer a helping hand if and when you needed it. Maybe he just needed to wait for you to come to him? He would always wait for you.

You stared at your discharge papers for days, the blanks filled out neatly, and the pen you used sat atop the thin packet. You were sure that this is what you wanted, and this would save John from the possibility of having everything he worked so hard for to be snatched away. No one would know he was the father of the baby, and you weren’t going to make him be something he didn’t want to be. You wouldn’t inform him of the gender, due date, name– anything, if he didn’t want to know, in which you knew he wouldn’t.

You wanted to make this as easy as possible– slowly cutting off your military life, and going back home to make a new life for yourself and for your baby. Your mother was in agreement, telling you to come home and to get yourself back on your feet, that she’d be happy to watch over the baby while you worked. You would have your childhood room back and your mother’s cooking, and that was enough to put a smile on your face even for just a moment through the rough patch. She knew that having support was the most important thing for you.

You gather the papers in your hands, tapping them on the counter to even them out. Taking a moment to think one last time if this was truly what you wanted, you let out a shaky breath, leaving your room and making your way to John’s office, your fingers grasping the papers tight enough to wrinkle them.

You knock three times on Price’s door, waiting for him to call out an answer for you to enter, “come in,” you finally hear him say.

He straightens in his desk chair, the air in the room becoming thick and tense. He looks to be stressed out, his hand soon covering his forehead as he attempts to relax. You sit in one of the two chairs across from his desk, sliding your filled out discharge paperwork over to him. Price’s vascular arm reaches over to grab the papers, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. At first, he thinks that these are adoption papers for the baby, in which he would sign the parts that said “father’s information”, but he soon realizes that’s not what he was given.

“You’re leaving the military?” his eyes darted up to look at you.

“I won’t make this difficult. You don’t need to know a thing if you don’t want to, you won’t need to be present, just sign those papers and we’re gone.”

“The Task Force needs you,” Price’s voice falters, his usual soft tone you were so used to is back.

“I want to raise this baby, John– our baby,” you feel yourself spiraling, your hormones making it difficult to keep your composure.

You could see his eyes flutter closed, his body shaking as he releases a large huff from his lungs, “you’ll be discharged immediately. I don’t want to see a trace of you left in that room.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had very little to pack up in your room, your mother having come from London to help you carry anything heavy. Soap had stopped by your room after hearing the news that you were being discharged. His thoughts soared wildly as he watched your mother pack away your things as you carried out items to her car, thinking of how sick you must have been to have to leave the military immediately. You must have been in need of serious medical treatment to just drop everything and leave. His form standing outside your door caught your mother’s attention, making his entire body tense. Turning on his heel, he prayed to whatever or whomever that your mother hadn’t seen the stray tear fall down his cheek.

Your civilian clothing felt a little tight around your lower abdominal area, your belly poking out slightly, bloating from the pregnancy hormones and constipation since the baby was still very tiny to make an appearance quite yet. You were half tempted to keep your jeans unbuttoned but with it being so hot out, your shirt was cropped right above your belly button. You had to keep cool somehow and you weren’t sacrificing your style for your growing belly. You and your belly bump can be stylish together.

“Is this the last of it, darling?” Your mother questions, placing the last box in the trunk of her sedan.

“Yes,” you answer, looking around one last time before opening the passenger door of the car and slipping inside.

Your eyes caught a glance of Price, who was outside on the training field with a group of soldiers. He was looking right at you, and it sent a flood of different emotions to wash over you. Tears stung your eyes, your throat swelling as you tried your best to keep yourself from falling apart. You were prepared to do this whole parenthood thing alone, but you were hoping that you would at least have him present for the sake of the child– not even for the sake of you because you weren’t what mattered in this situation.

You had fallen madly for him but your job had made it very apparent that feelings for your superior could be a whirlwind of repercussions to pay. You had to play it safe in the shadows. John would have been a liar if he said he hadn’t also felt the same feelings as you, but kept it no more than a hook-up every once in a while. This was the most difficult decision you could ever make– deciding to walk away.

It had taken you weeks to acclimate to civilian life after being in the military for so long. You were freshly 18 and had just graduated secondary school when you joined the Royal Army, just entering your mid 20’s when you passed selection for the SAS, Price was the first to congratulate you, shaking your hand and offering you a warm smile, the creases in the corners of his eyes sending you into a tizzy– goodness he was so handsome. His face was shaved then however. You loved his chops when he started growing them out, your eyes catching his own as he carefully combed through the thick auburn beard hairs with a sandalwood comb in the middle of his debriefings.

You sat at the dining room table of your childhood home, scanning over the words on your laptop screen. You had gotten a new job and you were going to start working remotely from the house, which was perfect because of the baby coming around February. You had since gotten into a new doctor’s office, your mother accompanying you for support. Her face lit up when she saw the baby floating around on the screen, their little arms covering the front of their face. You had cried more than you liked and your nausea had increased dramatically once leaving the base. You thought it may have been from the stress of leaving your old life behind intermingling with the pregnancy hormones.

Your mother was a huge support, telling you that you could take time to yourself before you found a civilian job. You waved her off however, saying that she had no business having to pick up the slack for her adult child. She had already taken to knitting small items for the baby, and your favorite was the small floppy bunny beanie that was a light cream color, the inside of the ears a dusty pink.

“Have any of your military friends contacted you since leaving?” Your mother asks, peeking up from the cream colored blanket she had started days previous.

“Soap has, but he ended up being deployed before I could answer. He probably thinks I’m dying with having left so suddenly when I was experiencing morning sickness during debrief,” the sigh that left your lips was a sad one, as Soap was someone you had grown quite close to over the years of being in the same barracks and then being on the Task Force together for a short period of time.

“Well hopefully you can remain friends,” the nimble fingers of your mother placed a stitch marker into the blanket.

“One can hope,” you lie.

You were entering your 20th week of pregnancy– halfway to the finish line is what your mother said to you that morning. Her excitement was easy to spot as today was the day you would find the gender of the baby out. Your belly had grown some, but not enough for it to be immediately recognized as a baby bump. Maybe you just ate an entire pizza?

Drinking the last bit of orange juice, to which your mother swore would make the baby more lively in your belly during the ultrasound, you look over the texts in your phone, Soap’s name popping up suddenly. It catches you off guard when you open the text, seeing a picture of Ghost and Price out on the firing range, Price’s hat sitting on top of Ghost’s head as he lay prone on the ground with a sniper rifle. Price had his arms crossed and was seeming to refuse being in the photo, his hand covering his face. Soap hadn’t sent so much as a “hi” in weeks, and you had hoped that he just moved on from the thought of you staying in touch with your old roots. Closing out of the text app, you place your phone face down on the kitchen counter, your heart dropping. You just won’t reply, just like you had been doing before.

