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jenstar1992-2 · 3 years

Note

I’ve been having a rough week, and it only gonna get worse. Could you please write a comfort fic where Ahsoka tells the reader she’s proud of them? I really need it this week. Thank you

My dear Anon, I’m sorry you’re having a rough time (and I’m so sorry it took me this long to get this posted) 🥺. I hope this can be a source of comfort for you, even if only a small one, and I hope things get better for you. 💕

Also, I went with Rebels Ahsoka for this one, I hope that’s okay.

The Comfort of a Friend

Pairing: Ahsoka x reader (platonic)

Warnings: Accidental self- injury (nothing major), self- doubt, self- blame, talk of war, mentions of war related losses, brief mention of scars, mentally stressed reader (Ahsoka to the rescue 😄)

Word count: 1,742

The door hissed as you entered your private quarters, what followed was a loud clattering of objects hitting the durasteel floor of the ship as you kicked over the metal box that contained your various tools, causing them to go flying and scatter across its surface. You muttered a quiet curse as a sharp pain ran through your foot and up your leg; perhaps that hadn’t been the best choice of action, then again, none of your actions lately had been “good choices”, at least, that’s how it felt.

You let out a heavy sigh as you made your way to your bunk, limping slightly as you attempted to lessen the pressure on your dully throbbing foot, and let yourself fall onto its soft surface. You laid there for a good minute before finally sitting up, only to then slump forward, holding your head in your hands as you contemplated your situation, something you’d done a lot of lately.

No one said joining the rebellion would be easy, you knew it wouldn’t be, you’d expected it to be hard. What you hadn’t expected was just how incredibly frustrating and emotionally taxing it would be. You felt as if every win, big or small, came with an even worse defeat, to the point where, at the end of the day, it didn’t feel like a win at all. You gave your all, you all did, and what did it get you? More scars, and less friends, that’s what. You were at your wits end, feeling as if you were reaching the very edge of your sanity, just short of falling, knowing it wouldn’t take much more to send you tumbling over. You felt heat rising to your face as you desperately fought back the tears that threatened your eyes. This wasn’t going to get any easier, and in the recesses of your mind, a thought lingered, lightly poking at your consciousness, “Should I just give up?”

Before you could dwell on this idea any longer, there was a knock at your door. You straightened, composing yourself as best you could, and called for them to come in.

The door then hissed open to reveal your ally and closest friend, who regarded you with a warm smile.

“Hey”, Ahsoka greeted you, voice gentle, careful. Could she sense your distress, was she worried she might hit a nerve with one wrong word? Most likely.

“Hey”, you greeted back, the word coming out in a sigh as you let your guard down; she’d see right through your façade anyway.

She moved into the room, letting the door slide shut behind her, and came to sit beside you.

“Wanna talk about it”, she asked.

“Not sure it’ll change anything.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but it might help, voicing your troubles, gets things off your chest, and lightens the burden on the mind”, she said, lightly tapping your temple with her index finger.

You meet her gaze and see that she still wears that same warm smile, the one she wore every time you two had a heart-to-heart, the one that made you feel cared for. You decide to take her suggestion and you let the burdens weighing on your mind flow from you, one after the other.

“I just, I feel like such a screw-up. It seems like all I do is make bad decisions, ones that cost more than just my own safety, and with every wrong choice I make, I lose more; more hope, more friends, more of my own sanity… more of myself. I feel like all we do is give for this rebellion, but we get nothing in return, just more pain and hardship, and I can’t help but feel responsible for our failures. I’m no leader, never have been”, you said, pausing for a minute as you tried to sort your thoughts. Ahsoka waited patiently, not wanting to say anything until she knew you were done.

“I don’t know, maybe… maybe it would be better if I left, I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this”, you finally said, finishing your train of thought.

Ahsoka regarded you for a long moment before she finally spoke.

“(Y/N), I know this is hard, and I know things feel pretty hopeless right now, but I promise you, they will get better. It might not seem like it now, but victory doesn’t happen overnight, it takes time, and a great deal of effort, effort I see you put in every single day. You might not see your prowess as a leader, but I do, and so does every other person who’s fought by you, they put their trust in you because they see your dedication to the cause, they know you want to free the galaxy just as much as they do, and they know you’ll do what it takes to make that a reality. It’s an attribute they respect”, she said, confidence thick in her tone.

You furrowed your eyebrows, your inner thoughts fighting her encouragement within the confines of your mind.

“Tell that to the ones that didn’t make it back, the ones I let down because of my misguided choices, the ones I…”

“Stop”, Ahsoka said, her voice becoming firm as she cut your sentence short. “Loss is a part of war, a sad truth, but true nonetheless; they knew that, and they still chose to fight, because they believed in what we’re fighting for. Those losses are not on you, those people, they weren’t blind to the dangers they faced, they knew the risks, as do we, because we’re the ones taking those risks right alongside them, we’re with them, every step of the way, don’t forget that.”

You sighed; she was right, you were facing the same dangers as any one of the rebels under your command, and it could’ve just as easily been you who didn’t return, you’d just gotten lucky. You knew you were being overly hard on yourself, but as time went on it was getting more difficult not to, you couldn’t help but feel responsible, even if it was for things out of your control.

“I know, it’s just hard, and it only seems to be getting harder. It’s difficult to look at things optimistically when it feels like the whole galaxy is crumbling down around you. It’s hard to keep going when it feels like you’re getting nowhere”, you told her, leaning forward to rest your head in one of your hands.

“I understand”, Ahsoka said as she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, moving it gently so you turned back to face her. “But I know you can do it, you’re more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

You raised a quizzical brow at her words, your expression earning a chuckle from the woman.

“I’m serious”, she affirmed. “I’ve seen you do countless things I’m sure you thought you couldn’t; impressed me many a time.”

You noticed her gaze didn’t waver, the only thing it conveyed was complete belief in the words she spoke. She gave you her familiar warm smile once again and you found yourself smiling back, albeit a bit weakly.

“Really?”

“Really”, she confirmed, giving a single nod to emphasize her response. “Try not to let your self-criticisms get the better of you, okay? You can acknowledge your successes just as much as your defeats.” She paused, speaking again only after you nodded your understanding. “You’ve done well, I’m proud of you (Y/N).”

Her words tugged at your heart and had the small smile you displayed growing wider and more genuine.

“Thanks, Ahsoka, that means a lot”, you said, your tone conveying just how touched you were by her words. She then pulled you in for a hug, her hold strong and affirming, but still gentle in nature; you gave just as much to the embrace, attempting to demonstrate your appreciation and love for your friend through this wordless action.

“Any time”, she said, releasing you moments later, rising from the bunk and moving towards the door, but not before giving your hand one final comforting squeeze. She touched the keypad, opening the door, but stopped before fully exiting. She turned to face you; eyebrow raised in a playful manner.

“Meditation”, she said simply.

Your face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh?”

“Meditation”, she repeated. “I’ve felt a lot of stress on your mind lately, it gets pretty loud in there”, she explained, pointing to your head. “I think a little mindful meditation is just what you need, help you sort out your thoughts, quiet things down a bit”, she suggested.

You huffed an amused laugh.

“Yeah, not sure how effective that’ll be, not even sure I’ll be able to do it right, I’m no jedi, after all.”

Ahsoka shook her head and laughed.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to be a jedi to meditate, you simply have to sit, clear your mind, and look inward, take control of your own thoughts for a while, trust me, it’s easier than it sounds”, she explained.

“Uh huh”, you said, not fully convinced.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it”, she said with a grin and a shrug.

“Whatever you say”, you replied, still smiling.

You said your goodbyes and soon you were once again alone. You smiled to yourself as Ahsoka’s comforting words echoed in your mind. You were truly grateful to her, she always knew how to help you, always seemed to know what you needed, so maybe, she was right about this too.

You sat up straight, folded your legs, and rested your hands atop your knees, rolling your eyes after doing so; you felt a bit ridiculous humoring this notion, but you trusted Ahsoka, so, you closed your eyes, and attempted to clear your mind.

Nothing happened at first, but you kept at it, and soon enough you felt yourself drifting, it felt like falling into that place between sleeping and waking, but you knew that wasn’t where you were going, rather you were going inward, and you soon found yourself inside your own head, mingling with and sorting through your inner thoughts.

This went on for a good while before you finally felt comfortable enough to bring yourself back to the surface, falling back on the soft cushioned surface of your bunk once you’d done so. In that moment, you realized the feeling you had was one you’d almost come to forget, a true sense, of peace.

#ahsoka x reader #platonic pairing #star wars fanfiction #rebels fanfic #comfort fic #request #sending positive vibes your way Anon #ahsoka tano #star wars #star wars rebels

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softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years

Note

Sorry if I request too much lol. I really love your writing. If you haven't wrote this yet, could you do headcannons of the safehouse crew (or just Adler, Woods, and Hudson if the whole crew is too much) with an S/O who feels unlovable?

Aw, of course I can. But just so you and all my followers know, everyone is worthy of love, even if you yourself may not feel it, I promise it's true :) I love each and every one of you, this blog and these writings are as much for you guys as they are me.

You are seen. You are valid. And you are loved, more then you may know 💖

Adler

This man knows exactly how it feels to consider yourself unlovable

He's divorced for Christ's sake...

Honestly, he's not sure he could receive a bigger "fuck you", let alone a "no one will love you"

Alder's lived with that pain for quite some time, the dreaded voice nagging in the back of his mind that his wife was right

That he'll never be enough, he'll never find someone to love him...

And those horrible scars on his face seal her words and his thoughts like venomous sting, a curse that will never be lifted

Too old, too ugly, too broken...

Why would anyone want him?

Words cannot describe how awestruck he was when he met you, let alone when you two became official

He does all he can to makes sure you never feel the way he has, rejected and discarded, but sometimes...

Adler feels so helpless when you feel that way, but all he can do is try to reassure you and sit with you on it

He'll do or bring whatever you ask, but he finds it most comforting to hold you until you feel steadied again

Hudson

Some may experience the sensation of feeling unlovable now and then, and certainly, he doesn't mean to invalidate that, but...

Hudson knows a thing or two of having every damn person he meets treat him as such

He knows he's a callus guy, and maybe the choice he makes for the betterment of most doesn't settle with the conscious of the few

He knows he's not one for socializing or engaging conversation like seemingly everyone else in this damn organization

But does he really deserve the shunning and disrespect most everyone directs at him?

He's not sure, to be honest...

You see, that changed when he met you however

Finally, someone who loved him for him and didn't cast him aside or treat him as less when things got tough

You are the most lovable and worthy of love person in his entire life, perhaps that he's ever even met

It breaks his heart to hear you feel otherwise

He's not very good with fancy, soothing words, so he hopes holding you and telling you he loves you while kissing you softly will be enough

He'll stay with you as long as you need, because nothing matters more to him then your wellbeing

Lazar

Now this big guy has a bit of a different angle then most of the others on here

He's friendly, kind, and all around a lovable person

He doesn't know much at all about how it feels to be rejected or denied affection

At least, not in a serious, traumatizing way that is

Admittedly, it's a bit hard for him to understand how you can feel that way

After all, you're the most wonderful, amazing person in his entire life!

He loves you deeply, whole and completely, through and through with every fiber of his 6'4, 240 lb frame

But, just because he doesn't understand doesn't mean he doesn't want to take the time to learn

He wishes he could shield you from all the hurt and pain that's in this awful world, and if he could take it all on for you, he would in a heartbeat

But for now, he listens to your feelings and provides a shoulder to cry on if you need it

Lazar tries to instill a sense wantedness and belonging in you by trying to take you out to little dates and places you love

Anything to show you that he hears you, sees you, and wants you to know that he cares for your interests and desires

Mason

Oof, honestly I'm not sure anyone on this list seems themselves as truly more unlovable then Alex

If we're being completely honest, he doesn't even love himself after all

He seems to be a mean to an ends wherever he goes

Someone's tool to accomplish their own, selfishly motivated goals

The Soviets, the CIA, the Military... It doesn't matter

The things something like that does to you, it's...

It fucks you up

Even when he does meet you, things are slow going to start a relationship

But once he's confident in his standing with you, there's no one he trusts, confides in, or loves more in the whole world

That said, it pains him to hear you feel that way, especially because he knows exactly how you feel

Mason isn't sure how to comfort you really, considering he finds most of his comfort in being with an s/o, but he hopes to provide reassurance through being present for you

He's a thoughtful listener and can provide a hug, kiss, or cuddle whenever you need

Park

Park is a bit of the odd one out tbh

She's had nagging whispers of doubt that's she's unlovable, mostly thanks to her scar, but she never seems to really buy into them

And, as far as she's concerned, why should she?

She's intelligent, successful, friendly, and a whole list of other approachable, inviting traits

But, she does underrated where you're coming from when you tell her how you're feeling

All she knows is what she would want to receive when she's feeling low and in that dark place

She may give that a try if you're feeling unable to communicate, but she will always try to respect your needs and ask what she can do for you first

If you can't conjure the words, she'll bring you a nice glass of water and sit with you, hip to hip, until you feel a little more soothed

Sims

Sims is a guy who's lived his whole life as a drifter

The key point however, is that this is by his own choice

He's never really allowed himself the opportunity to feel unlovable because he never puts himself in such a position in the first place

When he feels lonely, he hopes on to the next person

When he feels smothered, he finds the smoothest way possible to create distance

You however, are his first real romance and he's determined to see this one through for as long as possible

The idea of feeling totally and completely unlovable is a foreign concept to him and he, like Lazar, will need a bit of guidance to understand your feelings

But nonetheless, he's happy to learn and wants to support you to the best if his ability

He most likely takes the same route as Lazar anyways, and tries to plan bonding style activities for when you're feeling down

His hope is that doing something to bring you both closer together might help you in the long run one day

Woods

You know, he's not as emotionally unintelligent as most people seem to think

Deep down, when he has time to reflect, he does get that sense of being unlovable

He's so just fucked up

And that's not even scratching the surface

Who'd want him, right?

Now, he doesn't usually feel that way is the thing

But when he gets with you and you express similar feelings...

He can understand at least

God, he'd do anything to keep you from having to feel that way...

He does whatever he can to try and show his love

Through deeds, through words, whatever it may be

Sometimes he just wishes he could punch the bad feelings away

But not everything is a physical issue, and some things have to be learned through trial and error

Woods wants nothing more then to please you and you'll find an adaptive, quick learner in him

Once he gets on track, a favorite tactic of his is to provide physical comfort through warm blankets and long cuddling sessions

#black ops cold war #call of duty #russell adler x reader #jason hudson x reader #eleazar azoulay x reader #lazar x reader #alex mason x reader #helen park x reader #lawrence sims x reader #frank woods x reader

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stephspurs · 3 years

Text

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. A window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Hello my lovelies!! Part 3 sees a whole lot Amelia's beautiful brain & you get your first slice of interaction with the british boys - leading up to an all important Mykonos adventure (part 4 - out friday). As usual, please let me know your thoughts and feelings, and let me know what you want to see happen with Amelia and her story! Updates have increased to 3/week! I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am!

Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 3. | parte terza

warnings; none - just a whole lot of feels.

word count; 2081

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Friday 30/07 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

It was the day after the final match and Amelia should be nursing a hangover due to the large amount of red wine she consumed with her Italian counterparts the night before. However, she finds herself at St. George’s Park before 9am, meeting one of her father’s colleagues who directs her to the recreation room that she remembers from a few days prior.

Standing outside the door, she assumed she was just waiting for her dad as agreed on the phone an hour earlier. As she was waiting, she could hear Gareth Southgate give a team talk to the players, praising them for their ability and pleading for them to bounce back from this defeat and use it to push on. The next voice she could hear was that of her father, giving them the tactical run through of the game. She listened to the points her father made, and both agreed and disagreed with some. Unexpectedly, the man sent to collect her opened the door and ushered her inside.

She stood at the back of the room, facing her dad and Gareth, whilst the team and other management staff had their backs to her. Making eye contact with her dad, he smiled slightly.

“Whilst I can offer you my opinion on the match last night, to better prepare you for the next time, there is no better opinion to learn from at this moment than that of your opponent. Amelia, would you please come up here” Dean really threw her into this situation, that again, she was not prepared for nor did she want to participate in. However, the 30+ sets of eyes that had currently turned around to stare at her didn’t exactly inspire a choice to be made here.

_____________________________________________________________

“Lads, this is my daughter. I taught her everything she knows, which was probably too much considering I can now recognise that it was her signature plays that the italian side used to their advantage last night. Treat her with respect, or I will let her at you. Which i’m sure you all saw a few nights ago in this very room” My dad spoke as I walked up to the front area, weaving in and around beanbags with players occupying them.

Standing in front of the Three Lions was more nerve wracking now than it had been when she was confronting her brother, maybe Fede did offer her protection as his bodyguard. Either way, she put her big girl pants on (figuratively speaking, literally she was wearing her official puma tights and Italian polo) and got on with it as if she was speaking to her team.

“Thanks Dad. Hey guys, I think the first thing I would like to say is that you’re allowed to feel exactly how you feel right now. There is no rush to ‘get over it’ or ‘push on and learn’. You need to feel this now, feel it throughout your body, understand the pain and then turn it into motivation.” I speak to the group, trying to accurately express how sincere I am to this group of heartbroken men.

“As for tactics, I can stand here and praise you for how good you really are but that's not how you are going to learn. You came into the game hard and fast.” I paused, understanding the innuendo just as it was flying out of my mouth. I pursed my lips and tried to hold my giggle in, however some of the boys seem to have the same sense of humour as I do. My brother, face of steel and eyes that burn into any man that tries to joke with me.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. So yeah, you took charge of the game from kick off and we were not ready. You had the aggression and desire to push from the start and that's what you did, Shaw, you really surprised me with that goal. Not because I didn't think you could do it but because I wasn’t anticipating you being someone we had to watch so closely.”

“Again, something you guys need to keep in mind is that it is literally my job to know everything about you and how you play the game, what foot you prefer, who you pass to, how long you hold the ball before you pass, do you like to assist or score...all of these things make a massive difference in each play we make.”

