#Maybe I'm just coping and such but tbh I don't think she ever intended to be seen as a god

[some-pers0n]

The thing about the whole "Clearsight is a colonizer" thing that gets me the most is that she clearly never wanted or intended to be treated like that. She wanted a fresh start. She couldn't go on with her life on Pyrrhia due to Darkstalker's absence. She knew she would do little more than feel an ache in her heart and mourn the loss of the dragon she loved. The dragon she thought she would spend the rest of her life with. She wanted to run. She had to start anew.

Then, receiving the vision about the hurricane that was about to hit Pantala. She saw her chance and she took it. She flew for days until finally reaching the continent, being the first dragon to do so. She warned them all and saved countless lives because of it. She was seen as mystical and gifted, but that's a given when you have literal magic powers that lets you see into the future.

Clearsight spent her life peacefully. I don't think she wanted to be hailed as a god-like figure at all. She wanted to be seen as a member of the community, one no more special or note-worthy than anybody else. Her status as a prophet and deity I think was brought on in the following centuries. Wasp, the actual genocidal maniac, used Clearsight mostly as a means of which to get her way, manipulating the population into thinking that Clearsight herself foretold this would happen.

Clearsight wasn't a colonizer. I think it's a gross misuse of the word that really misunderstands both her character and the text in favour of going: "SEEE????? TUI IS BIGOTED!!!" That being said it is very iffy and uncomfortable to have Tui say: "Ohhh the reason why Clearsight basically bred out BeetleWings was because of her strong genetic material" like what are you talking about

[elytrafemme]

i mightve sent smth like this already. can't remember tbh. but like. cough syrup is prolly the first fic i've read with a psychotic character who isn't just. written weirdly? like. idk how to explain it. cs!ranboo just seems. so human?? which was and still is really comforting. bc i read cough syrup a bit after i kinda. started coming to terms with the fact that i'm prolly. psychotic to some extent. and like. i'm just some lanky dude who shops off the hot topic clearance rack. and cs!ranboo's like that too. and. idk. where i was going with this. but yeah. thank u for cough syrup it makes me feel human

it was around chapter 8 or 9, i think, when i had talked to my therapist about some issues i was having and she told me it could have been stress induced illusions. that later snow-balled rapidly into depression-linked psychosis, and then into just psychosis, since y'know, i started writing cough syrup in the tail-end of my psychotic break early 2021. took me a lot longer to realize that's what that had been, though.

and y'know i had intended to make cs!ranboo struggle with psychosis at some capacity, since that just fit c!ranboo's character, but it became a lot more personal to me at that point. cs!ranboo was the only place i felt i could talk about these delusions and all this shit i was dealing with, and in all the times i was sobbing because i had lost so much to this perceived failure of my mind, i thought that maybe i could write this character who has the same issues as me, getting a chance to be happy. to find people that love him, who will stay by him, who he could find some kind of stabilizing and lasting peace with.

in a lot of ways, though i bitch now about having to write his chapters, cs!ranboo was my way of coping with a lot of things i was going through. and you know i was actually scared of posting it at a certain point, because it feels so fucking vulnerable. you don't really see a lot of psychotic characters in media that aren't stereotyped, oftentimes written by non psychotic people following a checklist and inevitably messing up somewhere because they're being careless and then find themselves creating this caricature. i don't ever claim that my writing is perfect or good or without flaws, but at the very least my portrayals are genuine in some sense, that i'm using experience and research and both combined to guide it.

i think one of the best things to ever come out of cough syrup is people finding comfort in the characters. so many people found solidarity with cs!tubbo from the beginning, and that grew into projecting things onto him that i'm happy to accept because hell they're not just my characters, they're characters i'm sharing with you all. but what gets me is how many people find comfort in cs!ranboo, like you, because i was so worried about casting that light on everything and am so glad now that i did it.

it's incredibly fucking important to me that the characters i write feel like people. cs!tubbo isn't just an addict, he's a teen who likes checking on NASA's annual halloween-themed posters and who only gets extremely competitive when playing Wii sports games and creates all these associations in his head and fucking sucks at making paper cranes but does them anyway as a love language. cs!tommy isn't just an abuse victim, he's a teen who's favorite color is red and half his clothes are like that and he knows all the cool parks and shops in town and he loves walking around and finding more places and he likes superheroes and animal crossing.