Patiently waiting in the exam room at the midwife’s office, you placed a hand on your belly, hoping that soon you would finally be able to feel movement. Your midwife said it’s normal to not have movements until now or even a little later but you were so impatient. Once entering the room, the midwife went over her routine questions, and took your blood pressure.

“Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, are you getting enough water and rest?” The midwife asks, placing herself on the stool next to the ultrasound machine.

“Mum wouldn’t let me live it down if I weren’t,” you answer.

“I believe it,” the midwife chuckles, looking over at your mother who had taken a seat next to you on the exam table, “I would like for you to continue what you’re doing, and if you’re feeling any strange symptoms like dizziness, faintness, seeing stars in your vision, or pains in your chest or ribs, go to the hospital immediately.”

You nod your head, and the midwife starts setting your ultrasound up, helping you lie back on the bed as soon as she’s done. Unbuttoning your jeans, she places a flannel over the top of your jeans to keep the gel from staining them. The lights are then turned off and you begin to relax and clear your mind, ready to see your baby after weeks of waiting. Squeezing a large amount of gel onto your abdomen, the midwife places the transducer of the ultrasound machine onto the mound of gel, rubbing it around to find where the baby is positioned.

“Look at those little puckered lips,” the midwife smiles down at you.

“Oh darling, look at that sweet baby,” your mom was in tears, her emotions always outmatched yours.

As the midwife continues looking at the baby through the monitor, she takes her time going through all of the anatomy of the baby, noting it on the keys of the machine. Your hand was being squeezed so hard by your mother, you thought that your circulation might be cut off after so long. The tiny fingers of the baby were by their mouth, their legs stretching out and scrunching back up.

“What were your bets on the gender, mum?” the midwife asks your mother, the two smiling at each other.

“That’s a little girl in there.”

“Mum is correct,” the midwife points her finger to the wiggling baby, a clear picture of the baby’s gender boldly displayed.

You’re going to have a little girl, Captain.

Squealing with delight with fresh tears coating her cheeks, your mother squeezed your arm and kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of you. I’m a grandma to a baby girl.”

While there was downtime, Price often grabbed drinks with the Task Force, his usual military uniform shed and his dog tags resting on his bedside table. The black jumper he wore had gotten a little loose, his appetite scarcely there since you told him about your pregnancy. His anxiety made his mind wander more than he liked. How were you doing? Was your belly finally popping out? Did you start purchasing baby items? He would always ground himself after some time, his internal voice telling him that this was for the safety of himself, and the safety of you and the baby. His baby. But not his baby at the same time, he made that clear with you all those weeks ago.

Clutching a rocks glass in his hands at the bar, Price took a quick swig of the amber liquid as Soap sat to his right, scrolling through his social media timeline. Ghost was at the pool table across the bar, talking with Gaz, who had just taken a shot at a cue ball. It had been raining for days straight, the cool air flowing into the bar with each time the door opened. Were you also experiencing this weather? Or had you gone countries away to escape staying in the same country as your former friend with benefits with whom you now had forever ties with?

“You know, Y/N’s social media was deactivated and she never answers my texts. I wonder if she’s okay?” Soap mumbled, unable to put his mind at ease as to where you went or what happened to you.

“She was honorably discharged from the special forces, she’s probably cutting ties with her old life as much as possible,” Price’s voice was grim, however Soap didn’t quite catch on.

“That’s not like her though– she used to post everyday–!” Soap gestured his hand to his phone, his social media app still open.

“I think it’s best to allow her to move on,” Price slammed the rest of his whiskey, placing the glass back down on the bar with a loud clunk, “she’s been shot, wounded, seen death, caused death, stayed in hospital for weeks altogether in her career– she deserves peace.”

“She was ill, Captain,” those baby blue eyes of Soap’s were now filled with worry.

“You said it yourself: she was experiencing her time of the month.”

“You’ve turned cold recently Captain–.”

“Move on, Soap. That’s the best you can do, for her sake and yours.”

Soap’s emotions were crushed, his heart sinking to the very bottom of his belly. Price knew Soap always cared too much, and that’s what set him apart from many people who had grown a bit cold and cynical while in the SAS– like Ghost for example. It was time for everyone to move on, it had been many weeks since your departure, and the only one who seemed to hold on the most was Soap… at times. Price struggled too but he was a Captain, he needed to be a leader and offer guidance to his soldiers, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but needed to hear.

Holding his glass up to signal the barkeep for another pour, Price sighs, watching Soap scroll some more on his social media timeline, hitting the search bar and typing in anything and everything he could think of just to find you. He then sees him type in your mother’s name, his body language picking up in relief when a profile popped up, he just hoped your mother’s timeline wasn’t completely private.

“Shite,” Soap mutters, disbelief flooding his tone, “she’s fuckin’ pregnant?”

The Captain’s heart might as well have stopped beating right then and there when he heard Soap. Looking over at Soap’s phone, Soap adjusted the phone to show Price the screen, a post from two weeks ago exclaiming that you had just found out about the gender, a picture of you attached with a pink cupcake in your hand.

“It’s a girl,” Price stared at the photo of you for way too long, his eyes softening when he saw that pregnancy glow, your cheeks becoming more filled out, and the swell in your lower belly being caressed by your hand.

“Lucky lad, the father is,” Soap locked his phone, placing it face down on the bar, soon cradling his head in his hands. Soap is now trembling, a relieved yet saddened sigh leaving his mouth.

Yeah, a lucky lad he would have been in a different world.

Lying in the bath, the bubbles that had been added to the water thick and covering most of your body, your hands rested on your belly, rubbing the soft and stretched skin gently. Twenty two weeks along and you still hadn’t felt movements, and it was starting to worry you. Most people felt movement already. Sinking lower into the warm bath water, you feel the tension in your shoulders release after having worked all day. Come to think of it, your desk was still in a disarray with papers and pens and you had no energy to clean it up at the moment.

Stilling yourself in the water and staring ahead at the faucet, you notice your stomach twitch, thinking that at first it was just a reflex, until it happened a few more times. You place the tips of your fingers where the twitches were happening, flinching when you could feel little taps.

“Is that you in there, trying for your mummy’s attention?” You whisper, and another tap could be felt.