“The error you made came around the 25th minute of the game, we had settled into the game and did what we do best - we slowed you down. In Italy, in the Serie A, which is where most of my team play, the game is a lot slower. There is more skill and tactic used to ensure a favourable outcome. Again, i'm not saying you all don’t have skill, but the Prem favours pace over tactics and strategy. The only way we were going to be able to win was by making you play our game, but in your half of the pitch.”

At this point, all of their eyes are trained to me and the more senior players of the team, like Henderson, Walker, Coady, Kane, they understand what i’m trying to say. Gareth, my dad and other members of staff are sitting to one side, arms folded and a slight smile on their face at the simplicity of my approach to such an important game. I direct my next question to them.

“Can I ask - have you already selected your man of the match?”

“Off record, yes we have. Before I announce to the team who it is, can I direct the question back to you and find out who you would award it to?” Gareth poses back to me, interested to hear my opinion.

“While the obvious choices would be Kane, Sterling, Maguire - your players who perform week in week out and are consistent and no doubt deserve an award as such. I would recommend Declan Rice. Personally, he was the most instrumental in the match last night. Every time we turned to attack, he was there to stop it. He was a player I was confident that I knew the extent of his ability, when it was obvious that I didn't.”

The boys around him, Mason Mount & Ben Chilwell, offered him a gentle shove and ruffle of the hair, to show their encouragement to the bashful boy who seemed surprised at the praise he was receiving.

“The other player that I think deserves a bit of a shoutout, and not because of his hair, is Jack Grealish.” I spoke, looking around the room until we locked eyes. I wanted him to understand how serious i was about my next words.

“You are so dangerous on the ball, you are an asset as a team mate, you aren’t guilty with the ball, but you have the power behind you to score when the opportunity presents itself. The moment you were subbed on I pulled Jorginho to the side and told him to treat you like Chiellini and Bonnucci were handling Sterling and Kane. You were one of my players to watch, and for good reason”

At the end of the little session, I said thanks to the boys for listening and that I hope to see them again in a tournament. The only way to be the best is to beat the best. After a quick round of applause that made me feel more special than I am, I walked past my brother, gave him a quick ruffle of his hair and met my dad at the back. Gareth dismissed the boys and they all stood up, breaking away and grabbing some breakfast that was set up to the side of the room, for one last team meal.

“Mills!! I’ll get you an almond croissant and a coffee, come sit with me!” Walker shouted from across the room.

“Oi mate, she’s my sister not yours” Ben counters from the back of the line.

“Yeah she's your sister by blood, mine by choice.” Kyle firmly states and begins his way to one of the tables.

“I suppose i better join Kyle before he drowns everyone in his tears” i joked with the england officials i was standing with before walking over to Kyle and a few of his team mates.

“Sooo am I supposed to pretend I don’t know who you all are so you can introduce yourselves? Or do we just mutually agree that I know too much about each of you and not bring it up?” I question the boys, jokingly. They all laugh and I sit down in the space Kyle left between himself and John Stones. I sat there and got to know some of the boys on a less competitive level, working out who was a leader both on the pitch and off it. After listening to the boys joke around and just be mates, rather than teammates, I leaned over to Kyle.

“Hey, before I go, do you think you can introduce me to Bukayo? I want to speak with him for a moment.”

“Yeah sure, I'll take you over there. Why are you nervous? You've never been shy before” Kyle questioned back at me.

“I’m not nervous, I'm just hyper aware of the sensitivity of the moment. Last night would have been tough”

Saying goodbye to the boys, Kyle directed me over to a table that was sitting my brother Ben White, Kalvin, Ben Chilwell, Grealish, Saka, Sancho & Rashford.

“Hey boys, Ben, I just wanted to come say goodbye before I head off.” I directed towards my brother. He pulled up a chair and asked me to sit for 5 more minutes, claiming he deserved it after months of no contact.

“Ben here didn’t let us know he had a sister as smart as you...what happened to you Ben? Did you miss that gene?” Jack Grealish poked at my brother. With his signature scowl on his face, Ben White let his mates laugh at his expense.

“Oh don’t make fun of my brother Benny, that’s my job!” I joked back, setting the boys off again with my brother’s childhood nickname. It was nice to hear some laughter again from a side that looked so solemn the night before.

“No in all seriousness boys, I especially came over because I wanted to talk to you Bukayo - what you did was so impressive. In a final, as the last penalty taker, to take on the responsibility of the nation at the age of 19! Not many players would dare to do that. You have earned a lot of respect, particularly from the Italian camp.” I spoke with a smile on my face, directed at the young boy.

“The same goes for you two” Now looking at Sancho & Rashford.

Bukayo looked down at his hands & smiled, before getting up and walking to my side of the table. Anticipating what he was going to do next, I stood up and welcomed him with open arms. Grateful that he understood my message and was beginning to accept the praise he so deserved. Stepping back from the hug, I turned to address the group of lads one more time.

“If any of you fancy a change of pace and want to come over to the Serie A, just give me a call - Benny can give you my number!” I start to speak, before I'm cut off but my brother.

“Stop poaching my mates! I’ve already lost you to another country. I don't need to lose anyone else” He jokingly says while standing to walk me out of St. George’s Park. I know it was a joke but I can't help but think there was some truth to that.

It had been more than 3 years since I moved out of our family home to start my life in Turin, and not one moment had i regretted it or thought i made the wrong decision. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wished I was closer to my family, but I know I had to make that move to prove to myself I am just as successful as I hoped I would be. Not saying I have learnt everything there is to learn with the Serie A giants, Juventus, but maybe it's time for a new challenge? Maybe I can bring the strategic spin on the game to the fast paced action of the premier league?

Part 4. | quarta parte

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talonwings · 3 years

Text

to feed a kingdom- Empires SMP Writing

in which fWhip and his subjects make questionable choices for noble reasons.

(can you tell yet that i am a c!fWhip apologist lololololol--)

It would have been easy to miss the small silhouette of the man against the giant shadows looming over the landscape.

The inky sky seemed to cling low over the Grimlands, as it had ever since the Dragon fell; the stars shone more dimly, those that still shone at all. Clouds scudded frantically across the faint crescent of the moon, pushed along by a harrying wind. The crickets all had fallen silent--indeed, all the animals had gone, hidden away in burrows and holes to shelter themselves from the threat of the corruption. No sound disturbed the stillness of the night, but for the harsh gasps of the lone figure as he raised the scythe and swung it again, and again, and again.

fWhip’s fingers had long since blistered, burst, and blistered again. He had stopped even glancing down to check his hands--the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of his gloves had averted his gaze some time ago. The pain was a constant companion, enough so that he had become used to it, could ignore it if he gritted his teeth and focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of the tool in his grasp.

He was inelegant with the scythe. It would have been obvious to anyone observing, if there had been anyone around to observe at this ungodly hour; as it was, his lack of skill was evident enough in the ache it left behind in his forearms and shoulders, the torque that yanked at his spine every time he twisted to put his weight behind the swings. He had never been a large man, but he felt his smallness down to his bones here beneath the tower of corruption that still rose into the air above him.

Give up, the rot-red tendril seemed to hiss at him. Its veiny surface pulsated eerily, hinting at something living just beneath the fleshy exterior.

“I’ll die first,” fWhip rasped at it. “Watch me.”

He swung the scythe again. The blade was weathered steel, pocked and beaten from many years of use, but still dangerously sharp. It bit deep into the corrupted tendril, and fWhip was gratified when he swore he could hear a faint scream.

Plash was worried about the Count.

It wasn’t that her lord was acting strange, exactly. Strange, to Plash, was a relative term--she had been called ‘strange’ for most of her childhood due to her fondness for laboratory tools over the company of other children. It was a relief to finally be accepted into the service of the Grimlands’ ruler, who, by Plash’s measure, was a kindred spirit in strangeness. Many people raised their eyebrows at the Count’s eccentricities, but accepted them simply because he was the Count, and who were they to question the man who kept food on their tables and money in their coffers?

No, Plash was concerned because fWhip was acting strange, even for him. He was energetic and filled to the brim with ideas, as a rule--it was what made the Grimlands, under his rule, surge to the forefront of scientific research and discovery. Plash would have never described him as kind, necessarily, or even pleasant, but he was confident and sure and bold.

Until the Dragon fell, and everything changed.

She did not know how to make the dullness go out of his eyes, or the slant from his shoulders, or the heavy, bowing weight from his head, and it frightened her--an uncomfortable experience in itself, for someone as rarely frightened as Plash. In the hours immediately after the Dragon’s end, she had watched her beloved ruler become a person she did not recognize; and that, even before the corruption had arrived.

Plash scowled out the window of the manor at the scarlet tendril hanging ominously in the sky beyond the pane. The damn things had erupted from the ground barely a week after the Dragon’s death, while the Grimlands were still reeling from the arrival of what seemed like half of Mythland’s population. They had barely had enough time to count them all, much less figure out how they were going to feed them. Tents lined every road in Eastvale, and most of the roads immediately outside the town’s wall.

Normally, the Count would guide us, Plash thought glumly. But now…

She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought, close enough to treason as it was. Instead, she made herself continue her trek through the long, high-ceilinged halls toward the Count’s personal study, acutely feeling the weight of the smooth little scroll clutched in her hand, burning a hole through her glove.

She arrived at the tall, paneled oak door, staring for a long moment at the polished bronze knocker before summoning her strength and rapping it twice.

“Enter,” the weary voice called from within.

Plash did so, but stopped just inside the door, barely remembering to close it behind her as she gaped at her leader and mentor. He looked terrible. His eyes were ringed by bruise-purple circles, his cheeks hollow with exhaustion; more bruises were visible on the exposed skin of his wrists where his jacket sleeves rode up, and Plash swore she could see blood staining his gloves.

“Are you just going to stare?” the Count asked. The question was blunt, but his voice was weak and lacked its usual intensity.

“I…” Plash couldn’t find any words, so instead she held up the scroll. “This just arrived.”

“And they sent you instead of a raven?” fWhip gave a dry laugh. “I wasn’t aware that you were doing the job of birds now, Plash Ajax.”

Most people would have been embarrassed by the quip, but Plash shrugged. “A raven brought it, but the raven-mistress said it was too important not to be hand-delivered.”

“Mm.” fWhip eyed her for a moment before he, too, shrugged. “Bring it here.”

She obeyed, crossing the room and depositing the scroll on his desk. Up close he looked even worse than at first glance; his face and every centimeter of exposed flesh were riddled with tiny scratches, like he had been on the losing end of an encounter with a thorn bush. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, his gingery hair utterly unkempt. Plash said nothing, only waiting in silence for him to inspect the scroll.

He took it in his hands and unrolled it, eyes scanning it for a second before he let it fall from his grip. It hit the desk with a clack, but Plash barely noticed, fixated as she was on the single tear that trailed down the Count’s cheek before being lost in the tangle of his beard.

“Um…” She chewed her lip for a moment, internally caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to turn tail and run. She settled for asking, somewhat awkwardly, “Shall I, um...shall I leave?”

“Do what you like,” he replied in a tone thick with exhaustion. One gloved hand came up for a noncommittal wave, the fingers indeed stained scarlet with blood.

Plash stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, although it was probably no more than a minute, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she decided to be as blunt as the man she looked up to. “You look awful. Did someone break in here for a fight last night?”

She thought she had made an awful mistake when fWhip’s eyes locked onto her, his mouth agape; relief washed over her when he started to laugh, the sound hoarse and beaten, but familiar.

“So you can tell,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “Well, I suppose I did nothing to try to clean up.”

“Wait, so there was a fight?” Plash asked in confusion.

“Of a kind,” the Count replied wryly.

“...I’m confused,” the young scientist admitted.

“Ah, I know how you hate that.” fWhip’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “All of you young researchers do, though I try my best to beat it out of you.” He stood, shaking his head and then wincing visibly at the movement. “Ack. That’s unpleasant.”

“Can I, er, help in any way?” Plash asked.

“Follow me,” the Count said, beckoning with a gesture toward the door. “I will answer your question, though you must promise to share this with no one.”

Plash followed silently, thoughts spinning through her head as they descended the several floors of the manor and exited into the gardens beyond. From down here, she had a full view of the corruption towering over the skyline of Eastvale, tendrils encircling the town as if to latch on and pull it into the earth, although for now, they remained still. It was toward one of the massive growths that fWhip led her, and as they neared, Plash could see a curious wound in the side of the tentacle. It leaked and bled crimson ooze from the gash, and its flesh seemed to have withered around the site, blackened and decaying.

“What caused this?” Plash wondered aloud. “More corruption? Some new blight?”

“I did,” the Count answered.

“You--?” Plash stared at him, aghast, her eyes dropping slowly to the scarlet-stained scythe that lay abandoned on the ground below the tendril. She hadn’t noticed it until he nudged it with his boot, but now she saw the corrupted ichor dripping from the blade, the red vines hacked to pieces and lying dead beside the tool.

“Did you know I wanted to be a farmer once?”

She was caught entirely off-guard by the question, still enthralled as she was by the sight of the scythe, so it took her a moment to fully process it. “Wh--wait, a farmer? As in…?” She mimed what she thought scything wheat might look like.

fWhip nodded tiredly. “When I was very young, I once had to accompany my parents, the old Count and Countess, on a trip to a Wither Rose Alliance summit in Mythland. They were, of course, ensconced in meetings all day, so I wandered the kingdom with my…” Here he trailed off, a flash of some unreadable feeling crossing his face for a moment before he went on. “With an old friend. We got into plenty of mischief, and one of the pranks we decided on was to unlatch the gate to a field full of cows. Luckily, the farmer caught us before we were trampled to death by the beasts, and although we were royal, he decided to teach us a lesson, and made us help him sow carrot seeds for two hours.”

Plash made a face. “That sounds horrid.”

The Count chuckled softly. “My friend thought so, but for me, there was something very rewarding in digging up the earth, placing the seeds, covering them, and knowing that they would someday become food for the citizens of Mythland.”

“...Sort of like finishing a machine that you know will be used to make life easier for people,” Plash said after a moment’s reflection. She knew the feeling--hands oil-stained, face soot-smeared, hair wild, sleep-deprived and exhausted, but overwhelmed with warmth when she gazed at the thing she had created. There was nothing like it.

fWhip nodded. “Yes. And so I told my parents when I was returned to them later that I wanted to become a farmer and grow carrots for all the people of the Grimlands. They laughed, of course, and said that a Count’s son could do more than become a simple farmer, and as it turned out, they were right. But for a long time, I had a secret dream to fill the whole world with fields, to build one every day, as far as the eye could see.”

Plash gazed at him silently for a long time. Finally, she said, “So this is your chance to use the scythe to help the Grimlands?”

His face became hard, almost unrecognizably so. “If I have to tear down every one of these damn things, I will.”

There was silence between them again, the awful, still silence that had hung over the Grimlands in all the hours that had passed since the Ender Dragon’s demise. Plash watched as the Count breathed raggedly, his fists clenched and trembling, the entire weight of their kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” she said.

He blinked--it was clearly not the response he had been expecting. “What?”

“I said, I’ll help,” Plash repeated. Her resolve was growing now, ideas taking root--like seeds, like kernels that, properly watered, would grow into something that could help them all. “I’m terrible with a scythe, but I know machines and chemicals. If you give me a sample, I can turn it into something that will help us feed the Mythlanders.”

The Count’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Feed--with the corruption?”

Plash scowled at him. “Did you recruit me from university because I had boring ideas?”

He looked astonished for a moment, but only for a moment, and then his mouth formed the devious smile that she hadn’t seen in nearly eight days.

“No,” he agreed. “I did not. Very well, Plash Ajax. You will turn Xornoth’s corruption into food for the people of Mythland. But you know, I have high expectations now that you’ve even suggested such a thing.”

Plash grinned right back, cracking her knuckles, her mind already working. “I know. So do I.”

#also featuring a sneaky reference to fwhip's hardcore series!!#see if you can spot it #empires smp #mcyt #writing #fwhip #the grimlands #empiresona #empires oc #plash ajax #xornoth #rcu #technically rcu!fwhip

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sailorfailures · 4 years

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I fell in love with these postcards from the Girl’s Night Out popup cafe the moment I saw them! I knew I had to get my hands on them, and the lovely @blaze-rocket was able to help that happen.

I cannot get over how perfect these postcards are. To me, this is what Sailor Moon is; a testament to the little moments from the series that made us fall in love with the characters, especially how their personal preferences were reflected in their fashion choices. In a world of merch where it’s easy to just slap a random crescent moon on something pink and say “look, it’s Usagi,” the designer responsible for these graphics went the extra mile to take imagery from the show itself that needles its way deep into our nostalgia-cortexes.

How many references do you recognise? Quiz yourself against this comprehensive (image-heavy) list! 👇

The inners’ postcards all reference the eye-catching sign for Game Center Crown, the iconic arcade where Motoki Furuhata worked and the gang would all congregate to play games and share information.

Starting in R they switched to hanging out at Fruits Parlor Crown, a cafe attached to the arcade staffed by Motoki’s sister Unazuki, which the Inners’ postcards all also reference. They would often get brightly-coloured drinks there, but the drinks pictured on these postcards seem to specifically line up with the real drinks available at the Girls Night Out popup cafe.

Sailors Neptune, Uranus, and Pluto’s postcards all reference “Café Étrangère,” which was the name of the cafe they were seen dining at in the Sailor Moon S movie. Even the logo is replicated faithfully from a scene only a few seconds long.

All the girls’ clothes are hanging on coat hangers shaped like Luna/Artemis/Diana.

Ami / Sailor Mercury’s references:

Ami’s casual outfit is an unusual choice since she only wore it a handful of times over the entire series, and half the times she wore it, it was given a different colour scheme with a green jacket instead of the yellow version pictured here.

Her “mini data computer” is her most iconic tool/weapon/accessory, revealed in episode 009, directly after her introduction.

The pink package is how Usagi and the other girls wrapped up her transformation stick and communicator watch as Ami’s going-away present in episode 062.

The ice cream may be a reference to the same episode, as she shared a cone with Chibi-Usa before she left, and returned to the store to protect her friends from the Droid Nihpasu.

The flash cards are a method Ami commonly used to help her study, and are particularly similar to the ones shown in the SuperS short “Ami’s First Love”.