and cs!ranboo isn't just his psychosis, he's a teen that likes baking but hates having to bake cupcakes and will complain about that, and he likes taking photos of other people and hanging onto them for a while, and he likes the idea of falling in love but is a little clumsy with it, and he has a questionable fashion sense but it makes him feel comfortable, and he likes english class but hates chemistry

and all i hope to do is show that (1) these characters' lives are affected by their struggles, but it's not all they are as people (2) you are deserving of love and WILL be loved no matter what you struggle through (3) if you connect to any of the cast, hi i love you you're going to make it you're going to be happy.

sorry for the long tangent. i just - this ask made me feel really happy. because hearing this, that people can find some connection with cough syrup? it's all i've ever wanted. if i hear that then i have a reason to keep writing it, i have a reason to fight through annoying ass chapters and the whole lot of it.

wishing you the best anon. thank you for sharing this with me.

[fialleril]

Please feel free to ignore this if you don't have anything you feel like parting with at the moment, but I'm having a bad mental health day and would really appreciate a snippet. I don't have a preference for anything in particular, except maybe something where someone is justified in their anger (aka like 3/4th of everything you write, which tbh is probably my favorite part of your fics - I love it when characters are allowed to be angry). I'd be happy with anything though really

Hi anon! I’m really sorry I’m replying to this late, but I hope you found some good coping strategies and I hope that you’ll still find something good in this snippet, late as it is.

Also I’m both amused and delighted by your description of my writing priorities. :)

So this is a bit from fairly early on in Anabasis, though it’s a bit spoilery for all that.

I’ve posted a lot of the bits with Anakin being angry, so here for a change of pace is some angry Padmé.

In which Padmé confronts the Jedi Council and meets Shmi and Kitster.

There’s nothing at all explicit here, but just to be safe, warnings for implications of harm to children and slavery.

The Council was still gathered when Padmé burst through thegreat doors, trailed by two distraught Jedi padawans, still trying to convinceher that the Council Chamber was off limits, and by a resigned Obi-Wan Kenobi.Sabé followed after them all, managing to keep up without breaking her leisurelystroll.

The five other members of the Council all looked up at herappearance, their eyes narrowing in disapproval, all except for Yan Dooku, whowas openly smirking. But all of Padmé’s attention was for the two who stood inthe center of the room, the woman and her son, who spun now to face her, swiftand silent in a way that was all too familiar.

Padmé stared at the woman. She was worn and drab and hereyes held an anger and a sorrow so deep that it had turned to silence. She hadAnakin’s face.

Her eyes were brown, not blue, and her hair was darker whereit wasn’t grey, but the resemblance was unmistakable. It was like looking atAnakin through a strangely distorted mirror.

Behind her, Padmé heard Sabé’s faint but audible sound ofsurprise. There could be no question about who this woman was.

“Most irregular this is, Senator Amidala,” said Yoda,frowning.

Padmé drew herself up with her most regal bearing and glaredat each of the Jedi in turn.

“It seems, Master Jedi,” she said, “that you have beenwithholding information relevant to my investigation.”

The atmosphere in the room grew distinctly colder.“Cooperated fully with the Senate, this Council has,” said Yoda.

“And will continue to do so,” added Mace. His eyes narrowed.“What is it you believe we’ve withheld, Senator?”

Padmé glanced at Shmi and Kitster. They were standing stiffand straight, close beside one another but not touching. It was a protectivestance, defiant but not afraid. These were people used to having the worldagainst them.

“It’s come to my attention,” said Padmé, “that the Jedi wereaware of Anakin’s presence on Tatooine. That he was identified as a child byMaster Ki-Adi-Mundi, and left there as a slave.” She paused, swallowing backthe horror of her own reflection, and met Master Windu’s eyes unflinchingly.“It’s my belief, based on the available evidence, that Palpatine was able todiscover Anakin because of the Jedi’s report.”

Shmi stiffened, her face turning to stone. Kitster claspedher hand and stared at Padmé with wide eyes.

“Palpatine?” Shmi whispered. “You mean the Emperor? The Emperor took my son?”

The Jedi looked at one another, but they said nothing.

Padmé met the other woman’s eyes with compassion, but herwords were cool and clipped. “Yes. He did.”