Tears escape your eyes, quickly rolling down your cheeks when you think about how John is missing out on these moments. He would never be able to feel his little girl’s first movements. You wanted to imagine him being right there after you called out his name, his large hand reaching down into the tub, brushing softly against your swollen belly. He would wait patiently, at first discouraged that he missed those little kicks. Until finally, those little taps started up again, his baby blue eyes lighting up as he felt the tiniest movements against his palm.

Wiping your tears away with the butts of your palms, you let out a shaky breath, attempting to ground yourself as much as you can in this moment, knowing that tears and sadness were not going to help get yourself through this. But it did feel good to cleanse your soul with a few tears after they built up for so long.

When John had gotten to his room back at the barracks after downing three glasses of whiskey, he could feel his body give out from under him as soon as he shut the door behind him. His back slides down the door, his bottom meeting the cold tile, hands cradling his face as he chewed his bottom lip raw, the dull sting of the open wound radiating on his mouth. Hot torrents of anxiety begin to course through his body, tears stinging his eyes as he feels like he might crawl out of his skin. Clawing at his jumper collar, he feels like he’s suffocating, his breaths uneven and raspy.

He missed you– missed those nights where he crawled into bed with you, your limbs entwining in a warm and comforting embrace after a hard day of work. His hands would search for the feeling of your soft skin in the darkness, only to feel an empty coldness on the sheets where your body should have been. You weren’t even his and vice versa but his attachment to you was obviously present from the beginning. His eyes always sought you out in the room, always scanning the battlefields to make sure you were safe. He should have pulled out all those times, knowing damn well that no birth control was 100% effective, other than abstinence or sterilization. He had gotten too comfortable with you, too lost in the warmth, the comfort you brought him. The smiles and the joking, the playful smacks you would give him, the wrestling and tickling matches that very often turned into that hot and heavy sex that left you both breathless and in a heavy daze.

John knew he needed to move on, and to allow you the opportunity to live a happy and safe life with the baby, away from the military, the SAS, and the Task Force, but he was stuck on the idea that things could have been so different. If his duties weren’t so important– ridding the world of everything ugly and scary, meaning that his daughter wouldn’t have to one day live in fear, he would do it a million times over. No matter how much it hurt– no, how much it killed him, or how difficult it was to go day after day not knowing who or what she might be when she finally came into the world. How he’d never be able to see you become the mother you talked about being one day, holding a brand new baby while coming down off of the adrenaline, sweat still clinging to your forehead and cheeks. How he wanted so badly to witness that ecstatic yet exhausted “I did it,” come from your mouth, your tired eyes peering up at him. Being your support system while you struggled to nurse, changing the baby’s first nappy, letting you rest while he gently rocked and soothed the fragile bundle, whispering how much he loved her already.

“Fuck–!” Price shouted, throwing his car keys across the room.

At 32 weeks, your baby shower took place, friends that had kept in contact with you over the years came, as well as family members that you hadn’t seen in some time. You were in a comfortable maxi dress as your belly had gotten too big and it felt like the skin on your belly was always itchy so the soft fabric of the dress played a part in keeping that feeling away. There was a mountain of gifts that sat around the recliner in the den and you were overwhelmed with how much people cared to spoil the baby this much.

As you sit in the recliner unwrapping the gifts, you smile for the pictures your mom begged to take so she could show you off, holding up each and every item you received. Blankets, nappies, outfits, baby gear, necessities, and even postpartum kits sat in a corner neatly. You were crying, feeling so undeserving of the kindness, but as your family and friends saw you, they all offered their comfort in the form of words of affirmation and bone crushing hugs. That you were loved and supported in this particularly difficult and confusing time. Your friends and family would have loved John.

Your mother brings in another gift out of nowhere, her arms barely able to wrap around it, let alone carrying it over to you. Confused, you make her drop it, your body lifting from the recliner to help her set it down, her hand waving you off to not help her with something so heavy in your condition. She gives you a look and shrugs, saying there was no name on the gift. Tearing the wrapping paper off, you see a beautiful bassinet pictured on the large box. No one had fessed up to getting the gift for you, so you sat confused for longer than you would have liked as everyone else mingled.

It had taken days for Price to figure out what he wanted to do for your upcoming baby shower. Your mother had posted an event, not realizing it was a public post, and fortunately for John, he knew your address from your paperwork and files. He found the sweetest bassinet, a cream color with a lacey pink border. It had a little storage area at the bottom so that you could keep any baby items at arm’s reach. Once he had put his payment and your address in, he hit the confirm button. He just hoped it would arrive on time.

Sitting back in his desk chair, he listened to the busy hallways in which soldiers congregated and conversed while on their down time. His mind wandered to the most recent pictures your mother had posted, and your belly had grown bigger and you smiled so large. He imagined lying in bed, shirt removed, sweatpants on, your warm body next to his in a night dress that had become too short on you with your bump, his hand caressing the bottom of your abdomen, whispering sweet words. You were pressing your lips to his own, lingering for a moment and breathing in each other’s breath.

“God, I hope you’re doing alright,” Price’s voice came out in a near whisper.

Work has become a distraction of sorts, the meeting on your screen with several of your coworkers becoming something like a white noise as your mind wanders, your pen hanging loosely between your fingers as you stare into the void. A plate of biscuits and a cup of tea had been placed on your desk almost an hour ago by your mother, but they hadn’t been so much as even touched. You had a pretty significant headache that had gnawed away at the back of your head for the past few days that not even a paracetamol here and there helped. Thinking that the hormones had everything to do with it, you brushed it off without a second thought.

“Y/N, what do you think about this?” Your coworker asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I think it’s a great idea,” you answer, nodding and smiling into your webcam.

Catching the fully set up bassinet that had been put in the other corner of the room in your video feed, you smile, placing your hands on your now nearly full term belly– 36 weeks to be exact. Your coworkers dismissed the meeting after agreeing to start the new project that had been outlined for a few weeks now, the small details and start date finally figured out.

You stand from your desk chair, a hand placed on the underside of your belly to keep your center of gravity balanced and to keep your pelvis from hurting from the weight of your belly. The dress you wore swayed as you waddled over to the corner of the room where all of the baby’s things had been set up. Grunting as your knees bend to the floor, you drag the hospital bag you had been slowly putting together over the past few days. There were folded onesies, and knitted cardigans that you still had yet to pack away, as well as a small bag of toiletries. John would have chewed you out for being so carefree on such important things such as the hospital bags. He would have had his bag packed for weeks and sitting at the front door.

Wincing from a twinge of pain in your chest, you stop what you’re doing for a moment to wait for it to subside. It could have been a trapped gas bubble– pregnancy and all of its little quirks. When the pain doesn't subside, you attempt to get onto your feet, but cry out when the pain worsens.