Rei / Sailor Mars’s References:

Rei wore her casual outfit fairly frequently, starting and most notably in the beginning of the Sailor Moon R movie.

The small red o-mamori charm is from Hikawa Shrine, seen frequently but introduced in episode 010.

The paper ofuda ward was used frequently by Rei to fight evil, even before she could transform, but most notably in the attack sequence for “Akuryou, Taisan” (“Foul Spirit, Begone”).

To my knowledge the purple bag isn’t a specific reference, but Rei did throw a similar purse at a Cardian as a makeshift weapon in episode 048 before she got her Guardian memories back.

The gift-wrapped shopping boxes are the exact same ones as carried by Rei in the Sailor Moon Sailor Stars opening sequence before she trips and falls, right down to the patterns on the paper...

... which in itself may be a reference/callback to Rei’s tendency to make Yuuichirou carry her shopping (maybe so she doesn’t trip).

The phoenix-shaped pendant is a reference to episode 183; it’s made of glazed ceramic, crafted by Rei’s cousin Kengo Ibuki, given to her as a child after she convinced him not to smash it even though he his pottery a “failure”.

Makoto / Sailor Jupiter’s References:

Makoto didn’t start wearing her casual outfit until around S, but she wore it frequently after that, especially as she became more confident wearing “feminine” clothing. They even remembered her iconic gold wrist watch worn over her sleeve!

Her uniquely decorated bento bag debuted in episode 026, her introductory episode, along with the rounded green cutlery. The pouch has been featured a few more times since and its design is a mainstay in almost every Sailor Moon canon.

The teal hairtie and the rose-shaped earrings are two of Makoto’s iconic accessories, some of the only non-magical fashion accessories in the entire series to stay the same whether the character is transformed or not (the other being Minako’s infamous red bow). Her earrings also served a dual purpose as makeshift projectile weapons in episode 025.

The blue book is 月夜の天馬 (Tsukiyo no Tenma, “The Moonlit Pegasus”), a novel which was written by Tomoko Takase and introduced in epsode 134. Makoto knew Tomoko from her old middle school, before she transferred, and was the first one to read her first draft after retrieving it from bullies. She encouraged Tomoko to try and get it published. Makoto meets with her again and helps her overcome her writer’s block to finish her sequel, 天馬幻想 (Tenma Gensou, ��Pegasus Fantasy”).

Minako / Sailor Venus’s References:

This is one of Minako’s most-worn casual outfits, especially if you consider the additional outfits based off it. Despite its prevalence, she didn’t start wearing it until the beginning of S.

Minako’s red hair ribbon is her most iconic accessory, but did you know why she started wearing it? The Codename: Sailor V prequel manga explains that she started wearing the ribbon instead of her usual red hairtie on the suggestion of her “first crush” Higashi. But when he turns out to be an enemy in disguise, she decides she looks good with a ribbon anyway, and keeps wearing it for her own benefit.

The red mask is a reference to Minako’s role as Sailor V before joining the team as Sailor Venus. Sailor V was known as a mysterious vigilante superhero and a fictional video game character as early as episode 001, but in episode 033 Minako revealed herself to the rest of the Sailor Team, dramatically removing her mask one final time.

Minako was known to be a skilled volleyball player, especially in the manga, and it was especially relevant in episode 100 where she had to delicately return the serve of an energy sphere containing the Pure Heart of her old volleyball crush, Asai.

The sign with Minako’s name can be seen hanging off the front of her bedroom door in episode 192.

[Manga scan courtesy of Miss Dream.]

Usagi / Sailor Moon’s References:

Usagi wore this outfit in the Sailor Moon R movie, making it a memorable choice. Although the movie aired roughly midway through R, Usagi didn’t start to wear this outfit casually again until the S season.

Usagi is shown eating a lot of food, especially sweets, but she seems to have a particular fondness for crepes, snacking on them in several different episodes.

In episode 143 we can see that Usagi is very technologically trendy - for the times. She’s carrying that blue-and-pink pager which she and Mamoru use to contact each other by way of goroawase, that is, deciphering messages based on the different pronunciations of numbers, a precursor to modern texting. Mamoru pages her the numbers 84 51, which could be read as hachi yon go ichi; reading only the first syllables, and substituting go for the related sound ko, Usagi would interpret the message as hayo koi, which sounds a bit like “come quick” - she’s late for their date. Oops!

By the way, pagers were often called “pocket bells” (pokeberu) in Japan, and became so rapidly popular they even found their way into the lyrics of Rashiku Ikimasho, the ending song for the SuperS season; 「泣きたい時にはポケベルならしてよんで、戦士の休息」 [Nakitai toki ni wa POKEBELL narashite yonde, senshi no kyuusoku] “If you feel like crying, send a page thru the Pocket Bell, take a break from [being a] Guardian”

Chibi-Usa / Sailor Chibi Moon’s References:

Chibi-Usa doesn’t technically have a school uniform, but her casual clothes are often styled after sailor suits as a reflection of both her idolisation of the figure of “Sailor Moon” and of her desire to be seen as older and more mature than she appears. She changes “uniforms” every season, and this pinafore outfit is the version she wears in SuperS. She wore the other outfit in the SuperS premiere episode.

The handgun is from episode 060, Chibi-Usa’s introduction to the series and arguably one of the most iconic absurdist scenes in all of Sailor Moon. The gun itself is actually a toy, probably a transformation of the Luna-P sphere, which Chibi-Usa uses to try and threaten Usagi into giving her the Legendary Silver Crystal. When she “shoots” Usagi, the bullet is revealed to be nothing but a suction-cup flower, also pictured. (By the way, if you were wondering, Chibi-Usa’s fake gun is based on a real Colt M1911A1.) She transforms the Luna-P into a toy gun to shoot Sailor Moon again in the Sailor Moon R movie, this time as a way to motivate Usagi to fight.

The Luna-P sphere was a mysterious gadget Chibi-Usa kept with her for the duration of R and parts of S. It’s unknown where it came from, but it could be assumed to have been created from advanced 30th century technology. It was a combination toy and tool which could transform itself into a variety of objects, formulas, and even weapons, though none were shown to be particularly powerful. It could also be used to communicate with Sailor Pluto at the Time-Space Door. When Chibi-Usa was manipulated into becoming Wicked Lady in episode 085, the Luna-P sphere also transformed into an “evil” and much more dangerous version.

The Space-Time Key was a special tool given to her by Sailor Pluto that allowed her to travel between the past and the future, though it was difficult for her to wield effectively.

The sunhat was given to Chibi-Usa by Ikuko, so she treasured it greatly. In episode 112 it got blown away and was retrieved by Hotaru Tomoe, which allowed her to meet Chibi-Usa and marked the beginning of their close friendship.

The blue-and-red package was a gift containing two manga books (”Drop Drop” vol. 1 & 2 by Ukon Katakuri) which Chibi-Usa intended to give to her new friend Hotaru in episode 113.

In episode 127, Chibi-Usa returned home to the future, and the girls all made her some going-away gifts. Ami made her a floppy disk (lol) to help her study, Rei made her a casette tape (double lol) of her music, Makoto packed her a lunch, and Minako made her a photo album of their time together. Usagi hand-sewed Chibi-Usa the rabbit-shaped backpack using a real outfit she used to love when she was a child.

Michiru / Sailor Neptune’s References:

This is a somewhat unusual choice for Michiru’s casual outfit, as she only wore it for two episodes, and that’s only because they made up a two-part story. But perhaps because the episodes were so pivotal - with Haruka and Michiru almost learning Usagi’s true identity - the outfit itself became more memorable.

Not only do they include Michiru’s violin, but they included the lemon she bounced off the instrument as she played to show off her skills in episode 093.

The teacup, teaspoon and saucer are the same set Michiru was seen drinking from at Fruits Parlor Crown in episode 094.

Michiru and Haruka both reference episode 095, where they had to enter a “true love” contest as part of their investigation. The contestants were asked to find their partner’s hand in an anonymous lineup, and Haruka was able to identify Michiru’s hand immediately.

Michiru used Haruka as a model for an illustration in her green sketchbook in episode 106.

Michiru’s Talisman is the Deep Aqua Mirror, revealed in episode 110 and used in her attack Submarine Reflection. She could also use it to receive prophetic visions. Visually, it was based on real-life art nouveau hand mirrors, and symbolically represented the mirror from the Three Sacred Treasures.

Haruka / Sailor Uranus’s References:

Conversely, Haruka wore this outfit a lot. Maybe more than she should’ve.

The teacup and saucer is the same set Haruka was seen drinking from at Fruits Parlor Crown in episode 094.

Haruka’s postcard also references the lovers contest in episode 095 (see above).

The purple scarf is from episode 096; Haruka was wearing it as a necktie when she almost ran into Makoto on her motorcycle. Haruka used the scarf to bandage Makoto’s road rash, which she returned later, though now smitten.

Not only is Haruka’s motorcycle included, they also referenced (one of) her car(s), the 1968 Toyota 2000GT.

Haruka’s Talisman is the Space Sword, revealed in episode 110 and used in her attack Space Sword Blaster. Symbolically it represented the sword from the Three Sacred Treasures.

Setsuna / Sailor Pluto’s References:

Setsuna didn’t have a school uniform, since she wasn’t a student, so she got to double-up on her casual outfits. Her mauve outfit is her most recognisable, wearing it so often it may as well have been her uniform. In fact, she was rarely seen wearing anything else until Sailor Stars, where she started experimenting with other outfits, including the Time Lord-esque suit on the right.

The potted plant is a Tellun, the energy-draining plant created by Tellu in episode 121. Setsuna was investigating it when it attempted to attack her, but she was protected by her Talisman, the Garnet Orb (also pictured, representing the jewel in the Three Sacred Treasures). She then went on to destroy the remaining Tellun plants and defeat Tellu with the help of Sailor Moon, Sailor Chibi Moon, and Tuxedo Mask.

The teacup and saucer are the same set Setsuna is seen drinking from at Cafe Etranger in the Sailor Moon S movie.

In episode 182, the girls are discussing the mysterious arrival of Chibi Chibi while eating ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Setsuna appears out of nowhere to confirm their suspicions... carrying that popsicle of her own.

Hotaru / Sailor Saturn’s References:

Hotaru tended to wear the same thing, mostly all-black, but she did occasionally adventure into rich colours like this bottle green two-piece outfit and iconic raspberry beret.

The sunhat belonged to Chibi-Usa; it symbolises the beginning of their friendship, when Hotaru caught it after it blew away in episode 112.

Chibi-Usa gave Hotaru the rabbit backpack in episode 116, using it to pass a note inviting her on a picnic.

Hotaru collects lamps, and the two referenced here are seen in her bedroom, which she keeps dimly lit to manage her pain.

The window might seem random, but it was random in the series, too - it’s one of the curtained window which looks out from Hotaru’s bedroom, and when a Daimon experiment goes terribly wrong in episode 118 and transforms her house into a Bamboozled-like inter-dimensional maze, one window overlooks a vast ocean while the other overlooks a strange jungle.

Hotaru’s weapon as Sailor Saturn is the Silence Glaive. It’s said that she possesses enough power to destroy the world with a single drop of her scythe.

That’s it! You made it! How many references did YOU know? 🌙

#sailor moon #long post #I couldn't have done this the easy way. I couldn't have just posted the pictures and been like 'ooh look pretty'.#it was fun though and I actually learned some things in the process #I feel like I slipped through time somehow and designed these for Toei and then blacked it from my memory #again: sincere apologies to those on mobile

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usergreenpixel · 3 years

Text

Frev writing prompts, Part 5! Seriously, I have no idea how I keep coming up with these. 😅

36. The protagonist was born and raised by a troupe of traveling performers. For as long as they can remember, they have been traveling from place to place, never staying anywhere for a few days at most.

The protagonist’s father is the troupe’s flutist and singer while their mother is a puppeteer so the youth has always had a passion for the performing arts and dreams of traveling all over Europe with their big happy family.

Nicknamed “L’œillet rouge” (The Red Carnation) by the troupe as an homage to their father’s favorite flower, the protagonist enjoys playing the flute and singing with their father, as well as putting on puppet shows with their mother.

With a song in their heart, a smile on their face and their father’s precious flute in their hands, the protagonist travels all over the country with their family, entertaining the people of France but never settling down and they like it that way.

But one day, while the troupe is staying in Paris and putting on a rather satirical puppet show which mocks the current regime, the protagonist’s parents are suddenly arrested by the police. Apparently, the father is a dangerous rebel while the mother is guilty of having sheltered said rebel years ago.

The protagonist is convinced that there must be a mistake and decides to rescue their parents with the help of all the other troupe members, including the protagonist’s older maternal half-brother and their maternal grandparents, all of whom are eager to help.

The time is limited and the rescue will be far from easy, but the protagonist will be damned if they don’t at least try to succeed. So, with that in mind, the young flutist and their family start to concoct the rescue plan...

37. Rumors have it that people who have been murdered tend to become vengeful ghosts and haunt their killers to exact revenge.

This is certainly true for Robespierre and his supporters. Unable to find peace, their souls are brought back to the realm of the living, seeking revenge on the Thermidorians.

This particular circumstance is quite convenient for the protagonist, a spirit medium who summons these ghosts and intends to use them as tools in their plan to torment the Thermidorians and avenge their family that got massacred in Lyon, skillfully using the revolutionaries’ restlessness and anger to achieve their goal.

However, soon certain events make the protagonist question the morality of using these spirits. Perhaps the protagonist is no better than their enemies if they are not above manipulating others. Perhaps there’s another way… Nonsense! It’s not manipulation if the other people also want revenge and are dead anyway...right?

38. The heroine of the story, like many other girls of the noble class, grew up and got her education in a convent in her hometown of Caen, France.

As a result of this upbringing, the young woman is rather used to a sheltered life, her idealism is through the roof and she is rather nostalgic about her life in the convent and her friendship with another noble girl, Charlotte Corday, who is the heroine’s closest friend and confidant.

At first the noblewoman wants to stay out of the events of the revolution, dreaming of taking her vows as a nun and living a quiet life in the convent, but those plans are abruptly thwarted by Corday, whose influence slowly gets the naïve heroine deeper and deeper into the mess that is the French Revolution.

Being idealistic, easily trusting, quiet, pacifistic and devoutly Catholic, the heroine initially follows her best friend’s lead and trusts her judgement since Corday is the closest thing to a big sister that the young woman has.

However, when Corday tries to convince her to kill Jean-Paul Marat and end the revolution, the heroine starts having mixed feelings about her friend’s decisions, despite being angry with Marat for her own personal reasons. After all, her faith teaches to forgive, not to judge and take revenge, so now the heroine must make a choice.

Will she betray her best friend and ruin the plan or will she cast aside her morals to help Corday and, presumably, the rest of the country? Is Marat really the bloodthirsty monster that Corday says he is? Is there another way to deal with the situation at hand without any casualties? And what consequences will the main character face for the choice she makes?

39. The main character is an illegitimate son of a Russian noble and a serf (yes, serfs were still a thing in Russia) who got taken in by his father as a “ward” and sent to France to get a good education, as everything French was very fashionable in the Russian Empire at the time.

There, in Paris of 1789, the young man absorbs all the knowledge he can, learning languages, reading the prominent books written in the Enlightenment era and even befriends a man by the name of Maximilien de Robespierre, a lawyer from Arras and the representative of Artois.

Considering that Robespierre was almost born illegitimate, he is the first person in a long time who doesn’t judge the protagonist for the circumstances of his birth and accepts him for him. Excited to be accepted at long last, the young man begins to look up to Robespierre as a mentor and an older brother of sorts, quickly absorbing his ideas and supporting him.

So, naturally, when the revolution begins and the young man finds himself trapped in Paris, he joins the revolutionaries to fight alongside his mentor.

Thus begin his adventures.

40. The protagonist is a child of criminals forced to survive on the streets after losing their parents until they’re eventually taken in by a seemingly sympathetic Jacobin, given a new name, a home and a fresh start in life. The protagonist essentially becomes the revolutionary’s ward and their guardian even takes them to the Convention so the youth can observe the meetings.

All seems good for the protagonist...almost too good to be true. But eventually certain events force the protagonist to wonder if their new guardian truly cares about them.

Could it be that their Jacobin guardian has some sinister motives? And will the protagonist be able to move away from their “bad” heritage and live an honest life at last?

41. Barras is in love. Again.

Head over heels over a pretty servant he recently hired and she even seems to like her employer back. Even her suspiciously strong resemblance to a certain Jacobin who got executed in 1794 isn’t a dealbreaker for Barras and the smitten man writes said resemblance off as a coincidence.

The other Thermidorians, especially Fouché, are not that blind and they fear that a relative of that particular executed man is here to seek revenge. Fouché decides to investigate this seemingly ordinary and harmless young servant, suspecting that she has quite a few skeletons in her closet.

Are these suspicions going to be confirmed or is Fouché simply being paranoid?

42. Thermidor has just taken place. The Jacobins are imprisoned and it seems like the traitors are going to win. All hope is lost for the Jacobins and their enemies rejoice.

But little do the Thermidorians know that by betraying and imprisoning all the men who stand in their way, they have just acquired new enemies - women.

Revolutionary women.

Wives, daughters, sisters, nieces, goddaughters, lovers, wards, friends and sympathizers of the captured Jacobins who are not going to sit back and give up.

Seeing how bleak things are, these women, led by a mysterious woman who conceals her face behind a mask and calls herself “Citoyenne Liberté” (Citizen Liberty), decide to rescue their imprisoned loved ones from the clutches of the Thermidorians.

They’re running out of time, they’re outnumbered and not equipped with proper weapons, but that is hardly a problem they can’t solve and they’re willing to fight against the odds regardless of the obstacles.

After all, Heaven hath no fury like a woman scorned, which is what the Thermidorians are about to learn the hard way.

43. A singer and actress who used to perform in Venice flees to France after a scandal demolishes her reputation. Having only her voice and her acting to make ends meet, for a while she tries to find work in Paris but barely makes enough money for her and her son to survive.

Her only friend and confidant in this bleak situation is a future revolutionary who happens to admire the heroine’s singing and strongly believes that she deserves better. He even bonds with the actress’s toddler son and is willing to step up and become a proper father figure for the child.

Thanks to said revolutionary, the heroine’s life begins to change for the better and she decides to settle down in Paris. Even when she learns about the approaching revolution, she chooses to stay in the only place where she feels like she can belong.

What’s more, the actress finally finds her new purpose in life. She too can fight for the cause of her new partner and his friends, in her own way.

How is a woman whose main talents are acting and singing supposed to be able fight, you may ask? Why, by becoming a spy for the Jacobins and the singing voice of the revolution of course!

And she might just be able to prove that anyone can be a revolutionary and one doesn’t need to be a fighter nor an orator to help a noble cause.

44. A female servant working for Georges Danton has to practically flee the house of her employer after the latter crosses all the possible boundaries while drunk.

Fearing for her safety and profoundly traumatized by the event, the servant is found and taken in by a seemingly sympathetic man who sees Danton as a sworn enemy for his own reasons. Considering that both have a grudge against Danton and the man is a journalist, he and the servant team up to bring Danton down.

Will they succeed? Why does the journalist hate Danton? And is his desire to aid the heroine genuine?

45. Paris, France. The revolution is in full swing.

The Committee of Public Safety has to deal with multiple issues, the ongoing war is depleting France’s resources and the situation seems dire.

What’s more, a new newspaper, “La Voix de la Justice” (The Voice of Justice), began to circulate in the city. While this particular fact isn’t that surprising by itself, the thing that sets this newspaper apart from the rest is the fact that its author is anonymous.

Nobody knows who writes this newspaper but the articles are quite good and this mysterious person has already exposed several people who were using the Reign of Terror as an excuse for their atrocities.

Naturally, all these details catch the attention of Jean-Paul Marat and Camille Desmoulins, two of the most prominent journalists of that time. Intrigued by this new newspaper and its author, the two revolutionaries team up to track that person down, if only to find out who they are and thank them for helping their cause.

46. The protagonist grew up believing that Robespierre is single handedly responsible for the execution of their beloved aunt and uncle and, as a result, believes that the man deserved to be executed for that betrayal.

However, the protagonist is soon forced to question their judgment when their older cousin, Horace Desmoulins, reaches out to them in a letter, inviting them to Paris and claiming that he found evidence proving that in actuality Robespierre attempted to save Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, Horace’s parents.

Although the protagonist is skeptical at first, since Horace has always defended his godfather, they are still intrigued by their cousin’s invitation and leaves Guise to join Horace in his investigation.

Together, the two cousins are both determined to clear the names of Horace’s parents and figure out what role Robespierre actually played in the family tragedy.

47. The five protagonists are all members of a heavy metal band whose name and songs are an homage to the French Revolution.

Previously little more than a quintet of college misfits determined to rehabilitate this particular event and tell the real story through music, the band finally starts gaining popularity after a successful concert at a music festival in Marseille.

And then things take a turn for the unexpected when the band gets into an accident on their way home, only to wake up in Revolutionary France. Naturally, they now must survive and return home but this adventure might just become the inspiration they needed so much...

48. After the protagonist’s father leaves them and their blind mother behind to move to Paris, the protagonist is naturally upset. Year after year, they wait for their father to return but he never does.

In 1789, after losing their mother to an illness, the protagonist decides that enough is enough and travels to Paris to confront their father. To their disgust, they soon find out that their father is now remarried, with a new family and quite rich while the protagonist is basically a pauper. Moreover, the father seems to have joined the revolutionaries, which is something that the protagonist cannot approve of either.

Now the protagonist wants to make sure that their father faces the music for his betrayal so they contact a journalist who is about to expose said father in an article.

A story of one of his enemies leaving behind his first family will be a nice addition to the already existing accusations of corruption, but the protagonist and the journalist soon realize that they are not immune to the consequences of their actions either and this article might cause more damage than they think it will.

49. (A reimagining of Aladdin) After their flute is broken beyond repair, the protagonist goes to a pawn shop to find a replacement for their practice.

It is there that an old ivory flute catches their attention so the protagonist purchases it, has it professionally restored and decides to keep it, ignoring the warning of the shopkeeper that it’s cursed and the suspiciously low price.

The protagonist is a skeptic and never believed in magic, curses and other occult things.

That is until they play the flute for the first time and a man poofs into existence like a genie from a lamp. Introducing himself as Louis Antoine de Saint-Just, he informs the protagonist that he used to be the owner of the flute but is now trapped in it because of black magic.

Despite their skepticism, the protagonist cannot logically explain anything that’s going on but wants to help so they strike a deal with Saint-Just - he is going to help the protagonist win over their love interest in exchange for freedom.

As for how the spell is supposed to be broken, the protagonist is completely clueless but their mysterious neighbor with a knack for alchemy and the occult might be able to help…

50. Lyon, France.

The future Thermidorians mercilessly massacre innocent people and rule with an iron fist. Just today they massacred several prominent noble families of the city for defying them.

However, what the tyrants do not know is that they didn’t massacre everyone, for the daughters of the executed nobles are currently living at a convent to get education, as was common back then.

Upon receiving the tragic news and fearing that these young girls are going to end up on the death list, two nuns, the heroines of the story, come up with a plan to escort the girls out of the city and get them to a different location where they would be safe.

The plan is daring but the risk is too high to sit there and do nothing. Will the nuns be able to keep their students safe?

Let me know in the comments or DMs if any of my prompts interest you! I can help you with certain prompts if you want! 😊

#louis antoine de saint just #french revolution #writing #writing prompts #frev #paul barras #I still refuse to make a fouche tag #charlotte corday #jean paul marat #camille desmoulins #lucile desmoulins

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life-rewritten · 4 years

Text

Start up: Nam Dosan and his helping hands

I find it challenging to accept finding clues for 'the husband scavenger hunt' type kdramas because they always have this leftover annoyance and unfairness when the second lead gets duped and broken-hearted in the end. Shows like the Reply me series, Hospital playlist, Dreamhigh etc. always use this device, flesh out both men and their reasons and love for our main girl whilst making us hurt with the push and pull of how both men are perfect for her. If one loses her, we all lose. In Start-Up, Jipyeong joins that list of the second lead men who are known to play with our heartstrings and get us rooting for him. He's Cyrano; he's pitiful, the one who's been by the girl's side this whole time, the one who spoke to her and won her heart, the soul of the letters she clings to in her mind as her happiness and person that she wants. Her fantasy for a prince come true. He's exactly that. This is why he should end up with the girl except the main lead Dosan isn't someone to forget, he seems determined and driven to get the girl, he looks ready to give it all for her. Who should she choose? After watching episode 1 and 2, seeing the in-depth and sad yet profound background story of Jipyeong, our minds automatically leans towards him. It makes no sense why he is second lead; he has this incredible bond with her grandmother, he's precisely the guy on paper she's looking for, and he has this innate thing in him ready to protect and look out for her. In a way, fortune has brought them back together again so why is Dosan still the one she probably will end up with? I've written this analysis to stand behind Dosan despite the many people who have dropped him and gone aboard Jipyeong's ship. I want to say that as a writer the show has already given Dosan the girl 80% he's the endgame why you ask because of Fate (Luck)—warning a very long essay upcoming.

Nam Dosan and Dalmi are meant to be together

The first reason Nam Do san enters Dalmi's heart without knowing who he actually was (she held onto his picture, his name and also how smart he was (from seeing him win the awards) is because fate wanted them to interact and meet each other. Hear me out before you roll your eyes, it feels more like fate is pushing her and Jipyeong together since he's the one who wrote the letters that got her out of her depression and were her rock and anchor when she was broken and looking for something to hold on to. His words comforted her, but fate still made happen in Dosan's name. Fate has supported Dosan and Dalmi from the start. It's fate who pulled Jipyeong to notice Dosan on those tv screens winning his gold medal (a psychological trick to get him to pick the newspaper later on and be open to using him as a proxy for the letter). Likewise, him seeing Dosan winning a gold medal also hints to who's winning at the end of this. The medal has other meanings as we find out in episode 5 so I'll just move on from that for now and continue with this first. Here's how Fate/The universe is on Dosan's side instead of Jipyeong.

The universe is supportive of Dosan's journey. Most things that happen to Dosan and Dalmi seem convenient and just random luck because the universe supports them in the story. Dalmi mentions this in episode 5; it's the writers warning us already. First Dosan is good at manifesting what he wants at the right moment and time:

He needed to get support from Jipyeong (his role model who he adored and looked up to) to get into the Sandbox (something Dalmi's inspiration created/she's also the little girl on the swings). This is manifested to him by Dalmi showing up and him selling baseball being the reason she finds him (follow your dreams). Because of her, Jipyeong has to pay attention, mentor and push him into wanting to be better. It's all fate conspiring to get him what he wants; his dreams to succeed in his company despite everyone looking down on him because he's a loser.

The universe provides him with Dalmi's love and support. Dalmi is the companion he never knew he needed (he realized it so much in episode 5 as she was giving his speech; she was his missing piece to his company). She's his catalyst for inspiration and the spark that was missing from his company's startup. He's given a chance to get into Sandbox because of her, (first because of her, Jipyeong backs him in Sandbox hoping he fails, and then second she chooses him to join her team)

The universe has set someone else on his team; Alex, the other Korean American, is also another way Dosan manifests his dream into a reality. Despite everyone looking down on him, Alex is amazed at Dosan and has a past with him that he wants to repay (I'll talk more about how both Dosan and Dalmi's 'choices' is why fate is on their side in another post)

Fate is on Dosan's side, and it keeps on helping him to get there with the presence of Dalmi. Fate wants them to be together regardless if she doesn't know that he's not her first love, the universe already set him up like that by his name being the proxy for the letters, they were destined from the start.

Nam Dosan always chooses/gets the real Dalmi

The second reason why Dosan and Dalmi are meant to be together, for now, is because he loves and knows the real Dalmi. Jipyeong has been writing letters to Dalmi, listening to her express her self and he never paid attention or remembered who the real Dalmi is. That's already a sign that his slowness will cost him the win in this race. Dosan who the letter was intended for from the start (because it was to his name) reads her messages, and he's affected by who Dalmi is. He chooses to keep going to her side because of this. Her words inspire him, and her genuine self makes him want to push out of his comfort zone and want to win. Her presence in his life is so significant to him because she's meant to be there and it's vice versa for her. They both needed each other, both being pulled to each other without knowing why. Its destiny.

Let's focus a bit more on this fact about authenticity, both Dalmi and Dosan are on equal grounds (they may seem like they're just acting with each other but they're not they see through each other when it matters), they both think they're nobodies, they're not necessary, they lose on purpose for other people's happiness, and they react the same way to things. The first time we're given this idea of how similar they are is when she understands why he would lie about being wealthy and prosperous; she just did the same thing in episode 1, so it made her understanding and grateful instead of thinking about the fact she lied to him, Dalmi focused on how she found someone just like her, someone who understands what it's like to be her(it brought her comfort and confidence that he's the right partner for her)

Dosan is her father’s mirror image (the right choice)

The third, Dosan, is a mirror character for her dad. The show has had so many people come to her to mock her for choosing to stick with her dad. When in reality, as we know it was the right choice, that consequences for her choice are slowly unveiling. It's also the reason why fate is on her side She's the inspiration of Sandbox (she's always been destined to enter and become CEO, she became great at what she does because of how many times she spent helping her dad with his own startups, and she stayed untainted by greediness and wealth because she chose him she has heart and different perspectives to the others who just follow things by the books; this is important because that's what her most significant strength is).

The show is already showing you that Dalmi always choosing things that may not seem perfect for her in the long run rather than the ideal choice (Jipyeong), is already foreshadowing why she'll pick Dosan at the end (if he doesn't change). I noticed Dosan's connection to her dad when he mentioned that the food he wanted to eat in episode 3 was Fried chicken, and Jipyeong told him to erase it and criticized him for his lack of communication skills. Dosan is like that fried chicken (a weird symbol but hear me out this show has so many signs for these two), it's not very fancy, or romantic as a meal (both Injae and Jipyeong reject and look down on it because it holds the opposite connotations to wealth and success).

Still, it has a sense of comfort and authenticity for Dalmi. See again; authenticity makes its way back to Dalmi and Dosan. Fried chicken is what connected Dalmi to her father; it's also what he went to get for her before he died. It represents family, unity and just a time she was the most grateful for because it brought her to spend time with her father. It was all he could give her without it seeming like it was something, it's just like Dosan who she appreciates his hands, it may seem like nothing, but it means the world to her that he's just there by her side, together and close and real (chooses her authentic self). Just like her father needed Dalmi's steadfast support, Dosan also needs her by his side because of that; she's also his helping hand. Still, he also is that to her by choosing her to become a CEO of their sandbox company, thereby helping her achieve her father's dreams. This is again the universe supporting and bringing them together to make their dreams a reality.

Jipyeong; the fanstasy and ideal man/The mentor

First look at the ending of episode 5, the show already shows you through visual cues what Jipyeong represents; a mentor for both Dalmi and Dosan. And it breaks my heart. Life already assigned him to be behind the scenes a tool to bring them together. Let's pause and look at what Jipyeong represents. Jipyeong represents fantasy. As much as he was important to Dalmi when she was younger by being the reason she was happy all those times, he was like a fantasy to run to that wasn't real. He wasn't the real Nam Do San. As much as behind the scenes, he's the reason for why Dosan entered her life (both times), and he's falling for her slowly. Like I said the picture above is pretty telling what he is to her and Dosan, life has assigned him as a mentor. Apart from his wealth, knowledge and being her ideal guy on paper, he isn't doing much for Dalmi as of now. (Hear me out before you lose your minds) Yes, he helped her in episode 5 by teaching her how to speak and present and its all cute that he's there. He isn't Dosan who stayed up with her and stayed by her side through the whole making of the product. He is helpful as a mentor, able to offer his knowledge and wealth to help Dalmi become successful but as we've seen that's not what Dalmi needs, she just needs someone to hold her hand and be by her side and inspire her to be better. (Do san keeps on doing this for her). Jipyeong represents idealism of our first love, a fantasy, an ideal situation, but that isn't enough to make him the right person for her. Both her and Dosan actually catalyze and affect each other positively, they push each other and provide for each other things they didn't know they needed. Still, they also provide (through the lessons from each other) a healthy but dose of realism.

That's what love is meant to be about, both equally providing and aiding the other by each other's side, pushing each other to their calling.

I keep on saying it, but the Jipyeong/Fake Nam Do San she fell in love with is a fantasy, he's good with his words, but they don't hold as much authenticity as Nam Do san's actual words to her, she may fangirl over his texts and letters, but it doesn't mean anything. I fangirl over fantasies (celebrities speeches, love letters written by other people, movie characters) all the time, doesn't mean it's my true love or my soulmate you know? Unless Dosan's character switches, nothing has made me think Jipyeong is even close to being who Dalmi needs, I don't see him as her one despite him realizing how great she is and helping her from behind the scenes because he's been assigned by life to be her helper, not a soulmate. Sorry, not sorry.

Symbolism, Foreshadowing and Visual Devices pointing to Dosan

Lastly, the proof is with the writers: Symbolism, subtext and foreshadowing devices for Namdosan and Dalmi.

Let's mention a few:

1. The music box; she wrote about it in her letter. In episode 3, after spending time with him, she realized opening it was wonderful. Foreshadowing, knowing the real Do san, she finally opened the music box. This inspires him to go to her side and choose to stay there despite what's to come)

2. The baseball that brought them together despite Jipyeong and Grandma thinking there was no way it would happen. Fate had other plans. The ball received says what they are meant to be for each other, a way to follow your dreams. It's a representation of fate pulling them to each other to make their dreams a reality. Emphasis as if I haven't said it enough times already they are meant to be with each other, and they are destined to be together.

3. His hands; Her helping hand she needs, a hand pulling her up when she's down, lifting her when she's low, pulling her to her dreams, a companion by her side always, comfort, intelligence (as his friends explained in episode 5. This is also what he's looked down for when it comes to romance; his logical, robotic personality but its needed for her company, and to teach her.) Lastly, his hands represent his authenticity and potential. (like his friend said it's not about how it looks but what he does with it)

4. Her letters and his name; the messages affect him and make him choose her because of her real voice and her authentic self. His name is what makes them meet again, remember he's the actual recipient of her notes from the start.

5. Sandbox; both their dreams and reason for inspiration. They were always on their way to get there; to get her to make her dad's plans a reality, to make his company dreams a reality, a place for a push to become better, both are a team here, both are meant to work with each other on equal ground, and again both are inspiring each other and bringing their positives out.

6. And even fried chicken; her dad, authenticity vs fantasy, comfort, warmth, togetherness and looked down upon but what she wants in the end

From episode 5:

1. Tarzan and Jane; from the story, Tarzan is slow and can't provide accurately for Jane the romantic/ideal things she is meant to like and want (Flowers, bunnies etc.). Just like Jipyeong can provide for Dalmi all the things that are intended to be an ideal for Dalmi (his wealth, his status, making Dosan look rich, providing the texts for Dosan to send to her, the letters etc.). Still, it isn't what she wants in the end. Dalmi says out loud that she overlooks the pretty on the surface things, she wants the useful stuff, like Dosan's helping hands, Dosan's presence by her side, and his words of wisdom to help them create a product in episode 5. Tarzan may seem like he has nothing to offer but the rocks and the gifts he gave Jane is actually what was needed to survive and be happy. Dalmi recognized that. That's foreshadowing who she will choose.

2.The sweets: At first, I wondered why they kept using it as a recurring motif to show Dosan eager to choose what Dalmi chose for him. But no it's foreshadowing. Jipyeong tries to steal the sweets from Dosan unintentionally, and interferingly (just like he's been unintentionally falling for Dalmi and is slowly starting to want to reveal the truth). Still, Dosan chides him and takes back all the ones she chose for him. This foreshadows that he will lose her to Jipyeong, but because of his heart, and determination, he'll get her back. She's also like the sweets; people don't see the importance to her yet, but Dosan and his friends are excited and eager to have all the free food and sweets because they've struggled for a bit, they have this childlike fascination with it, and she joins them as well later. Dosan doesn't overlook Dalmi's importance, she means a lot to him, and he appreciates and is grateful for her just like the sweets.