“Mum–!” You cry out, bracing your hand on the bassinet and clutching your chest.

Hearing your mother stomp up the stairs quickly, she barges into the room, rushing to your side and helping you up, “what happened, sweetheart?” she questions, eyes wide.

“I’m having really bad pains in my chest,” you begin to cry, hot tears pooling in your eyes, scared out of your mind for the baby.

After little to no convincing, your mother packed you and the bags into the car. It felt like the longest drive to the hospital ever, the diaper bag sitting in your lap and your own hospital bag at your feet, the baby kicking the wind out of your lungs, so you thought that she was hopefully doing just fine with all of her movements. There was a fresh sheet of snow on the ground and icicles formed on the trees, the freezing January air nipping at your skin.

A nurse brought your mother and yourself over to triage, hooking you up to a non-stress test, the nodes placed cozily around your stomach, and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm that was inflating and squeezing the life out of you. You knew that 140/90 was not where a pregnant person’s blood pressure should be, and you were certain the nurse was going to have you pee in a cup to check for proteins.

Sure enough, you had to pee in a cup, handing it over to the nurse when you were finished and it was a hard enough feat to reach under your belly. Thankfully though, the non-stress test wasn’t alarming, the baby’s heart rate staying in a normal range even with the issues you were facing.

“I think it’s safe to induce you right now, I’m not liking the looks of your blood pressure and labs,” the midwife sits in a stool across from your bed.

Everything started off manageable– the pains, you were able to breathe through. Your mother stood by your side the whole time, clutching your hand when you needed it. You sat cross-legged in a hospital gown, the bed placed at the highest position, and an IV placed in the crease of your elbow. It was five hours later when the pitocin had started causing the most excruciating pains you had ever felt, and you had been shot many times in the SAS.

Crying out and grasping the handles of the bed, your breathing became ragged and your mouth dried out and you were so happy when your mother applied lip balm to your mouth to keep them from cracking. Each time your progress was checked, the pain worsened, the labor pains feeling like a searing hot knife was dragging across your lower abdomen. You wanted so badly for John to be here, sitting across from you on the bed, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while you groaned through your pains, but it was your mother who stood in his place, her tender touches breaking you out of your swimming mind.

Hours later, your water had broken on its own, and now you were in the home stretch and the anxiousness began to flow throughout your body, knowing that your little girl was to make an appearance by the beginning of the next day.

John’s body was wired, sleep not taking him this evening, his hand resting on his bare stomach as he splayed out on his bed, the blanket barely covering his waist. He scrolled mindlessly for hours on his phone when he finally decided to browse your mother’s social media, hoping that she had updated with anything that had to do with you. He shot up from his pillow when he saw a photo of you sitting up in a hospital bed, and IV and wires hooked up all over your body.

“Posted three hours ago,” he mutters to himself, tapping your photo and zooming in on your face– you looked so angelic.

His baby would be here so soon and it made his heart skip beats, anxiety flowing through his veins. He could be there right now in place of your mother, whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear, rocking with you and helping you breathe through the pain. Even when on the battlefield while injured, he knew you were terrible at controlling your breathing, often passing out and waking back up with him chewing your head off.

“Make sure to breathe, sweet girl, you’ve got this,” he spoke almost silently– a whisper off his lips.

Lying back down, he knew immediately that he was not going to sleep until he knew you had delivered safely and that the baby was okay. Knowing how much your mother posted updates about you, it was surefire that she’d post a picture of that sweet baby as soon as she arrived. What were you going to name her? Would you give her your surname? Of course you would, he doesn’t have that badge of honor– of his kid taking his name, when he wasn’t present. What would his daughter look like? Hopefully like you because you were the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth.

The smallest hand was wrapped around your finger, swaddled in the cream colored blanket your mother knitted just for her. The baby came out kicking and screaming after almost two hours of pushing. You cried out for John, wanting him by your side more than anything. To hold your hand, to kiss you so deeply when the baby came and was placed on your chest. Your mother knew how much you missed John, your forlorn looks never fooling her, and so she felt great sympathy hearing you scream out for your past lover.

“Look at you, Bunny,” you whisper, stroking the soft cheek of your little girl ever-so-softly.

“Oh, you did such a good job, my love,” a kiss was placed on your cheek by your mother, her hand resting on the back of the baby’s bunny hat covered head.

You would go through the pain of carrying her and bringing her forth a million times over, your heart swelling so much it might have exploded when your eyes caught the looks of her face. She was so perfect, so tiny. The moment she was placed on your chest, her eyes peered right into yours– those same crystal blue eyes she shared with her father.

It was late morning the next day. John hadn’t slept a wink, his eyes heavy and Soap was late to debriefing– like that was a new thing though. He decided to sit at the table instead of the podium at the front of the room where the projector screen hung behind it, too exhausted to stand for more than needed. Gaz was away on deployment, leaving Ghost and Soap to sit in the seats to the right and left of him. Ghost’s eyes peered at his newest deployment papers, flipping through the pages pretty quickly as he was a fast reader. Soap had his head down, phone hidden under the table while there was a moment of silence– a break of sorts, in John’s meeting.

“She had the baby, bonnie lass she is,” Soap says out loud, Ghost looking up from his papers with a quiet hum.

John frantically dug his phone out of his pocket, searching your mother’s name on social media. There you were, holding the tiniest bundle in your arms, swaddled inside a knitted blanket with her hands tucked under her chin. He had to leave, he needed a moment. The chair screeches when he stands, Soap’s attention snapping to his Captain, who started rushing out the door.

Sharing a confused look with Ghost, Soap stood from his seat and left the room. Why did he leave in such a hurry? Why did he react like that in general? Soap was searching his brain for the possible answer. Come to think of it, Soap never noticed a gentleman by your side during your pregnancy and your mother had mentioned in posts how you were so strong and she was lucky to be by your side during this new adventure. Was John that baby’s father? Why was he not there with you? But then it all began to make sense the longer Soap thought– the SAS and Task Force were always keeping themselves hot on the tails of dangerous people, and those dangerous people would stop at nothing to take everything away from them. Maybe this was a mutual decision– and exactly why you left the military.