3.Lastly, the handwriting test/ the ability to test forgery: Another symbol for both Dosan and Dalmi. It's telling that the test was able to see 99.8% of what was real and what was fake (idealism vs realism), but it failed to recognize the new handwriting created by Injae and the others. This is foreshadowing there will be a moment when Dalmi won't be able to acknowledge idealism vs realism when Jipyeong reveals who he is. However, it doesn't mean that the handwritings were authentic, they were still forged even though the machine picked them up as real. Dalmi will question things, but at the end of the day, she already said it with the Jane metaphor, she will choose what's accurate and useful to her. This also makes the metaphor she told her grandmother (Jipyeong overheard this I think) about the rain and the storms to create something sweet, instead of choosing again what is ideal (just sunshine), Dalmi chooses the other way all the time, and she appreciates the results of it. That's why I believe she will end up with Dosan/choose him if he doesn't change.

So yeh for now Dosan is endgame for Dalmi, Jipyeong has been shoved into the role to bring them together and fulfill their goals and destinies. This could change because there’s so much more stuff that can happen, Dosan maybe tempted by greed later on and change and that will pull Jipyeong ahead. But if Dosan doesn’t change, then there’s no doubt that Dalmi even after she knows he’s not her first love, will not choose him. Let’s see how it turns out.

#start up #tvn start up #start up kdrama #kdrama net #analysis #november #fcsed #cwg #nam do san #seo dalmi #han jipyeong #nam joo hyuk #bae suzy

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bloodredx · 3 years

Text

Day 4: Medicine

It had been centuries since she first took up the practice, and if anyone knew the truth, one might argue that Lady Serena had invented the concept of modern medicine in Glacidea. She of course, would deny that if pressed, but fortunately no one would know to bring up the claim in the first place. One would just need to take one look around her office’s “collection of antique medical equipment” to see how things have changed over the years. Of course, these were really just a collection of favorite tools she herself used, some more delicate than others. Still, even knowing the good memories of helping people, saving lives, and removing pain from those who so desperately needed the care, the lingering knowledge of death would forever chase her.

Perhaps when she was younger, and felt more guilt over her position in unlife, particularly over the damage she had past caused, that death’s hand being right next to her own would have made her quiver. No longer, for Serena was now quite confident with the fact that Adamsa Frisay often accompanied her on her lonely walks down the hospital’s hallways. The God of the End was the most mysterious of the pantheon, but that never changed the sad kinship she felt when reflecting upon that inevitability, even for herself. Though she’d been plenty successful in not meeting him just yet.

Still, she was no god. And no matter what, people died. Her eyes scanned the test results quickly, keeping pace with the strip of paper the blood chemistry machine was printing out. “Lymphocytes dangerously low…” The doctor pulled up her patient’s chart as she remained unsurprised. His blood smelled that way, even as she loaded it into the machine. “Ketone high as well. Just into the brink of acidosis.”

The Lady took a sip from a coffee mug, cheekily printed with a label to “Donate Blood!” Of course the substance within was the result of such generosity, but the taste of good blood still didn’t overpower the smell of her patient’s blood. “Creatinine is also sky rocketing.” She tutted her tongue as she made notes in her precise cursive.

Icarus, who never felt truly comfortable in the lab, seemed able to put aside his general discomfort for once to take interest in his mentor’s work for once. “Do you always talk to yourself this much while working?”

Serena shot him a look with targeted precision. “Does it bother you?”

Her ward nearly recoiled, lifting his hands in defense. “Not at all. I meant to ask, does it help you?”

“Organize my thoughts, yes. I suppose it’s more routine at this point.” She laid her pen down on the counter, and pulled the read out of results from the printer. Another sip of her mug as she crinkled her nose. “Does the smell not bother you?”

“Of that man’s blood?” Icarus raised his brow. “A little, now that you mention it. But it’s still so intoxicating in any other way.”

“Hmm.” Serena noted his response before turning to face him, a stern expression on her face.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s dying.” She took another measured sip of blood. “Critical failure of his kidneys and liver to an extent that he would not survive the wait list for a transplant. For either organ.”

Though it had been years that he’d known the Lady now, her bluntness never sat easy with him. Even more so at the weight for a potential death. “Anything you can do?”

“An ignorant question.” She concluded quickly. “There is much we can attempt, dialysis, intense regiments of drugs that would otherwise cause innumerable side effects to his overall quality of life. But the fact remains he was rolled into my ER unconscious and so affected by jaundice that even running these tests for a few minutes has cut off the effectiveness of any treatment by hours. Days even.”

“So you’ll let him die?” Icarus stood up, feeling heat coursing through his veins. Though he wasn’t sure what the cause was, certainly the Lady could be cruel, but she wasn’t heartless. At least not to that extent.

“Everyone dies, Icarus. Even us.” Her voice was icy, flat against the sterile lab environment. “But that being said, I have ideas of options for his family. Ultimately, that’s their choice, his fate. And you had best believe I’ll go through with any plan they approve to my best ability. I’ll move mountains, drain seas, and plug volcanos for them. But I am merely a medical tool, I can no better stop the inevitable than you can stop time eroding history.”

A silent standoff went off within Icarus’s mind. She was right on one level. But she did have other choices. One that most other doctors didn’t. “Have you ever thought about embracing someone?”

He regretted the question the second it left his lips, wincing reflexively to avoid the sour expression and lecture his mentor was sure about to bury him under. But after a few moments of extended quiet, he cracked an eyelid to see what stopped her from her relentless fury.

Instead of the traditional scowl, her face was heavy with an emotion he hadn’t seen on Serena. Was it sadness? Remorse? He couldn’t tell, but her lips frowned in a softer angle than he had seen before, and for once she had broken her near constant, near dominating eye contact. No, she was staring squarely at her own wrists, eyes following the too dark veins that crossed under her pale skin. She a drew a deep breath, one that both of them knew was unneeded, but still an element to any conversation, no matter the need of oxygen, before opening her mouth slowly to speak.

“I would love to lie to you and say no, it hasn’t.” A pause, unlike her. “But I am many things, a liar is not included amongst them.” A finger traced alongside the veins as she continued. “It would be very easy, the most perfect cure to illness, and a near perfect one to death entirely. And though I am quite content with my existence, I cannot find nor guarantee that anyone else would be. To be thrust upon bloodlust without even knowing it, to be so sick and nearly gone to meet the gods again, and then be thrown back to the world with such darkness taken within them. I cannot ordain such behavior.

“There was an opportunity long ago where I could have done so to save someone I loved above all else at the time, to change the entire history of my world. But I wouldn’t, no, couldn’t do it. And the world has never been the same for me since.” She stepped away from the counter, taking a few stride to where Icarus was sitting, all in order to place a calm hand on his shoulder. “I cannot ask someone to follow me to where I am, but I have thought of it. It’s almost a feature of the blood; that we make more of ourselves to survive. However, I only ask that if you come upon the chance to find yourself in my shoes, that you won’t fall back to the easy fix, the snake oil cure. Vampire blood does much, but it takes much more than it gives. Practice good medicine in all that you do. I would hope I’ve rubbed off enough on you to leave you with that guidance if nothing else.”

Icarus felt himself frown as he tracked the glow of light in her brown eyes. What could he say in response to that? Certainly nothing snippy as he normally would, no. Heaviness sat in the air a moment, lingering like cigar smoke before he broke her gaze. “Of course, Lady Serena. I won’t do anything to disappoint you.”

Her hand dropped down to his, lifting them to chest level as she squeezed them tightly. “I know you won’t.”

The tenderness struck him, but then again so did everything else about this exchange. And he knew a little bit better the exact person his mentor was. While he could do little in the nature of medicine that she could, he could at the very least go on with the same grip on existence. “You have a life to fight for.” He returned the squeeze to her hand before letting go with a little push.

Her normal features snapped back into place, resetting the scene as if it had never happened in the first place. “That I do. Please excuse me.”

(OC-tober challenge by @oc-growth-and-development can be found here)

#Lady Serena #Icarus #vampire #oc-tober #oc tober #blood #medicine #death #dying #writers on tumblr #bloodredx writes #embrace #hospital

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farplane · 3 years

Text

DAY 3: SCALE

The captain had agreed to meet him off the coast of the Jade Sea.

It might have been simpler to choose any old plain outside of Radz-at-Han, but he had long since understood his home was no longer a refuge and harboured no desire for his dealings to take place in its proximity. And besides—the one who had gone through the most trouble getting to the meet was him.

He didn’t have a bloody airship to fly him halfway across the Continents in a matter of hours. When he lamented such woes to Nairel, she snorted and said, in that delightfully flat tone she took to put him in his place: “You are the very spirit of penury.”

“I am horribly skint at present, I’ll remind you.”

“But skint isn’t poor, is it?” Nairel retorted effortlessly, as if it made much of a difference to a woman who lived in the bloody woods.

She had a way of easing his nerves.

Though he prided himself on his ability to be in command of most situations, there were two things wrong with that belief: the first being that it had only been hammered into his mind since tender youth by a man whose word he wished never again to live by; the second that, of late, his life had been a veritable unravelling of any control he might have ever had over himself and his own fate.

It was as though he’d constructed the very circumstances that were sure to make him nauseous with dread. This was not Radz-at-Han, but knowing his family’s reach, he may as well have been standing right at the heart of it. He could have picked any place—distant Kugane, some miserably dusty point in Thanalan, even drab freezing grey Coerthas—and instead he had wandered so close to home, like a lost little boy running to the last place he had seen his nursemaid.

He was halfway through regretting his choice of locale for, oh, the eighth time when the Merlose touched down at a careful distance. Nairel, bless her heart, caressed the hilts of her knives as the captain approached.

To her credit, the Merlose party only outnumbered his by one—and their third member didn’t seem a fighter at all. She was slender, slighter than the aging captain—still strong with corded muscle, and no doubt as deadly as her reputation made her out to be—and wore a complicated loupe on a threaded silver chain about her neck. Most likely the captain had preferred an appraiser to a killer for these particular dealings.

It was the long-limbed Elezen at the captain’s right hand who concerned him, but Nairel at his back lessened his fears. Even with a mess of Void churning inside him, he could still bash heads in without magic, and he had the most vicious five-fulm-and-then-some(-she-insists) forestborn in Eorzea at his side.

“Pavane Malichar,” said the captain, as though the name meant something to her.

“Captain. I trust your journey was—”

“You’ve brought the payment?” asked the Elezen, no-nonsense, eyeing the very conspicuous coin pouch at his belt. Then, evidently critical of its size: “All of it?”

Pavane untied the laces, but didn’t part with the purse just yet.

“I understand and empathize with your wariness—in fact, I very much share it. Mine is a difficult package to conceal without glamours, and I neither see it nor sense its aether.”

The aether part was a bluff, but normally, it wouldn’t have been. And that was the reason Pavane had been grinding his teeth enough to ensure they’d be worn down to nothing by the turning of the next era.

“I am not in the habit of robbing downtrodden nobles just standing on a beach,” the captain said with a dangerous smile, and paused long enough to give power to the sound of waves breaking onto shore. “Not much challenge in it.” She turned her head to the Elezen: “Bring it over, Madelaine.”

Madelaine cast him one last dark look—a pirate’s trade-tool, he supposed—then turned on her heel. Pavane tossed the captain his coin pouch, but she didn’t hand it to the appraiser until her right hand had returned with a long coffer under her arm.

Already Pavane could feel some whisper of power stir within him, stoked by a boyish excitement for the relic that was so close to becoming his.

“I understand my first mate’s apprehension, lord,” the captain said, keeping her eyes on him as she passed the pouch to the appraiser. “That purse seems quite light.”

“Yours was a steep price, Captain. I’d have broken my back carrying the full payment if it was only in coin.”

He was confident in what the appraiser would find when she opened the purse, nestled among the absurd amount of gil that was only a portion of the price. The medallion had been forged, it was said, in the stone-heart of Mhach in the last days before the Flood—the first of House Malichar had made herself, then, the inheritor of her city’s great legacy. And it had been passed down through the generations, from heir to deserving heir, to wear her two-headed serpent upon their chest and signify their birthright.

Never had it been lost. Pavane, as a student of history, knew that it had changed hands outside of his family a number of times—but any thieves that stole it had only ever met gruesome ends. That was House Malichar: his ancestors had set a horrifying precedent for the exercise of their own power, all to the singular end of its preservation.

And he was giving his birthright away for another piece of Mhachi power—to make, on his terms, his own legacy.

The appraiser fumbled her loupe twice in her haste to inspect the medallion. She took a moment, her expressive eyebrows shifting, then whispered something in the captain’s ear; and, finally, dropped Pavane’s whole life into her weathered palm.

“This is a precious thing you are treating as currency, lord,” said the captain of the Merlose, weighing the precious metal in her hand.

“It more than covers your price.”

“To be sure. Even melted down or hacked to pieces, which would be the safest way for me to dispose of it.” Her grave eyes met his. “Are you prepared for that?”

Pavane didn’t waver, though it seemed to him she spoke from some deep place of knowledge for precious, irreplaceable things. He put on his best, most charmingly twisted smile. “Not to worry. I’ve another,” he said, pulling back his sleeve.

The black scales of the snake wound in ink around his forearm shivered and writhed, a mirage of badly-rendered aether. Even when it was wrong, it was precious. It was his alone.

Nothing showed on the captain’s face; her dark brow furrowed no more than if she were merely trying to read something in a viciously small script. Surely a woman of her age—a pirate, a liberator of immeasurably rare weapons; an Ala Mhigan, by the newly-familiar shape of her words—had seen her share of strangeness. With a small gesture of her head, she ordered her first mate to lay the coffer at Pavane’s feet.

“A deal well-struck, then,” she concluded.

Pavane crouched down with wonder coursing up and down his hands, weighting them as he opened the coffer to reveal his prize: a long-bladed scythe, unadorned in the Mhachi style he had come to know from his family’s archives, brimming with power to harness the Void.

“Indeed,” Pavane said as he rose with the scythe in hand. In his breathless appreciation for the weapon, he felt a twist of envy for the captain and her crew—and the adventure they must have had finding it. He pictured ruins, ancient knowledge, a dark thrill of threat.

The captain nodded to him, satisfied with their business, and said little else before she turned back towards her ship with the appraiser in tow. But Madelaine, the first mate, lingered.

“Thinking of all the harvesting you’ll do, lord?” she asked with a smirk. “Grass? Wheat?”

Nairel, who until then had been so utterly quiet, said, “Or the one it will protect,” in a tone that gave nothing away. “Do Hearers’ daughters know much about harvesting, actually?”

A flash of irritation passed across her face, barely noticeable, before her expression settled into something else. Curiosity, perhaps.

“You’re Nairel?” she said, with an air like she was almost entirely sure of the answer.

“I am.”

A pause. Madelaine glanced over her shoulder at her retreating captain, then made half a step towards turning before stopping to look at Nairel again. “Is your brother well?”

“He’s alive. For now.”

“Aye,” said the first mate, nodding. She turned to walk away. “I knew he would be.”

Pavane blinked, trying to piece together the familiarity that had just passed between her and Nairel. Why had she asked about—

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Nairel stroked his arm. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you once we’re in the shade; my head’s bloody spinning in this heat.”

sigrid keane belongs to @onwesterlywinds; madelaine lachance belongs to @ink-long-dry

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #c:pavane #f:xiv

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waywardmartian · 3 years

Photo

Doing part of a prompt list to keep in practice. And because it is technically more a fic prompt, short fic

I like how this one turned out.

Cooking Together ( So I guess this is three days before the Hallowe'en prompt. )

Galatea had spent nearly a hundred and fifty years doing domestic tasks and general assistance for an evil wizard. A hundred and fifty years of practice had made gid a good cook despite not being able to eat or taste anything.

Soon after Awakening, ge had gids confidence in gids skills shattered, but over the years ge gained some of it back. The innkeeper at the tavern in the Iron Village - Bethel - was one of the few organics Galatea trusted enough to cook for. Ge and Bethel had bonded over cooking and recipe exchanges. When Bethel twisted her ankle three days before Moritalia's Night, she asked if Galatea could bake the sweets that she had intended to bake if she gave Galatea the ingredients that she had already procured. Galatea's desire to help this organic who had been kind to gid won out over gids fear of failure.

There was a kitchen in the tower - it had been built for an organic, after all. It had basic cookware in it but Galatea had to borrow a few other specialised tools from Bethel. The Iron King helped carry all the materials in and set the box on the counter.

"I can help. I'm a very good helper," said Akari, dangling down from the ceiling as a spider.

"Akari will try to eat all the ingredients," said Galatea, setting out the ingredients and tools to get an idea of what to do first. "Akari will stay out of the kitchen."

The small demon grumbled but couldn't go against a direct order and skulked away. However, she remained just outside the doorway, just in case.

"I can help," offered the Iron King.

Three days, start with the foods that will keep the longest. Cookies, perhaps, or confectioneries ... "The Iron King can cook?"

"I did for Moxon. Nothing this fancy."

Galatea nearly dropped the butter crock. "This unit is a fool. No, this unit will work alone, ge will not have the Iron King do what his master made him do."

The Iron King took the crock from gid and set it safely on the counter. "I don't want to spend my life needing to avoid everything that reminds me of Moxon - I killed him so he wouldn't have power over me. If I do this by choice, for someone I care about, I might make new memories to make the old ones hurt less."

"Does that work?"

He shrugged. "I don't feel bad when I'm cleaning the workshop because I do that for me. I still don't like laundry, though. What needs to be done so you can start putting things together?"

Galatea gave the Iron King a dubious look but he seemed set on doing this. "If the Iron King finds the memories are bad, he will stop?"

"I promise that I will stop if I feel bad."

Galatea nodded, satisfied. "Set a pot of water to boil, measure out half a kilogram of almonds, boil them for one minute, drain them, rinse them in cold water, drain them, then use a cheesecloth to rub the skins off."

The Iron King set about doing that. Galatea returned gids attention to other preparations. Divide up the butter to know how much is available for cookies, for pastries, for confections. Thirty-two villagers, three batches of cookies minimum, set out those ingredients to get an idea of what will require the most time and attention ... Galatea found gids focus pulled pleasantly to organisation and measuring.