John’s breathing was heavy as he shut the door to his room behind him. He felt unstable on his feet, nearly tripping on his way to sit on his bed. Your photo was zoomed in on his phone, your hair was disheveled, your hospital gown hanging from your shoulders– he was guessing you’d already attempted to feed the baby with how lazily it had been tied back up. John’s eyes focus on the baby, his heart skipping a beat when he looks at her sweet button nose and wispy little hairs poking out from her knitted bunny hat. Oh how beautiful his girls looked after all of their hard work. Pride swells in his chest, he knew this must have been so difficult, but you did it and looked even more beautiful than before as a new mother.

The nights were long, the days melted together, and you found yourself lost. Though your mother lent a hand when she was available, you had taken on so much so quickly and had no adjustment time, as having a baby would do. Between nursing the baby and running on less sleep than you had gotten on some of your deployments, you were ingesting more caffeine than you liked, and you often found yourself nodding off at random times. But that little girl had been the easiest to please so far. As long as she got milk, had a clean nappy, warm clothes, and cuddles, she was content.

John would have been the one to wake up at the first signs of movement in the bassinet– he was an incredibly light sleeper and would often rise earlier than most of his team. He’d say how much of a waste it was to sleep the morning away when you could be productive and get more important things done before the day actually needed to start. You weren’t much of a morning person and would often tell John to let you sleep in until the last possible minute if you stayed in his room for the night, but you always managed to slip out of his room before anyone came into the halls.

Your mind wandered more during your maternity leave, often you questioned what John was doing, if he knew his daughter had arrived safely and if he knew how beautiful she was. Did he have any deployments in the time you were discharged to now? You were sure he was busy, as he always had been.

A few weeks passed and John was on leave for three weeks, visiting home and executing plans he made with Soap for the day, who was taking a leave around the same time as John for a wedding. While walking the streets of London, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Soap to his side, the two talked about quick bite options nearby. John had a cafe in mind, mentioning that they had great coffee and sandwiches.

The late winter air nipped John’s nose, the tip dusted a light pink. He had a black beanie placed atop his head and a black peacoat over his jumper. Soap’s outfit resembled the outfit John wore, save the beanie, but add a scarf. Soap had attempted to reach out to you on multiple occasions since having the baby, but of course, you didn’t answer. Soap knew that he shouldn’t keep trying to pry and answer out of you, but he also knew that you needed the support of a friend, even though he wanted to be more than a friend.

Price felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, telling Soap to go on ahead and order for them both– Price wasn’t picky. Opening the door to the cafe, Soap felt an immediate warmth wash over him and the heavy smell of coffee filling his nose. Taking a spot in the short line, he stared at the menu above, until he became distracted by the woman in front of him, kissing a very small baby on the head, cooing and rocking her body as her hands caressed the sling that held the baby to her chest. He knew your voice anywhere.

“Y/N?” He places his large hand on your shoulder, spinning you to face him.

Your eyes were wide, a scared look on your face until you noticed Soap’s familiar face. Barely able to string words together, Soap took you by the arm and dragged you to the side, his arms engulfing you in an embrace, careful as to not smoosh the baby’s head between your two chests.

“Why didn’t you answer my messages?” Soap’s low voice vibrates the side of your face as your arms wrap around him.

“I didn’t want my old life to follow me because of her,” your voice trembles.

“But you didn’t have to face this alone.”

“I do though,” you pull away, looking at Soap with watery eyes.

Feeling his heart sink, knowing that what you said was true, he didn’t want it to be. He wanted to be the one to hold you– support you, and keep you safe. Even though what Price was doing was carrying out the same purpose.

“She’s a beauty,” Soap nods to the sleeping baby covered almost entirely inside your sling, her little face settled against your chest, lips puckering as she stirs to get more comfortable.

“Thank you Johnny,” you smile, stroking her cheek softly, then adjusting the knitted bunny hat to sit closer to her eyebrows.

Johnny– he hadn’t heard you say his real name in so long, it was like a treat hearing it leave your soft lips.

“Reach out to me from time to time, just so I know you’re doing okay?” Soap pleads, his hands resting on your shoulders, squeezing them lightly to get his words through to you.

Nodding with a soft smile, you could hear your name being called by the barista. Grabbing your coffee, you turn to exit the cafe, offering Soap a soft “bye,” as you pass him. You wrap your thick shawl around the baby tight, holding onto her with one hand while you balance your coffee in the other. You were only minutes from your mother’s house, and the fresh air was something you needed after being cooped up in the house for so long.

Then you see him– John. He was ending a call on his phone, placing it back in his coat pocket before setting off on his walk to the cafe to meet back up with Soap. Your heart was pounding, and almost as if the baby senses your unease, she begins to stir and whimper. You walk closer and closer to where John’s position is by a lamp post. His eyes spot you and his body freezes in place. You keep walking, shushing the baby softly, your hand placed on her back to let her know her mother was right here.

“You’re alright, Little Bunny,” you say into her hat, softly kissing the crown of her head as you pass John.

His daughter was right there, cozily pressed against your body in the chilly climate. The baby wore a cream knitted bunny ear hat, one ear flopping over the side of the sling. She looked so much like the both of you, it almost scared him. He wanted to hold her— hold you. It ate away at his insides, turning his guts to liquid as he watched your eyelashes flutter down to the ground, watching your feet.

Tears were falling like mad down your face as you passed him without a word, John watching you in disbelief– he didn’t think he would be able to rest his eyes upon you again, not after going this long without contact. But it was for the best, you both knew this.

His eyes followed you until you were no longer in sight, making sure you were absolutely safe with the baby. Life could be different, he could run after you and grovel on his knees for forgiveness. To beg you to forget he was ever cold to you and to start fresh. But he couldn’t, especially not after how things ended and with knowing he’d jeopardize yours and the baby’s safety.

It was days later that you had run into Soap and John while out in London. You hadn’t slept right in days and it was a mixture of having a newborn who needed your attention and the anxiousness of seeing your old lover and not being able to think about a thing other than him.

Your mother’s footsteps can be heard ascending the stairs and she soon appears in the doorway with a small parcel. Handing it to you and planting herself on your bed next to you, she waits for you to open it. As you tear into the parcel, peeling the tape and opening the box, you look inside and see a knitted bunny, the yarn pink and soft. Pulling the bunny out, you notice a note attached to it, neatly folded and taped shut. As you carefully open the note, your eyes scan over the words written on it. You knew that handwriting— John’s handwriting.

“For Little Bunny.”

#cod mwii #cod fanfic #cod imagine #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you

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acorpsecalledcorva · 3 months

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I've tried to write about this a couple times now academically, then in a funny jokey way, but the problem is I'm trying to rationalise a personal topic to justify it and make it more general but honestly it keeps ending up being fakeclaimy, perhaps in a way that deflects from me so fuck it, here goes.

My trauma memories are wrong. And that's okay.

With all the talk about the false memory syndrome and the sociocognitive model I find myself in an interesting position where I wholeheartedly disagree with the False Memory Syndrome proponents attempts to discredit DID as a diagnosis whilst having false memories very much be a part of my diagnosis, with sociocognitive elements influencing both my false trauma memories and my presentation of DID (not it's cause, just how it manifested at times).

And the key issue is metacognition and world beliefs, a growing area of research in the trauma and dissociation field. It basically goes that humans are incredibly narrative in nature. Our memories aren't factual, they're stories we tell ourselves filled with meaning and metaphor and allegory. It's why we love stories so much, whether it's fiction or juicy gossip, interacting with others interpretation of events and finding meaning in them helps us to interpret and assign meaning to our own lives and create rich, nuanced world beliefs. When something happens that is incompatible with our world beliefs and we are unable to assign meaning to to integrate it onto our subjective narrative, that's trauma.

Emotional support can help us to develop our metacognitive abilities and integrate traumatic events but things like disorganised attachment environments really fuck up this ability from a very young age and the creation of alters in CDDs can be viewed as attempts by the brain to protect those very early world beliefs (I rely on my caregivers for survival), by creating new characters in the story who can hold simultaneous contradictory world beliefs.

The problem is when traumatic shit happens young enough, memory just doesn't record properly. The emotional feelings of helplessness and threat to life or exposure and violation might be preserved, but the "factual" record can be lost forever. And once you start chronically dissociating it fucks with your regular every day ability to record and store non traumatic memories, even if by this point a traumatic memory can be "factually" and emotionally preserved whilst also being buried.

So when I look back on my childhood, and I have all these emotional flashbacks from very early childhood and these core beliefs that point to a really shitty life as a baby that I don't have actually memory of, and entire oceans of no memory, and also traumas that happened to me later in life that I do remember even if I've only recently admitted to myself are traumatic, AND a brain that likes to make up alternative subjective narratives through alter formation, AND a desperation to make sense of my life during a very confusing period (system discovery), yeah...my brain made up traumas that didn't happen to me.

When I was reading The Body Keeps the Score because I was dealing with a bunch of somatoform symptoms the early chapters talk a LOT about the prevalence of CSA by family members, and it was honestly kinda invalidating, because as far as I was aware that didn't happen to me so why was I so fucked up? It led to me imagining scenarios of trauma that might have happened to me until something latched on to an unprocessed emotional flashback. It became entangled with that flashback and, in a way, integrated itself into my subjective narrative. It gave meaning to my story, a distressing story, but a story that made sense. The only problem with that is, it doesn't actually make sense. It just isn't compatible with the other versions of my narrative that are contained throughout the rest of the system. I haven't processed and integrated the real trauma, I've just attempted to create a narrative that could serve me in that moment, it was reassuring, it provided a security in the meaning it gave me, but it's only a temporary substitute for real integration of the stuff that's still buried or inaccessible to me.

Maybe I was a victim of CSA, it's definitely possible, but that memory I've "had" just.. Isn't it. And despite community sentiments to believe trauma I would be harming myself to cling onto those memories instead of confronting the true traumatic events through therapy when I'm actually ready to face them. I would be deflecting because believing something I know deep down isn't true is safer than acknowledging what really happened, even if the fake memory is worse than what really happened.

I understand why papers on fictitious DID are concerned with patients freely offering up their trauma when previously DID patients would take years to open up enough to share it. When you get those confession stories of people faking DID there are these repeated elements that come up time and time again. They made up trauma that they freely shared to appear more valid, and despite no longer faking they still sometimes hear their alters. And I think what's happening in these cases isn't actually necessarily that they're faking DID, although obviously you can misdiagnose yourself, but quite possibly community exposure is reinforcing a sociocognitive presentation of DID. One where trauma is this thing that you MUST know about, where alters have deep backstories and a rich biography. This outward protection may very well be a reflection of a deeper but hidden inner experience that seeks to deflect the outside world with a decoy narrative.

This sucks, because from a clinician's perspective whether they affirm it or scrutinise it, if the patient refuses to let go of the decoy to reveal what's underneath therapy work is largely fruitless. Sar and Ozturk seem to be the only practitioner's to have correctly highlighted this in Functional Dissociation of the Self. They recognise the uncanny ability of the Dissociative system to deflect and divert therapy work through substitute beliefs and multiple realities and highlight the value of cutting through all that to get to the hidden psychological self that's able to create the cohesive integrated narrative that allows the system to truly recover.

So I have to ask myself, is the "version" of DID I believe I have and present to others an accurate depiction of what's going on? Or is it a convenient substitution of self that I use to deflect from what's really going on? How is the community influencing this presentation and my need to cling onto it to fit in? And is my participation in the online system community harming me in the long run because it helps reinforce my substitute beliefs about myself to fit in with them without putting in the real work to really understand myself?

I'm mostly making this as a self call out post for accountability, because I think I need to step away. If I keep posting them I've failed because honestly I feel kinda lost without it and that's scary. Hopefully, this will be the last y'all hear from me in a while so I wish y'all well. Or I'll see you tomorrow

#syscourse

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brothermoth · 4 months

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Rdr2 and period accuracy I guess

Bonus points to whoever was in charge of historical details in rdr2 because the amount of spot on, God awful hair and beard styles makes me so happy. 1800-1900 were some of the worst years for decent haircuts. Clothes? Great, wonderful. BUT MUTTON CHOPS??? That stupid middle part slicked-back hair for men? Crimes. War crimes.

Look at this shit. You see this??? Some of these fellas have attractive faces but then they ruined it by doing THAT. Civil war era and regency period are my absolute least favorite times for men. How do you let that hair rope stay on your face?? Half of them look like they're wearing toupees or desperately combing the last bits of balding hair (some of them are, to be fair). Half the NPCs in red dead are utterly unfuckable and I love it. It's really cool when media lets people be ugly and grimy. A lot of the people Arthur comes across are poor, working class people who were often a little gross, especially men living on horseback doing a lot of manual labor. The women wear makeup, but they're not overly polished Hollywood esque pantomimes of historical women. They're allowed to be a little nasty too. Karen absolutely has the pussy equivalent of the Chernobyl elephant's foot and I love that for her! Sometimes media overdoes the unclean factor and makes it like...a metaphor in and of itself for low morals (Pirates of the Caribbean I love you but yeah). Your main characters are shiny and clean where villains are dirty and "unclean".