Ge had started mixing the first batch when the Iron King tapped gid on the shoulder. "The almonds are done. Now what?"

Galatea looked over the Iron King's work, though ge didn't need to - he had performed the task correctly. "The oven is heated. Put the almonds on a tray in a single layer and put them in the oven until dry." The Iron King had fire spells but lacked the fine control over his magic needed to dry the almonds without burning them.

"Give the skins to Akari," suggested Akari.

Galatea gathered up the shed almond skins as ge talked: "Pay attention to the almonds - they need to be dry, not toasted. The scent will change when they start to toast." Utterly colourblind, unable to tell light from dark, the Iron King needed a non-visual cue. "When they are dry, slice them thinly lengthwise." A small plate with the cast-off skins was set outside the door and immediately set upon by gids familiar.

The Iron King set to work arranging the almonds. "Cutting them will take a long time, and I don't get tired and don't need to worry about slicing my fingers. How does Bethel do it all?"

Galatea paused. "Bethel does not. The sliced almonds are for something this unit used to make for gids Master."

"And there were several of you," said the Iron King, who never really understood the servitor gestalt but at least he made an effort. "That would have sped things up. How did you know which one of you should do which task?"

Galatea found another tray and set about dropping spoonfuls of cookie dough on it. "Whichever servitor-unit was most suited to the task would do it."

"And you just ... knew?"

"How do the Iron King's hands know that the right one is for holding the sword and the left one is for holding the shield?"

"I'm right-handed. Servitors weren't a hivemind." The Iron King hunkered down in front of the oven to more easily waft the scent towards himself. "Did you talk to each other to divide up the tasks or swap memories around before working together so you'd all have the same plan?"

"Neither. The servitor-units knew what we were for. As long as all knew the task, we would know which part was ours."

"Which was your task?"

"It depended on which other servitor-units were there. This unit was most suited for measuring and timing and any task that required small hands but did not require fast reflexes. But this unit could do most cooking tasks." As long as everything was low enough to be reached. The Galatea-shell had been a head shorter than the others.

The Iron King rescued the almonds from the oven, possibly a little earlier than Galatea would have, but dry enough to hold to slice and that was what mattered. Galatea put the tray of cookies in its place and set about mixing up the next batch.

It was so different with the Iron King, Galatea thought. It lacked the coordination of the servitor gestalt - ge would never need to give instructions or have to wait to use the oven with them, they all knew how long things would take, they knew where they had to be and when.

Ge missed the other servitors every day. One might grow used to missing an arm and even prefer a prosthetic, but the arm could never grow used to missing the rest of its body.

But, watching the Iron King hold an almond between heavy, deadly claws like the finest precision pliers and slice it with the concentration and delicacy of a watchmaker, this could be a new memory to make the old ones hurt less.

#fluffyfebruary #vaultofthechimera #waywardmartian #waywardmartiangraphics

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munku-collar · 3 years

Note

What is Munk's 'weapon of choice' on Demeter to really get her going? His mouth, fingers, or some dick?

Do either enjoy some form of foreplay?

Are they adventurous and wild or civilized?

Do they invite other cats along? Who?

ohohohho I knew a question like this was coming eventually lmao

this bout to be long af

Munkustrap, like every respectful craftsman, has several tools in his toolkit. He alternates his methods, absolutely showering her in attention and affection. He kisses her, touches her, knows every bit of her body as well as his own and knows exactly where to touch, how to touch to leave her dripping wet and ready for more. I’m not sure if it can even be called foreplay, because that would suggest that it stops once the real action starts, which is not the case at all.

He never loses motivation or the desire to explore her body, to leave her trembling and gasping in his arms. He’s entirely enamored by her, as she is with him. She’s never one to sit idle and let him do everything, though it gets a little hard to think when he’s between her thighs, licking her until she’s so wet it coats his face. Munkustrap won’t admit it, but he likes making her feel so good that she can’t think. He likes ‘winning,’ and getting the privilege of doing the work. Whenever she’s in charge, and he lies back, he’s putty in her paws in a matter of minutes, no matter what she does, and it’s a little overwhelming, so he prefers to focus on her.

On the whole they’re pretty civilized. It’s all saved for the den, or a private corner of the Junkyard, but that doesn’t mean it’s not passionate or exploratory. It’s so passionate and long-lasting and fucking amazing, frankly. Munkustrap always makes it last so long, takes his time making Demeter cum over and over again before he even properly fucks her. He’s desperate for it more than he’d like to admit, and she jokes that he’s sex crazed, but he won’t deny it. He’s always been a devoted partner both sexual and otherwise, but until her, he’s never thought about sex so much in his life. It’s exhilarating and freeing, really.

It’s the intimacy of it that really gets him going, knowing that she trusts him to do whatever she wants, to push her to her limits but never past them. And Demeter loses her mind every time. Her times with Macavity were really good too, but in an entirely different way. Being with Munkustrap is so much more impactful, more wonderful, and she can’t imagine going without it for more than two weeks. Just thinking about his touch drives her nuts sometimes. He has changed not only her perspective on life, but her perception of herself, and everything in between. He’s explored her body reverently, thoroughly like nobody ever has. Hell, he’s the only tom that has ever made her squirt. She didn’t think it was even possible until it happened, and boy was he smug about it.

As far as inviting other cats into their activities, it’s not something that happens often. Only two have ever been extended an invitation. Demeter and Mungojerrie have a very special friendship, and tons of history together. He’s the only tom she trusts as much as Munkustrap, and there isn’t exactly romance between them, but something deep and strong that ties them together. There’s hardly any boundaries between them, and that extends to the physical. Mungo’s pretty submissive sexually, and Demeter and Munkustrap have lots of fun giving him what he needs. It’s also pretty exciting for everyone involved when Munk fucks Mungo while he eats Demeter out.

The other cat invited was Alonzo. He and Munkustrap have always been close and have flirted around with each other when they were younger, but didn’t seem to work out on the long term, functioned better as friends and confidants. But he’s the perfect tom for the job when Munkustrap is so stressed that even Demeter can’t settle him down. Alonzo fucks Munkustrap long and hard while Demeter says sweet things to him, kisses his neck and praises him, and it never fails to make him shoot off so hard that he can’t think about leaving the den for a day.

On the whole though, they much prefer to keep things between just the two of them. It’s a quiet possessiveness. The need to be jealous rarely arises, because they know how much they mean to each other, but sometimes Demeter can’t help but curl her tail around him, brush a paw across his collar when they’re out and about, and it’s rare that they’re not touching somehow when standing next to each other. Their love is palpable, and a little awe-inspiring. But they’re two respectful adults with a reputation to uphold. Just looking at them, one would have no idea the stuff they get up to, and they prefer it that way. No one else needs to know that Munkustrap is basically a sex god, and Munk doesn’t want anyone to know that being touched by Demeter is better than getting a glimpse of the Heaviside Layer. Some pleasures are better left between them.

#asks #demestrap #JH #munkustrap #demeter #my shit #H

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bigbeautifulmothwoman · 3 years

Text

Family Values Ch. One

Martin Mathias x (S/I) Lena Wilusz

Braddock nightlife is almost non-existent, and that was how most of its residents liked it. A collection of old and new, families and singles. Braddock was religious, intended to be pristine under the light of the sun and quiet in the dark of night.

Braddock was not the best place for Martin to be. Martin Mathias, young and inquistive. Preferred his hair longer but dressed simply. He always felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb by his mere existence, and as such worked tirelessly to make himself as unassuming as possible. Dressed plain, acted plain; he kept to himself in town, never wanting to make a fuss…

...So he took the night train to the next town over. By train or bus, it was about thirty to fourty-five minutes to Pittsburgh, close enough to be back home in time but far enough that his name wouldn't reach back to his family's ears. The day was for showing Tata Cuda that he was in fact not a monster; the night was to be one.

Stepping off the train in the Pittsburgh station, he found his way into directions towards the bustling center of town. If Martin was any one thing, it was careful. He always got what he needed, safely and how he wanted it. His first nightly adventure in Pittsburgh, he had decided, would be reconnaissance. Just thinking the word made him feel like a man out of the movies- he was already armed with the tools of his trade, packed away neatly inside the small leather case he carried them in. Just in case, he thought.

Just in case.

This night he wandered around town looking aimless, taking note of what kinds of things the place offered. It was already more diverse than Braddock was: a few larger grocery stores, a candy store, a small theater, and a multitude of restaurants lined the streets along with a number of other things to enjoy. Unlike Braddock, there were still a number of people roaming around at this hour; couples and singles alike. Martin finds it strange to see so many people out on an average night, the clock just barely hitting nine p.m. But this was only natural, he was only used to small towns after all.

The man comes to a stop rounding out his investigation back onto the strip of restaurants he'd passed before; his stomach growled. Dinner at his home wasn't always substantial, especially when he had no say in the menu. It was another night with a half full plate of something he could barely stomach. A decent amount of cash tucked in his pocket leads him into the first establishment that catches his eye.

The place was called The King's Tavern. His first thought was that his feet were leading him to some kind of bar, but stepping inside gave him an entirely different sensation. He couldn't understand how a place could look so much like his black white thoughts and yet still make him feel so...safe and comfortable. The entire inside was lit by false lamplight, with wooden tables and chairs. Some corners had booth seating with velveteen lined seats. His first instinct was somewhat correct, there was a small bar space with a woman standing behind it mixing drinks and pouring ales into steins. In this place, everyone else was out of place. For him, it was like stepping back into his own eastern Europe.

Confidence beside him, Martin slides into one of the available booths, still not looking for extra attention. He sat, waited, observed, and he saw her. A woman approached another table just before his. Somewhat petite, a corset keeping her linen blouse tucked against her skin and resting just over the waist of her skirts. An apron was tied around her waist, adorned with colorful floral embroidery in contrast to much of the dimmer atmosphere. Her face is soft but her eyes exhausted, a notepad and pen readied in her hands.

"All I'm saying is, the point is moot if you aren't going to keep everything to fact. No one in the 15th century would be wearing sneakers or have synthetic fabrics."

"Sir please, this is just a restaurant-" The woman tries to keep her cheerful work façade up despite her frustrations.

"It's just a little bit of extra effort, for the true authentic experience." The customer insists. By the look on the woman's face, Martin can tell a nerve has been hit.

"Well sir, the cobblers been ill and price of linen is up. We can make you a meal, but you'll get no women here. Now, can I get you something?" A thick European accent coats over her words, sounding impeccably natural. Martin can see that finally the man in front of him is appeased enough to let her slip from his attention and finally move onto his table. She sighs one more time before him.

"Good evening sir and welcome. Have you been with us before?"

“Ah, no, this is my first time. A-and uh. I’m sorry about...that-“ He says.

"O-oh...Thank you. It's kind of stupid, people seem to get really...annoyed? Irritated? Something like that. They don't even know what it's like there...only ever seen it in books. I'm sorry, you came to eat not to listen to me talk, please, what can I do for you?"

"I only have so much cash...do you have something easy? As, as long as it isn't stuffed cabbage?" He must have said something funny, because the woman chuckles happily at his remark.

"I'll surprise you then. And no cabbage, I promise." She departs as quickly as she comes, leaving Martin to sit in his own quiet. Shifting his fingers, eyes darting between spaces of decoration. His hands itch to dig into his bag and reset the organization of his tools another time, just to ensure they're in their proper places.

He keeps his hands planted on the table. You don't know who's watching, Martin.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the woman returns with a plate of food in her hands and a glass of water.

"I hope water's fine, I forgot to ask what you wanted… I can get you something else too."

"This is fine, thank you."

"Swell! I uh. I hope this isn't too forward but...do you mind if I ate with you? My shift is ending soon and my boss is letting me grab some dinner because of the time...and really I just don't want to sit alone. I-if it's not okay that's fine! I just thought I'd...give it a shot." Martin bites his tongue. Instead of speaking, he gestures towards the seat opposite him in invitation.

"Oh thank you! Let me go get my plate!" She scurries off again.

This was a surprise. Never in all his years, or at least the recent ones, had a woman throw herself so willingly towards him. Perhaps there was something new to him? No, he was sure everything was quite the same when he got up that morning, and no sickness magically changed anything about him. Not that there was any magic at all. Once again, she's back in his sight, another plate and glass in hand.

"I just got us both the same thing. Leftovers of today's rouladen special, leniwe pierogi, and some vegetables. No cabbage, I made sure!" She laughs again.

"I hope you enjoy it." She says.

"Thank you." They both dig in, enjoying their meals in relative silence as life continues around them. Martin is reminded of a past time, sitting at a table in quiet comfort, candles burning and exchanging longing glances sat on either side of the wood between them…

"Uhm...may I ask your name?" Martin wakes from his daydream once again, eyes now fixated on her, blinking slowly.

"Ah. It's...Martin."

"Pleasure to meet you Martin. My name is Lena. Lena Williams."

"...Lena?"

"Yeah...it's Americanized. Magdalena Wilusz, my family is from Poland."

Something somewhere in him felt like a dream came true.

A stout older man approached their table, two glasses in hand. He assumed, and assumed correctly, that this man must of been her boss, and the owner.

"Mr. Kaufmann, what's this for?"

"On the house, dear. You've worked hard this week, just enjoy your weekend off."

"...Thank you sir."

"My boss," she says, "he's a good man, really looks after us. He really is too kind…" She takes hold of one drink, glass frosting with cool condensation from the liquid inside. She takes a drink with eyes closed, sighing.

"It's really good, sweet like apples. Try some!" Martin is unsure what’s been brought to the table, but he trusts her. And she’s right, the flavor is light, crisp, and refreshing. The thought crosses his mind that this is alcohol, and alcohol can make him clumsy and clumsy is not what he needs if he is intending to feed, which wasn’t his intention in the first place with this trip… But the bite of it is only as harsh as cold lemonade in

summer and encourages him to continue swallowing the drink down as he enjoys his meal. The two continue talking, drinking as the evening winds down in the dining room and their food dwindles.

“H-huh, oh dear, its getting late isn’t it...this is about the time the bars start letting out...s-shit- oh! Sorry, I usually d-don’t curse…” Lenas face is molded with concern as the minutes continue to tick down. He thinks she must be worried about the influx of men flooding into the streets…

“I...i could walk you home…?”

“Martin, I couldn’t burden you like that-“

“You’re worried, a-about the people? You drank some and just want to get home safe, right?”

“...Yes. Even when I eat I leave fast...you’re really a gentleman aren’t you, Martin? I’m sure...I can find something to repay you.”

“I-I’m sure you can, if that’s what you...need to do.”

Martin was ecstatic. It still raised a conflict in his somewhat addled mind, but the ease of solving his sickness for one night also held high. As minutes passed on, the facts and choices began to swirl into a haze. Dinner was finished and the plates left to the closing staff. Coats were donned, Martin's bag of tools secured, and on they went with Lena leading the way. She kept herself steady by clinging onto his jacket sleeve, pointing out vague instructions to her home. It wasn't very far at all, if not a roundabout from her place of work. Just under thirty minutes from the restaurant, only taking so long due to their somewhat inebriated states.

"S-see? Not too bad...thank you Martin. You're such a sweet guy…" Lena says, finally arriving at her front door. She's still unsteady on her feet, wobbling just a bit as she stares down at her hands and the concrete steps.

"S-so, Martin...do you… mind if I do something stupid?" The man in question remains silent, merely nodding a positive response. Sure of herself, she plants her lips to his, fisting her shaking hands into his coat.

"U-uh, if that was b-bad of me, I'm s-sorry, uhm...but. Y-you're welcome to come in, j-join me-"

“Join me, Martin."

Echoes of her flitting about dim halls in a white gown guided his hand over hers, turning the handle and letting them both inside. He was going to do this. He was going to do...something. Combined, they bypass the dark living room and go straight through to her own space. Her room is messy, as that of any busy employee's, and gently illuminated by the one wide window with the drapes drawn open. A socket mounted night light assisted the moon in keeping the floor lit. Returning from a quick trip to the bathroom, she stands anxiously by the bed.

"I-i uhm...i-i don't know what to do, I-ive never...brought someone b-back like this…"

"I-its okay. I know what I'm doing. I-i'm careful." He tells her. It's a truth and a lie mixed together, not fully aware of what outcome will occur. Both of them have toed off their shoes, and again Martin guides Lena to her back, on her bed. She's softly cradled by her sheets, and when he rests his forehead to hers, she kisses him.

In the time that Lena was gone, Martin was quick. In moments, he prepared an appropriate dose of his sleep agent, and carefully stowed the exposed syringe inside his jacket sleeve. Knelt over her, he runs his hands up and down her legs, both removing her skirt and seeking out the best spot for injection in her thighs. He finds his chosen location, squeezing gently as she sighs. Again, he kisses her as he maneuvers the needle carefully and pushes down on the plunger. Breathless, her eyelids already begin to flutter.

"W-wha...M-martin, what was that…?" She questions, her voice high and airy.

"Don't worry, i-it'll...it'll make you feel better." Lena, now on her path to sedation, he begins removing his own clothes. First shirking his coat, he gets back up to carefully place the now empty syringe on the beside table, and follows up by then ridding himself of his pants. Next he goes towards her top, fiddling with the ties to loosen and remove the corset over her linen shirt, her own fingers lacing into his to pull the strings apart. He continues to run his hands over her exposed skin as the sedative runs its course through her veins. She sighs softly, the gentle treatment combined with the power of the sedative and alcohol has her eyes barely fighting to keep open. She finally succumbs to sleep as Martin cradles her face and kisses her nose.

“It's all going to be okay…” He promises to her sleeping body. Finally, he’s safe enough to do away with both of their shirts and her bra.

Her skin was perfect, soft. It was of course marred by a cocktail of imperfections: stretch marks, discoloration, one generous scar on her belly. But it was warm and comforting to the touch. He no longer needs to kneel over her, the next step…Without gathering his materials, he lays beside her, pulling her close in imitation of a loving couple.

He is so tired… He keeps admiring her skin. The minutes pass as he tucks her limbs into his own body. In her sleep she takes advantage, wrapping herself tighter around him, fingers coming to rest delicately on his cheek.

Martin was there to be a monster. He was supposed to take and leave as easily as he came, then to never see her again.

Instead, Martin falls asleep.

#martin 1977 #martin mathias #fanfic #Lola writes things

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twilights-800-cats · 3 years

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<< Allegiances || Chapter 21 || Chapter 22 || Chapter 23 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 22

The rain continued on into the day, the slow, lazy sprinkle reflecting Mothwing’s mood as she returned to camp. Her entire body and spirit felt drained, and she curled up into her nest in the medicine cat’s den, somehow feeling too tired to sleep. Instead, she rested her head on her paws, hoping that would stop her head from spinning.

No cat had greeted her when she came into camp, hostile or otherwise, which meant Falcontail hadn’t revealed his “truth” yet. But he was somewhere in camp – Mothwing knew that it was only a matter of time before something happened.

What will I do? Mothwing wondered. Being a medicine cat was all she wanted, so why hadn’t StarClan been the ones to send Mudfur the sign? Didn’t they know just how much she loved tending her Clanmates hurts, learning all the ways to cure a cough or stop an infection? Couldn’t they see that? Why did it matter if she had been chosen or not, if even Mudfur said she was so good in her role?

Her stomach felt tied up in knots. Beyond all of this, Falcontail was her littermate – how could he justify doing something like this to her? Where had their kithood closeness gone? What had changed him? He was almost an entirely different cat now, and if he were so willing to ruin his own sister’s life… Perhaps he’s not a brother worth having.

The plainness of the thought shocked her. Mothwing realized that the only reason she had a hard time even considering losing Falcontail as her brother was because, well, he was her brother – but she knew deep down that his horrible attitude, his ambition creeping up like a shadow… those were things she didn’t want in her life anymore.

He clearly doesn’t think of me as his sister any longer, Mothwing reflected. No littermates should ever behave that way to one another. Something about that thought made the knot in her stomach unclench, just a little. So, if he thinks of me as nothing but a tool for his ambitions… then so be it – he is no longer my brother.

“What’s on your mind, now?” Mudfur’s thin voice brought Mothwing out of her thoughts. The old medicine cat was padding into the den, pausing to shake raindrops from his fur.

“Nothing,” Mothwing managed. There was no way she could tell Mudfur about Falcontail’s threat – as she looked at her mentor, she knew he believed so strongly in StarClan’s message that he might just denounce her on the spot. “I just wanted to get out of the rain. Do you need anything?”

Mudfur shook his head. “Leopardstar had to speak with me – she’s calling a meeting,” he reported.

Already? Mothwing got to her paws, hoping that her mounting anxiety was hidden beneath her fur. Outside, in the rain-wet clearing, she could see Leopardstar making her way to the Clan Root. The surface was slick but she hadn’t a problem climbing it. Her summons rang out, even in the medicine cat’s den:

“Let all cats old enough to swim gather here, beneath the Clan Root, for a Clan meeting!”

Mothwing swallowed. Mudfur didn’t seem aware of his apprentice’s worries, only groaning about having to go back out into the rain. Mothwing followed him, her pawsteps slow. Every warrior and apprentice not assigned to a patrol was emerging from their dens, tails low and ears damp. Even RiverClan cats disliked being wetter than they intended to be.

Mothwing spotted Falcontail amidst the crowd of warriors, and she averted her eyes from him. She didn’t want to see the smugness in his gaze, or the way he lifted his chin like he’d won a great victory. Instead, she focused on placing her paws just so, and sitting beneath the Clan Root beside Mudfur as the last of RiverClan reluctantly trickled out into the clearing, their eyes flashing with curiosity.

Leopardstar’s gaze was sharp as she surveyed her Clan. Finally, her voice rang out through the sprinkle of raindrops: “There has been a sign from StarClan.”

Mothwing’s heart tightened and she refused her instinct to look at Falcontail. He wasted no time delivering his ‘sign’… But was she to be banished?

The rest of the Clan seemed eager to hear, eyes glistening with hope. “Is it about Tawnypelt?” Goldenpaw asked, leaning forward. He and his littermates, Rosepaw and Reedpaw, were clustered together in a huddle of grief over their mother’s disappearance.

Leopardstar’s eyes shone with sympathy. “Not quite,” she answered. Lifting her chin higher, she went on, “Tawnypelt’s disappearance is a blow to our Clan, that I will not deny – nor will I believe that she is truly lost to us; but StarClan have given us hope in the meantime.”

She bent down, and from beneath the shelter of her belly she produced a falcon’s feather. Mothwing blinked up at her mother and, while the rest of the Clan whispered and murmured in shock and awe, she felt bile roiling in her belly.

“A feather!” gawped Blackclaw. “What does it mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what does it mean?’” chided Leafwhisker. The tabby warrior nudged Falcontail, who sat beside them. “It must mean you!”

Falcontail tipped his head, feigning humility. “We don’t know that…”

Mothwing knew she should be angry, but she just felt tired, like every drop of rain that landed on her pelt was sapping her strength.

Leopardstar pinned the feather to the Clan Root with her paw. “StarClan left this by my nest as I slept,” she announced. “And when I woke, I summoned Mudfur to me. We had a long discussion about what it might mean…”

Just get on with it, Mothwing found herself thinking. Just name him deputy.

“Tawnypelt is gone, for now. I will hold on to hope that she might return,” Leopardstar meowed on. “But in the meantime, RiverClan cannot go without a deputy – especially not in such strange times as these. StarClan showed me who that cat must be.”

Every cat held their breath. Mothwing swallowed around a lump in her throat.

“Falcontail is to be deputy of RiverClan,” Leoaprdstar announced, “until Tawnypelt is returned to us, or confirmed dead.”

“Falcontail! Falcontail!” Mothwing was surprised at how few cats cheered – Blackclaw and Leafwhisker were the loudest voices, but most cats looked uncertain, and Tawnypelt’s kits hung their heads in silence altogether. Some tiny spark of hope burned in her – maybe Falcontail wouldn’t come by the position as easily as he hoped.

Falcontail stepped forward, his head lowered humbly. “I will do my best,” he promised, “to fill her pawsteps, and keep RiverClan safe. No matter what.”

Mothwing felt sick. He clearly didn’t think Tawnypelt would come back, and he certainly didn’t think much of her as deputy. What would he do when Tawnypelt returned? Fake another sign so that he could stay deputy? And what will he do when deputy isn’t enough for him?

The thought chilled her, and she looked up to her mother. Being deputy only granted so much power – if Falcontail had his sights aimed higher, Leopardstar was all that remained in his way. The lump in Mothwing’s throat seemed to turn into a prickly burr. Would he… she looked over at Falcontail, whose head was raised proudly. Would he kill Mother?

As Mothwing grappled with the thought, she was dimly aware of the meeting breaking up. Cats were rushing back to their dens to get out of the rain, and Falcontail was following Leopardstar back to her den, probably to talk about Clan procedures. Mothwing gathered herself, getting to her paws and following Mudfur across the clearing and into the medicine cat’s den.

Mudfur immediately busied himself with checking the willow log for any leaks, and Mothwing shook herself dry, her paws tingling with uncertainty. Falcontail had gotten what he wanted without revealing that Mothwing wasn’t a legitimate medicine cat – so when would he tell the Clan?

He means to hold it over my head, Mothwing thought grimly. She looked over at Mudfur. When he’s gone, I’ll be the voice of StarClan in RiverClan. And if Tawnypelt doesn’t come back, and something happens to Leopardstar…

She could see very clearly the vision Falcontail had for RiverClan – him at the head, using Mothwing under threat of banishment or death to parrot all his ‘signs’ to get what he wanted, and RiverClan, believing wholly in StarClan, would be none the wiser. Mothwing’s claws dug into the soft earth of the den. I have to stop him, somehow!

Her stomach churned. If only Feathertail and Stormfur were here… Stormfur would have been the obvious choice for deputy right now, not Falcontail. Leopardstar wouldn’t have hesitated to appoint him. StarClan would definitely have given her a sign about him… and Feathertail…

Feathertail would have just been nice to have around right now. Mothwing’s heart ached as she realized that she couldn’t even confide in Mudfur about her problems; but Feathertail would have understood, and Feathertail would have fought for her. Feathertail would have known just what to say to keep her spirits up – she always did.

It took Mothwing too long to realize that Mudfur was staring at her. She snapped to attention, trying to shake away her niggling thoughts.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” the old medicine cat asked, tilting his head.

“I’m fine,” Mothwing insisted.

Mudfur gave her a skeptical look, but began pawing out some herbs from the store. Traveling herbs, Mothwing realized. She had all but forgotten that tonight was the half-moon meeting, and Mudfur was too weak to make the journey without aid.

Still, it gave her some hope – she would be meeting with StarClan tonight! She might not have received any signs, but StarClan wouldn’t be able to ignore Mothwing at the Moonstone. She could ask them what to do about Falcontail and her situation, and they would know the answer… they had to!

Mudfur coughed, and Mothwing frowned. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” she wondered. “I can go alone…”

“No, no,” Mudfur rasped. “I’ll be fine. With what’s going on right now, all medicine cats need to be able to hear StarClan’s words.”

Mothwing nodded in agreement. StarClan had to have something to say, with WindClan in such turmoil and ThunderClan driven from their camp. As Mudfur lapped up his herbs, another question pressed her mind, and she asked, “Is it common for StarClan to send signs to Clan leaders and not us?”

Mudfur looked up, licking his jaws of the bitter juices. Even he, in all his experience as a medicine cat, winced at the bitter flavors. “We medicine cats might have the strongest connection to them, but it’s not up to us to determine who StarClan speaks to,” he answered simply. “They do as they will.”

Mothwing frowned. She didn’t like that answer; something about it burned deep down. But for Mudfur, she nodded in acceptance.

“Let’s go,” Mudfur decided, “before this rain locks my joints for good.”

———————————————————-

The journey to the Moonstone seemed to take forever – Mothwing and Mudfur had to circumnavigate almost all of WindClan’s territory to avoid the monsters and Twolegs. To Mothwing, the extra time had been worth it - the dirt churned up by the monster’s giant paws had turned to sucking muck, and Mothwing knew that Mudfur would never have made it out if he’d gotten stuck.

The rain, at least, had stopped as they climbed their way slowly up Highstones to Mothermouth, where the other medicine cats were waiting. All of them looked worn and thinner than before, with Barkface and Ryewhisper being nothing but pelts on branches to Mothwing’s eyes – they looked even worse since she’d seen them last. Her heart ached with sorrow for them all.

“I’m sorry for our lateness,” Mudfur breathed, flopping down on his haunches to rest.

Brackenfur, ThunderClan’s medicine cat, shook his head. “Don’t fret,” he sighed, his amber eyes sympathetic. “We’re all late.”

Littlecloud shifted, and Mothwing noted just how muddy the small tabby’s paws were. “The Twolegs have torn up most of our usual paths,” he remarked. “I had to find a new way to make it here tonight.”

“Our only saving grace is that the Thunderpath isn’t so busy right now,” Brackenfur agreed. His injured leg twitched oddly. “Otherwise, I might not have been able to make it here from Sunningrocks.”

So, we’re the only Clan that hasn’t seen a Twoleg yet, Mothwing thought, distressed. She glanced back down Highstones, over to the moorland. With how quickly the Twolegs were tearing apart the forest and highlands… it wouldn’t be long.

“You’ve moved?” Ryewhisper’s eyes went wide.

Brackenfur nodded. “We had to,” he breathed. “The Twolegs have taken over all of Tallpines and Snakerocks, and were advancing on our camp.”

Littlecloud frowned. “They’re getting closer to us, too,” he admitted. “The Black Fens are all but consumed, and we’ve even seen them coming in from near the Carrionplace. I don’t know where we’ll move to…”

Mothwing glanced at Mudfur, whose eyes were burning with concern. Her own heart felt heavier than ever – these cats were her friends, and they were suffering so much…

“Did Bristlepaw make it?” Mothwing asked, looking to Barkface and hoping for some good news.

Unfortunately, Barkface shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “He walks with StarClan now – but we were grateful for your aid, Mothwing.”

Brackenfur turned to her and nodded. “Without your help, more cats might have died from eating rabbits – we were too late for Dappletail, but no one else is ill, and Tinystar has ordered no more rabbits on the fresh-kill pile.”

“Oh no, not Dappletail!” moaned Littlecloud. “She was always so sweet…”

Mothwing barely felt the praise. Every Clan must have lost cats to the rabbits, long before she’d helped Barkface figure it out. Hopefully no one else will die…

“We’re wasting moonlight,” Mudfur interjected. Mothwing looked up and saw that the half-moon was flitting between wisps of clouds. “StarClan must tell us what to do.”

The other medicine cats nodded in agreement, and Littlecloud led the way down into Mothermouth. Mothwing followed, her paws feeling so heavy, and her heart so full of sorrow. The twisting, winding path down to the Moonstone was cold and quiet, with only the sound of the other cats’ paws and breathing to be heard, and soon enough Littlecloud’s shape was lit with moonlight, and they were before the Moonstone.

Mothwing’s heart pounded now, just like it did every other time. The Moonstone was already glowing with light, a glittering crystal that refracted dancing stars all over the cave. Mothwing looked up into the hole in the ceiling above and saw Silverpelt there, and she hoped in her heart that her ancestors would give her the answers she and the others sought.

There was no time for formality – each medicine cat spread out around the Moonstone and lay down. Mothwing settled herself between Ryewhisper and Mudfur. She hesitated, waiting for all the other medicine cats to touch their noses to the stone before she did so herself.

Please… help us, she begged, closing her eyes. Please help me.

There was nothing but darkness for a while – Mothwing worried that she hadn’t dreamed herself into StarClan at all. Had they rejected her? With how evasive they’d been to her, she almost wouldn’t be surprised. Eventually she dared to open her eyes, and with relief she found herself not in the Moonstone cavern, but beside the river, on a warm, clear day. No loud Twoleg monsters, either nothing but the gentle rattle of the reeds and the sound of cicadas in her ears.

She breathed a sigh of relief – so StarClan would still see her, even if she had been appointed falsely. Mothwing craned her neck over the reeds. Who would she see, though?

It wasn’t long until she found her answer. The reeds twitched and trembled, and out stepped a white she-cat, her pelt splotched irregularly with black. Mothwing’s whiskers twitched at her familiar, fishy smell – this was Brambleberry, Mudfur’s old mentor. They had met before, only on Mothwing’s previous trips to the Moonstone.

Brambleberry delicately padded up to Mothwing, dipping her head. “Welcome, Mothwing,” she meowed. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Mothwing breathed. “With all that’s happening, we all feared we might not reach you…”

Brambleberry’s eyes darkened. “We know… and I am so sorry, Mothwing. For all that has befallen you.”

Mothwing stiffened. She hadn’t expected Brambleberry to cut to the heart of the matter so quickly. “Is it true?”

Brambleberry nodded.

Mothwing trembled. “Then why…” she paused, trying to collect her words. “Why did you say nothing?”

“You were so happy to be a medicine cat.” Brambleberry’s eyes shone with warmth and affection. “There was no reason you needed to know, not when you were serving RiverClan so well.”

Mothwing bristled, and unbidden she screeched, “I lost Feathertail because of that sign, and now Falcontail has gone and faked another! He’s deputy now! Aren’t you at all concerned? Can’t you stop him?”

“StarClan cannot control the actions of those we watch over,” Brambleberry soothed, her tone patient.

That didn’t help. “Then what’s the point of all your power, then?” Mothwing demanded, claws sheathing and unsheathing. “If you can’t stop cats like Falcontail, or the Twolegs, then why have all this power at all?”

Brambleberry looked hurt. Mothwing would’ve felt bad, if she weren’t so hurt herself. “We cannot change hearts that are determined to make evil choices,” Brambleberry reasoned. “We do not have all the power you think we do! Why would we seek to change the wills of our descendants to suit our own needs?”

“That’s an excuse,” Mothwing growled. It was all welling up now, bursting forth like water through rocks. “You might not be able to stop the Twolegs, but Falcontail? We spend all our lives following your signs, treating your words as if they are our salvation, and you cannot say nor do anything to warn us about cats like him? I don’t understand! Don’t you owe us that aid in situations like this?”

“We cannot control you,” Brambleberry repeated patiently. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

“So, it’s fair to let those cats run free?” Mothwing snapped. “Free to fake signs, free to manipulate others’ faith in StarClan to their own ends?”

“Mothwing…” Brambleberry’s eyes were alight with worry. She reached out a paw, as if to soothe Mothwing. “Please, listen-”

Mothwing’s limbs were shaking as she pulled away from Brambleberry. “You… you’re no better or worse than us,” she meowed, the realization dawning on her. “You’re just cats… cats that are just as powerless as we are.”

Her heart was beating in her ears, but she felt so calm. “… And just because you can see the future sometimes doesn’t mean you always know the best way to deal with it.”

Brambleberry was beginning to fade – it all was. The land around Mothwing was melting away into white, and Mothwing didn’t care.

“I don’t need you to be a medicine cat,” she meowed, staring right into Brambleberry’s eyes. “I don’t think I ever will, or that I ever did.”

Brambleberry’s voice was barely audible as the dream faded into whiteness: “I’m so sorry, Mothwing…”

Mothwing woke up.

She didn’t feel angry, strangely enough. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, as the other medicine cats woke around her, Mothwing felt… fine.

I don’t need StarClan, she thought, resolute, not if they’re no more powerful than I am. Anyone can place a feather or a leaf a certain way and see what they want in it. You don’t have to be dead to do that… And Mudfur didn’t need StarClan to tell him that Mothwing’s instincts as a medicine cat were good enough – they had to be, and they would be.

“… I’m not sure,” Ryewhisper was murmuring. “What I saw… did you all see it too?”

Brackenfur’s eyes flashed in the darkness. “I saw lands unfamiliar to me… but that was it.”

“I saw walls of stone, taller than anything I’ve ever seen,” Barkface admitted. “But I don’t understand…”

Mothwing shifted uncomfortably. Despite her dream, she hadn’t seen anything like that… and she supposed she never would again.

“StarClan did not speak to any of us, then?” Mudfur surmised.

“Not me,” Littlecloud meowed – others agreed. Mothwing nodded, too.