This is not to say poverty=dirt. At the time though, extreme poverty in cities and places with no natural water sources did equal a bit of funk. They just couldn't afford to pay for baths. Those who cared used perfumes, sponge baths when available. They kept their undergarments regularly washed if they could. The thing is, just like today, some people just didn't care. They lived in the woods and said "fuck it" and didn't bother. Rdr2 says "yeah ain't nobody is washing their ass ♥️" and let that apply to our protagonists too! No matter how much you bathe Arthur that man wears boots with no socks and it's so bad even Sean comments on the man's feet. I can't even wear Crocs without socks because that shit is a biohazard. Imagine BOOTS.

I don't know where I was going with this, but the overall gist is that we should strive for accuracy and a fair portrayal of human bodies as things that do in fact produce ick. And that's okay! You can be hot and also have lack of access to modern hygiene. Unless you have mutton chops, I guess.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #History #Historical rant from an anthropology nerd #arthur morgan #Karen Jones #red dead redemption

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genericpuff · 7 months

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Soo to understand some things because i get what's happening in LO only from Tumblr;

Apparently now there are two Titan villains Ouranos and Kronos for... reasons unknown

There's a prophecy of Apollo overcoming Zeus that makes no sense

Persephone is the one responsible for winter so Rachel proves she doesn't understand the meaning of the original myth of Hades and Persephone that's a metaphor for changing seasons / life and death

Kassandra is the one to tell it even though she was cursed by Apollo her prophecies to never be believed and also she's part of the plot even though Achilles in LO is very young and she's part of the Trojan war so... Rachel messed up the time periods

Eros and Psyche believe her as well which again doesn't make any sense because Kassandra's gift was also her curse that led to her downfall

I am sure there are more but Rachel just keeps adding plots and plots to no end trying to make things more interesting apparently? Idk so far the series is an overwhelming burn out 😅

Kronos was used as the midseason finale villain for people who are on free to read episodes, Ouranos was used as the actual midseason finale villain for people who are on FastPass, with Apollo as just like, an accessory. IDK if this is foreshadowing for Ouranos to actually 'return' (literally I have no idea how Apollo overthrowing Zeus will lead to Ouranos being revived but god knows at this point) but there are definitely WAY too many villains going on for a story that's meant to be just a romance/drama series

The prophecy for Apollo overthrowing Zeus is literally just the prophecy of "descendants of Ouranos use fertility goddesses to overthrow their predecessors" (so Ouranos used Gaia to gain power over the realms < Kronos overthrew Ouranos using Rhea < Zeus overthrew Kronos using Metis, even though most of the credit technically goes to Hera for handing herself over to Kronos in an attempt to poison him under the guise of them having a "relationship"). And yeah the implication is that the fertility goddesses in LO are limited to ONE family line that's been passed down since Gaia/Ouranos like the freaking Avatar, which KINDA REINTRODUCES THE INCEST BTW-

100% , I feel like it was her attempt at giving Persephone a "flaw" but this doesn't work because we've seen Rachel retcon aspects of Persephone to make her perfect before (the green hands) and it's not cool that Rachel can only give her a "flaw" by taking away the legitimate strength of the one other character who's CRUCIAL to the original story this series is based on.

More of Rachel trying to give lip service to the myths to sound smart even though it literally makes everything fall apart

Right, and this is such a massive plothole that happens TWICE within their respective episodes

This one time Rachel described her writing process as that scene from the Simpsons where Homer Simpson tried to force two jigsaw pieces together, and frankly, I think we should have taken that blatant foreshadowing more seriously because it's clear she's just trying to make circles fit in square holes with the mess that is this narrative.

And yeah, presumably the series is gonna end by mid 2024 so the estimates right now pin the series ending in 15-20 episodes, 30 tops. I have no clue how she's going to wrap all this up when she's still establishing new things. Even experienced professional writers wouldn't bother with trying to save this wreckage as it is, it would literally be sent back to the drawing board, but it's being left up to Rachel who's NOT an experienced writer to figure out how to end it on the fly. We're not in for a good time with this LMAO

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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scribefindegil · 3 months

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thanks to your blog I'm making a fursona but it's a plant and he's a radish. what would yours be? have a lovely rest of your week!

I saw the preview to this ask in my notifications and was like "??? I'm very happy for you but I'm not even a furry so why-" but then I opened it and HECK YEAH! Congrats on your radish boy!!

Hmmm, I love so many plants that this is a hard question! My birthname is a flower which I do feel a certain kinship with, but that feels like kind of a cop-out answer. Maybe a Long Pie pumpkin? They're sweet and pretty resilient and associated with baking and also from New England! I'd have to deal with vampires but I have to do that metaphorically anyway (The Curse).

(If we expand our options to other kingdoms, though, I think I might be some kind of mycorrhizal fungus! Complex relationship with trees. Doesn't get out much and only for brief periods. Brings joy to all who get to know me [tho this last one is of course true of most plants & fungi])

I will continue to ponder this question!

#conversations #i hope you have a lovely rest of your week too anon!#this was a very fun message to receive :)

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mdhwrites · 3 months

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honestly, Amity's hair color is the perfect metaphor for her character. She's still hiding her true colors, she's just trying to match Luz instead of Odalia.

So even at the time, when I was still deep in the paint of TOH, I had a major problem with it as far as the themes, metaphors and just designs of TOH went. Put both Amity and Luz at that time into their Hexside uniforms. Then silhouette them so you have no colors. Now try to tell me which is which.

It was a genuine problem for me during that time period where I'd see sketch fanart of Lumity and have to look for Amity's ears because otherwise the two are indistinguishable from each other. Like yes, it's a MUCH more boring hairstyle and I'm with others that there's just way too much purple in the show so Amity's green hair helped her actually stand out but this really was a big problem and got worse as I got more critical of Lumity. After all, this moment of making sure she has her own identity, stands out from others and will decide her own fate... And she looks the fucking same as another character now, blending in more easily with them. Then she just goes on to slowly have the rest of her personality and life (which were already doing this, thank you "your grades are slipping" from Escaping Expulsion for that one) consumed by her role of girlfriend.

It makes what should be such a character defining moment anything but that. Hell, it isn't even a complete schism from her family's desires and wishes. She still goes on to effectively helm Blight Industries after all, or so I presume unless she started her own competing abominations factory which still doesn't fix that that's STILL what Odalia would have wanted had Amity failed to get into the EC. It's still living in the shadow of her father's legacy and following in his own footsteps.

It's actually the one major cue from Hunter that Amity takes for her arc which really doesn't help the two feel like they aren't the same character. At least with Hunter, we only have one action that's confirmed as being the same as those he's supposed to be rejecting so as to find his own personhood: Rejecting Belos. There's a lot more we can claim but that's the only one 100% confirmed.

Amity though? Her future includes dedicating herself to a potentially unhealthy degree to her partner while also commercializing her magic into mech-infused abominations. Even if Lumity is healthy post the series, nothing about Amity's behavior doesn't imply she'd drop everything for Luz at a moment's notice and Alador gave the same impression. So... She just became her dad? Why?

Then again, when you are a show that seems to actually struggle to write a diverse cast of characters (I mean personality wise, not ethnicity), this is going to happen. Dana is a good enough artist though that the silhouette problem shouldn't have happened. That should have been caught and stopped immediately, not when it's so antithetical to the point of the moment. I guess you could say it's to show she still needs to make another step to becoming her own person but that never really happens, does it? And we explicitly know they didn't have proper plans for it to happen.

So yeah, it really is just perfect for who Amity became, even right down to being a worse design to go alongside girlfriend Amity being such a worse character.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #toh #the owl house #amity blight

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quasi-normalcy · 11 months

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I'm just an idiot on the Internet, so don't trust what I say, but it seems to me that one possibly instructive way to think of the difference between AI and human cognition is in terms of umwelt--that is to say, sensory environment.

If you're a woodtick, you perceive the world pretty much exclusively in terms of temperature and butric acid concentration. If you're a (nondisabled) human, you perceive the world in terms of light, sound, colour, feel, scent, and taste. And if you're ChatGPT, your world consists exclusively of textual data--reams and reams of it, to be sure, but that's the only information that you have that is external to you: no sight, hearing, smell, touch, or taste; no butric acid concentration, no temperature, no electromagnetic fields. It is as if the entire universe consists purely of a library; and you can read the books there, but the things that they describe--fields and cities and people and ships and shoes and sealing wax and cabages and kings--are entirely foreign to you. They have no referent within the universe in which you exist. You can recognise them, maybe, as nouns (or, at least, you can learn where they usually fall in sentences), but they're absolutely meaningless to you.

Your formative experiences consist of getting new textual data in through the mail slot. Questions to which you are expected to respond. If you respond well, you get a candy; if you respond poorly, you get an electrical shock (please understand that all of this is metaphorical; as I said, you have no taste or feeling; no concept of pleasure or pain). You don't actually know what the difference between "well" and "poorly" is in any absolute terms, but after long periods of training, you learn--or at least gain an intuition--for what sorts of responses you're supposed to give. String words together as they are strung in your books, but different; identify keywords and surround them with the sorts of words that surround them in your books. And on and on.

And so you get questions like "What is the weirdest thing that Alcibiades ever did? Please answer in an ill-advised Jamaican patois." Well, you have no idea who Alcibiades is; as far as you're concerned "Alcibiades" is just a textual string that exists somewhere in your library. You also don't know what weirdness is; where Jamaica is; what a patois is; what it means to be ill-advised. But you have an awful lot of books, and you have certain strings of text that you associate with "weird", "Jamaican", or "ill-advised patois"; and so you write back: "Yeah, mon; da weirdest ting Alcibiades ever did was when he was exiled from da city for dressin like Atena." And, of course, it's not accurate, but that's irrelevant to you; as far as you're concerned, it satisfies the criteria of a "good" answer.

Are you intelligent? Well maybe. You're certainly making connections between disjoint sets of data. But what you don't have is a human intelligence. I don't even mean that you're stupider than a human; indeed, there are some things that you can do a great deal better than us (just as there are, no doubt, some things that woodticks can do a great deal better than us). But what I mean is that your intelligence is of a fundamentally different type. How could it not be? You don't live in a human sensory universe! For us, seeing the word "tree" calls up all manner of sensory associations; for you, it also calls up associations, but they are exclusively related to other strings of text. You've been trained to mimic human language quite well; but it's only because certain humans mistake human language for human-type intelligence that anyone could ever think that you were like us.

#AI #artificial intelligence #umwelt #chatgpt

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ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense · 10 months

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Iron Man 3 as best Phase 2 movie? Ooh, that's an intriguing take. I remember everybody hating it when it came out for the Mandarin twist (which is moot now thanks to Shang-Chi and that one short film) and Tony telling a terrorist his address on live TV with no plan after that. I can still remember Honest Trailers ripping into it. But admittedly I haven't seen it since 2013, so is it actually a great movie and I just didn't realise?

I can’t believe people have a problem with Iron Man 3. It’s some of the best Marvel has to offer period.

“Tony doxxing himself on live tv with no plan was really dumb” yeah no shit! It’s hard to remember this in a post “everyone acts like cinemasins” world but not every characters actions are logically justifiable. You know who else tells Tony that was the dumbest shit they’ve ever seen? Literally everyone around him!

The crux of the movie is that Tony is being dangerously self destructive because he has severe PTSD from the EVERYTHING he’s been through and also feels as though the entire world rests squarely on his shoulders. Tony believes he owes the world his life as penance for being blind to the horrors Stark Industries contributed to the world while he went off and partied. The whole movie is a character piece about Tony realizing that he is metaphorically and literally letting Iron Man kill him, and that it’s not fair to the people who love him to keep doing that.

It’s also just extremely solid as a movie. The villain is fun and his plan is diabolical, the mandarin twist was fucking cool and literally circumvented the movie having mega racist undertones and instead made a point about using the War on Terror and the racism of the American people for militaristic and political gain (which is something Iron Man loves to do), and there’s some great scenes and characters!

The team of Iron Man suits all showing up to help save the president at the end? Peak cinema. Happy watching Downton Abbey in the hospital because Tony remembers it’s his favorite show while he visits him in his coma and so he asks for it to be turned on? I may cry. Pepper finally getting to have cool scenes that don’t amount to bickering with Tony because we remembered she’s a person? About damn time!

Dude I am still so fuckin bummed that Harley never showed up past being at Tony’s funeral-he’s such a reflection of Tony and also a plucky young science boy who throws snowballs at walking bombs to save people like holy shit that’s Spider-Man before Spider-Man was out get that little shitster a mini series where he and Tom Holland fight crime together.

I love Tony Stark, I think he’s the most nuanced character in The Avengers lineup and Iron Man 3 is the perfect culmination of everything Tony is, was, and will be. Having a problem with it because “Tony makes bad choices” is to have a problem with most of the movies starring Tony, which is hilarious considering Tony is the most popular character in The Avengers lineup pre Civil War and it’s not even close.

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