“Then they must think this is something we can understand on our own,” Brackenfur decided. Mothwing heard him shuffle to his paws, his weight mismatched on the cool stone floor. “We must reflect, and hope the answer comes to us soon.”

The others agreed. Mothwing frowned. Were they really so willing to wait for others to find the answers for them? These cats were the best and brightest of their Clans, surely they had to be able to think for themselves!

“Come,” Mudfur meowed. His voice was nearer to the entrance. “StarClan will guide us, but there is nothing more to see here.”

Mothwing got to her paws, and glanced back at the Moonstone. Without its glow, it was just a rock. There was nothing dazzling or mystifying about it at all and there was something comforting about that, about knowing what was really behind the mystery.

There is nothing more to see here.

#tb au #tb moonrise #mothwing mothwing mothwing

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thelastofgala · 4 years

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I started The Last of Us, Pt. 2 last night, and here are my first impressions, musings on parallelism, Naturalism, Ellie’s characterization, Joel’s characterization, the “presence” of Riley, gameplay, story development, and more:

***SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT***

Starting with Joel. I always imagined The Last of Us 2 would begin at the end of Joel’s journey, though I will say that I did not expect to pick up so close to the end of the first game. I thought they would start us somewhere COMPLETELY out of context. Like I was prepared for much deeper flashback. In this way, I really felt like I was playing a sequel, which is not a bad thing. I just had no idea how they were going to frame this. The compelling thing about starting with Joel is that it immediately sets up parallels between Joel and Sarah, the character we start with in The Last of Us. There’s no way this was not a pointed decision. Just like it was with Sarah, Joel is our point of reference in a new, strange world. His point of view in this new world is all that we know. We don’t know what the new special world contains, and we don’t know grown-up Ellie at all. Plus, old fans will have missed him. It is a comfort to be Joel, and like a daughter protected by her father, a false and short-lived comfort. We are also now thinking of Joel as, like Sarah, someone who is in danger, whose agency is compromised, who, for whatever reason, is weakened this time around, and who may not survive the story.

I will say, too, that I really loved that after the 4-years-later cut, Joel is held off-screen. He and Tommy are out on a patrol. They are out there, in danger, and that sort of restraint is really effective. We are ALWAYS looking for Joel, just like we were in the run-up to the release, because he is the only person we truly know in this strange, new world. ND knows and takes advantage of this.

There are many parallels between Joel and Riley. Both Joel and Riley sneak up on Ellie during their first interaction. They’re even wearing similar colors. Both Joel and Riley lied to Ellie in the previous story, and both betrayed her as an act of self-preservation. In Left Behind, Ellie is somewhat chilly toward Riley in the beginning, even as her younger, more optimistic self, just as Ellie is chilly toward Joel in the beginning of The Last of Us 2. Still, you can tell through Ellie’s dialogue with Dina that she and Joel are knitted together—he defended her against the bigoted bartender, and she appreciates this even if she doesn’t outright say it. They share taste in movies and have plans to watch a movie together soon. I haven’t interacted with Joel in the current timeline, but I do know that in Left Behind, Riley has to earn back Ellie’s trust and take measures to reenter her good graces, and that this is a large part of their relationship arc. I also know that, by the time they reconcile, it proves to be too late. The world will not let them have what they want, and nothing is simple. All of these parallels worry me a lot, as Left Behind, while still driven by a strong undercurrent of love (it is a love story, interwoven with Ellie’s desperate search for medical supplies in a bid to save Joel’s life), is a much bleaker, sadder story than The Last of Us, and it has a tragic ending.

Joel's conversation with Tommy feels important. I was very glad to hear Tommy say that he would have made the same choice, in terms of saving Ellie or letting her die for the possibility of a cure. It shows that Tommy is more like Joel than perhaps we knew. Plus, Maria will have taught him something about love and commitment, as the notion of saving the one you love above all else should make more sense to him now that he has foregone the youthful idealism of the Fireflies in order to focus on the practical wisdom of family. As a parent, I understand Joel’s decision to save Ellie at the end of The Last of Us and know I would have done the same. I also understand why Joel lied, even though I think it was the wrong choice. Hearing him confide all of this in Tommy was cathartic. It was also very characteristic of Joel to respond that Ellie “didn’t say nothing otherwise” when Tommy asks if she believed him. In all of his denial, Joel chooses to believe what is conveniently in front of him, even if he knows it’s untrue. Also, I couldn’t tell, but was that a Firefly logo on that guitar he’s shining up? Maybe I hallucinated that. But if it is, I do wonder where he got it.

Ellie’s character is much more deadpan and ruminative in young adulthood. She seems tired, and a little lacking in self-esteem and sort of immediately defeated by what happened during the experience with Joel. When Joel sang, we could see her return to that place, just a glimmer, and her response—that it “didn’t suck”—shows how she still shields her heart with sarcasm, something Dina points out to her later on (“Did I ruin your punchline?”). Joel has been broken down by the events of The Last of Us and now bears his soul to her with his music, unabashed and dedicated to her, and Ellie is now the stoic one, unshakable, sealed inside a heavy, protective armor that seems impossible to pierce. I look forward to getting to know Ellie as a young adult and, ultimately, crying a lot. She is artistic and honest and still a little soft underneath. You can tell by her early interactions with Dina especially that she can still blush, and she can still come undone.

I love the snowball fight lol. I am always so frustrated when these big environment games, like Red Dead 2, Dragon Age, etc., don’t have any kids running around. Why don’t these stories pay attention to kids? Kids exist. They are an important part of almost any open world or quasi open world environment. I love the presence of kids in The Last of Us 2, because the loss of childhood innocence is an important theme for Ellie as a character. It’s also clear we’re trying to set up the edenic innocence of Jackson. It is childhood, in a way, and just like childhood, it will come to inevitable corruption. The scene, too, reminded me of Ellie and Riley on their teen dream adventure, romping through the Halloween store at the mall, trying on masks and talking to the magic eight ball.

I’m really pleased by all the parallels with Left Behind and Ellie’s portion of the journey in The Last of Us. Winter was her season, and that’s where we’re starting now. The horseback riding, the blizzard, and all the blood in the snow bring flashbacks of Ellie hunting on the woods, Ellie alone in the frozen mall, David, and the Lakeside Resort, all of which layer the current moment with a lot of emotional tension for the player.

The opening is, I think, sprawling. I’m having fun but there’s this sense that I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of the story. Like Joel in the first game, Ellie is also big-timing me a little and I feel far away from her. I know this will change soon, and I’ll warm up to her, but for now, like Joel, we’re all being held at arm’s length. I actually like the POV shifts we’ve gotten so far and the multiple POVs is something I predicted a while ago, based on ND’s tendencies in the first game. Ppl are going to give The Last of Us 2 shit for being too cinematic but tbh it sometimes feels more like a playable novel than a traditional video game. We’re on a cable car headed straight into disaster and there’s nothing we can do. In this way the game is using the medium itself to perpetuate its Naturalistic themes. We play and we play, and we fight and we fight, but the environment entertains no interest in our struggle and the outcome will always be the same. There is no free will in The Last of Us.

On that note, the gameplay so far is, I think, pretty fun. I have played a lot of stealth games and am always looking for ways the genre is reinventing itself. Like Sekiro and Tomb Raider, The Last of Us 2 is increasing the verticality of the map with rope climbing and scaling up obstacles (though I do miss using Joel’s immense upper body strength to move those dumpsters around lol). In a stealth game I want creativity and problem solving to be central to the gameplay. I don’t want to be magically handed tools and weapons on a constant basis, to meet every individual need. I want to be forced into resourcefulness, and I don’t want to enter a shoot-out unless I absolutely have to. That said, I’m nearly to the tower checkpoint with Dina, and I’ve only fired my gun twice. The dodge/melee mechanic is neat, but more than anything, having real, actionable help from an AI enables stealth kills even in zones crawling with enemies. On that note, I am playing with a headset, and I’m glad I am, because I find the sounds of the goddam clickers to be all-encompassing this time around and a LOT bigger and scarier than they were in The Last of Us. Holy shit. They’re absolutely terrifying. I can only imagine the horror to come lol.

Now, finally, Abby: I don’t have much to offer on this yet. Abby is not who I thought she’d be. I’ll just say it. Still, the melee battle with her and the runners in the woods was AWESOME. For me, the most fun I’ve had yet, because it was completely different than anything from The Last of Us. Playing her, however, I will say, filled me with foreboding. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to help her. She seems beyond desperate and while deeply sympathetic, she is a new character and her loyalties are not mine...so far. I could be very wrong, and please don’t correct me if I am, but I get the sense she might be a Firefly, or somehow associated with Marlene, and she is looking for Joel, in vengeance. Her group was small and rogue, and they seemed new to the area. All I know is that ND is creating a moral dilemma here, and as to what will become of this, the jury is still out completely.

One small personal criticism, take it or leave it: I don’t personally love that the kiss with Dina and scene with Joel defending Ellie was kept off-stage in the game and left to the trailer. We could have started at the dance. That would have taught us everything we need to know about Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and Joel and Ellie’s relationship state. This is my only criticism of the story so far. From a writer’s perspective, it’s just inefficient and clumsy to try and cover all that in expositional dialogue, taking into consideration that many casual players will not have seen all the trailers. Even still, it’s not hurting my experience in any way. Just an observation and maybe a bit of personal opinion on the fact that perhaps the choice to reveal so much scene in pre-release trailers might be a great way to build hype but might not be the most efficient choice in telling the actual story. My two cents!

In the end, I’m overall super excited and can’t wait to keep playing. These are just my own personal thoughts, and I’ll be back with more thoughts soon!! PLEASE NO SPOILERS OR SPOILERY SUGGESTIONS IN THE REPLIES!! I am NOT privy to the leaks and I do NOT want to know what’s coming. Thank you!! ^_^

#tlou2 #The Last of Us 2 #tlou2 spoilers #the last of us 2 spoilers #the last of us part 2 #gala's thoughts

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kessielrg · 3 years

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[Kingdom Hearts] Busy Bees

Summary: By far, Ven’s got the most boring job at the flower shop; the cashier. Sitting day in and day out for someone to browse along the rows of flowers and gardening tools, then probably walk right out again. Sometimes an interesting thing would happen- but they were few and far between. [flower shop AU focused on UX kids][Part 3 in a series of oneshots][VenxOC][EphemerxOC/F!Player]

Rating: K

Word Count: 1,682 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

- - -

Roughly a week before Easter, and Ventus was spending his time rearranging some displays in the hope someone would buy one. It could have been worse- he could have been placed on Easter basket making duty. Strelitzia and Lauriam were already in the back making some. Even more so, at least he wasn't on Easter Bunny duty. That was an event planned for the last day of March most of the time. And, thankfully, it was Ephemer who became their Easter Bunny. Not that anyone else wanted to volunteer...

The bell above the door twinkled as someone came into the shop. Ventus gave a half-hearted look up to give a customer service 'how are you today?' before recognizing that it was just Brain. Trailing right behind Brain was his sister, Sabrina (to whom Ventus absolutely did not have a crush on because she would never give him the time of day). Sabrina was giving her brother a rather irate glare as she sipped on her strawberry milkshake. Likely because Brain was going on about some tech video he saw earlier.

“Why don't you get how neat it was, Sabi?” Brain teased as they lingered near the entrance, possibly so Sabrina could finish her milkshake. “This guy was able to encode a full 5 minute video on a 3 inch floppy disk, and the quality was amazing. Amazing for what it could be, of course.”

Sabrina took her lips off her straw just to rasp, “Nerd.”

“Alright there peanut gallery,” Brain snorted, “I see how it is.”

He then attempted to mess up her hair, but Sabrina dodged it with a casual swoop to the side. It only lead to Brain to laugh at her even more.

“Oh!” he then realized, digging into a paper bag he was holding, “We got something for you Ven.”

Ven blinked, as if he were unaware of his own presence, as Brain pulled out a large muffin. Sabrina started to sip her milkshake again, starting to give Ven a rather judging look. He was more aware of her looking at him than the muffin.

“Are you guys going to help Strelitzia and Lauriam?” he asked, taking the muffin with care.

“Yup.” Brain grinned. “Even managed to drag Sabi into it because she needs something to do than staying at home managing her fashion blog.”

Sabrina huffed. “As if it's my fault that Elie Saab's idea of escapism is 'cirque du soleil' extravagance. 'Designed with his costumers in mind', my well manicured pinkie toe.”

“For the record, you should probably cover them with something.” Brain told her, pointing down to her feet. They were well manicured, and presently being showed off with lace-up sandals. “We're putting small bags of potting soil in the baskets this year.”

Everyone looked down at Sabrina's feet as she wiggled them a bit at the idea. After a moment, she just shrugged.

“I have a pair of socks in your locker just for this reason.” she informed him before starting to head toward the backroom. Brain watched her leave with a grin on his face, his hand at the brim of his fedora in an equal amount of fondness. He looked over at Ven -who started picking at his muffin with some interest- and his grin grew a bit wider, as if he were thinking of something amusing.

“You can come join us, you know. I'm sure Skuld wouldn't mind you abandoning the store front for back end stuff.”

“I… I'll think about it.” Ven carefully replied, almost timidly. “There's a lot of stuff to do...”

“Gotcha.” the older of the two nodded, tipping his fedora at Ven before also heading to the backroom.

Brain casually strolled into the backroom to see what kind of operation the Fleur siblings had concocted to get the baskets done. He was impressed to find that they came up with an assembly-line sort of set up. It started with the round wicker baskets they were going to place everything in, then someone would set a decent sized teddy bear in, then add small, unpainted terracotta pots with a bag of potting soil placed inside, then a young orchid, and finally a packet of flower seeds tucked between the orchid and pots. It was going to be a nice little display in all said and done.

“Look at you busy little bees,” Brain teased, “You need some food.”

Strelitzia, who had been measuring the potting soil to place in the zip bags, looked up at Brain as if she hadn't been aware they had arrived.

“You didn't have to do that.” she told him. She then worked herself up and brushed the soil off her work uniform. Sabrina -now wearing a pair of socks instead of her sandals- took a few steps back with a look of disgust on her face.

“How many baskets did Skuld want this year?” Brain asked Lauriam as he handed him a bagel.

“Twenty-five.” the pink haired man informed him. “That was the only amount of baskets she ordered.”

“Quite a bit, don't you think?”

“Seems like it, but we're in an outdoor mall and pretty well known locally. We'll get rid of them eventually. Speaking of, Skuld wants us to take picture of the baskets so we can put them up online.”

“We should have Sabrina do it.” Strelitzia happily suggested as she went to the sink to wash her hands off.

Sabrina scoffed as she took a stool to the prep table- right where the pending orchids and teddy bears were. “Because last time you used me as a marketing ploy, sales were so high that we had a party to celebrate.”

“You have a very marketable face, sis.” Brain teased, playfully rubbing her back. Sabrina let out another indignant scoff. The banter between siblings made Lauriam and Strelitzia go into a light laughter.

After everyone had something to eat, it was back to business. Strelitzia went back to measuring out the potting soil. Sabrina made herself the one to place the teddy bear and orchid into the basket, Brain sat beside her to get the bags of soil from Strelitzia so he could place them in the little pots. This then left Lauriam with placing the seed packets inside, and decorating the basket with a ribbon. Once they found a comfortable groove to work with, that was when the four of them started to talk.

And since she didn't come around that often, Sabrina was the focus.

“Have you found a new job yet, Sabrina?” Strelitzia curiously asked.

“No.” came the rather annoyed sigh. “At this rate, I might as well get into politics.”

“So we should all be afraid, then?” Lauriam mused as he carefully tied off a bow.

“El Presidente Sabi the Tyrant.” Brain remarked before giving his sister a teasing side glance. Sabrina sneered before poking him with her elbow. He poked her right back without shame.

“Have you thought about working here?” Lauriam asked, a smile on his face reflective of the fun environment. “You and Brain could carpool. I'm sure Skuld would arrange schedules so you two share the same shift.”

“Or share it with Ven.” Sabrina immediately spat back. She paused for a moment, as if she wasn't quite sure of what she had just said. It was Strelitzia who didn't see this hesitation, so she thoughtfully asked without meaning any harm;

“Have you and Ven started dating yet?”

“Strelitzia.” Lauriam quickly -but still oddly gently- admonished.

Strelitzia's cheeks immediately started to flare a bright pink. “Oh. Is that still a sore subject? I'm sorry. I didn't mean...”

“You're fine, Strelitzia.” Sabrina told her with a wave of her hand- not that the woman could see it. “It's not your fault that some people can't mind their own business.” She shot her brother a dark glare that he just as easily shrugged off. After giving an exasperated sigh, Sabrina then went on to say, “I don't see why I'm the one that has to ask him. I get that it's obvious, but I'm not the one that needs to put a spine in him. If he can't do something that simple, then I will wait- for him or otherwise.”

“Sabrina, I hate to break it to you, but not everyone can be like Ephemer.”

“Don't be stupid- Anora was the one who took the lead in everything they did. Probably still does.”

Strelitzia let out a snort so unflattering that everyone turned to look at her.

“Do you have something to say, Zee?”

“N-no!” the young woman stammered- her face becoming a shade so red, it could have rivaled a blossoming rose. “Not at all!”

“Some things never change.” Lauriam calmly noted as he went back to work.

Meanwhile, Ventus was doing his absolute best to grow a spine. He was caught in a conflict over whether they could really use his help, or if he just wanted to sit by Sabrina and make it less than obvious that he was admiring her. Other than that, he remained in the front as he tried to look busy in case someone came in. If he did go help the others, then who would come out to help a costumer than came in? There wouldn't be much of a competition, would there? Everyone but Sabrina was still a clocked-in employee, after all.

It's not like everyone didn't know he liked her. Everyone at that stupid flower shop wouldn't hesitate to place the two of them in the same room so something would happen. If Ventus went back to help, and a costumer came in, he'd almost place a hundred bucks that Brain himself would go to help.

“You know what?” Ven mumbled to himself as he took a look outside the windows. There wasn't anyone that looked remotely interested in coming toward the shop, and so with a nod, Ven went to the backroom. His confidence in his choice nearly faded the closer he got. When he was just steps away from joining the others, Ven nervously cleared his throat before asking;

“Room for one more?”

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