She turned on the Jedi, her eyes blazing. “Did you everintend to tell me, Master Jedi? Or did you think this was somehow irrelevant tothe Senate’s investigation?”

Mace Windu’s face was thunderous, while Yoda’s eyes hadnarrowed sharply and Obi-Wan looked openly distressed. Madame Nu and MasterGallia held more neutral expressions, yet they too seemed disturbed. But it wasDooku who spoke.

“I think you give us too much credit, Milady,” he said, notunkindly. “The vergeance that Master Mundi encountered on Tatooine was, forbetter or worse, merely a footnote in his report. I don’t believe anyone hasconnected that child with our Sith Lord until this very moment. Are youabsolutely certain they are the same?”

Padmé opened her mouth, ready to present her evidence, butbeside her Shmi had tensed and stood now thrumming with barely controlledemotion.

“Of course I’m certain!” Anakin’s mother snapped. “He is my son. I knew him then, and I know him now,even if he doesn’t remember me. I will always know him.” She trembled as shespoke, but her voice was steady and hard as steel. “I wanted a better life forhim. He deserved better than a slave’s life. And when the Jedi sent MasterMireus, when he said they’d reconsidered,I sent Anakin with him. I wanted him to be free.”

Padmé breathed in sharply, and at the sound all the rigidityseemed to melt from the older woman’s bones. Shmi gasped, her legs staggeringbeneath her, and Kitster caught her and held her against his chest, though hisown arms were trembling. They held each other up, shaking and sobbing like twotrees in a storm, and Padmé watched them, all her words forgotten.

“I sent him,” Shmi whispered, over and over again, a brokenlitany. “I sent him.”

Padmé started forward, and caught herself. She thought ofthe little boy in Senator Palpatine’s apartments all those years ago, with hisstrange and terrible eyes and the blood on his hands.

There was nothing she could say to this woman.

“Very troubling, this information is,” said Master Yodasoftly. “But deceit is the way of the Sith.”

Padmé tore her eyes from Shmi and Kitster Banai and turnedto stare at the Jedi. She hardly recognized the emotion that was roiling in hergut, but a laughing little voice in the back of her mind that sounded far toomuch like Anakin told her the Jedi wouldn’t like it.

Master Yoda was watching her closely with slow blinkingeyes, compassion gentling his aged face. The others appeared equally concerned,and equally removed. For the first time, Padmé realized that they might not betroubled for the same reasons she was, and the thought burned in her.

“And inattentiveness is the way of the Jedi, it seems,” shesnapped, too tired and far too horrified to hold her tongue. “If you’ll excuseme, Master Jedi, I need to make a report to the Senate. And this time, Anakin Skywalker will be morethan a footnote.”

She turned on her heel and stormed toward the door, ignoringthe words of the Jedi that followed her, ignoring the footsteps that indicatedObi-Wan, at least, intended to see her out.

But she stopped at the door, caught and held by someinvisible bond, and looked back.

Shmi and Kitster still stood in the center of the Councilchamber, looking small and alone in that immense space, their frail figureshaloed in the midafternoon light streaming through the many windows. Shmi wasshaking still, but Kitster had turned to watch Padmé, and his eyes met hersnow, dark and knowing.

If Anakin had been a footnote, these two had been utterlyforgotten. She was not about to make the same mistake.

“I would like to speak with you both,” she said, holdingKitster’s eyes and willing him to understand. “If you’re free?”

“This audience hasn’t ended, Senator,” said Mace Windusharply, but Kitster was already nodding.

“I think it has,” he said, speaking over his shoulder to themembers of the Jedi Council. “Come on, Mom. We won’t learn anything else here.”

“Padmé,” said Dooku, almost apologetically, but Padmé turnedaway from him and all the Jedi and marched out the door, Sabé falling in besideher and Kitster and Shmi following. Obi-Wan would follow too, she had no doubt,but she would deal with him later.

The corridor outside the Council chambers was deserted butfor a young Togruta girl who stood huddled into herself under her traditionalJedi robes. Padmé’s gaze lit on her briefly, and the girl looked away,something flashing in her eyes.

“Ahsoka,” she heard Obi-Wan say behind her, “you shouldn’t behere.”

If he was distracted, all the better. Padmé spared a silentthanks to the young padawan, and sped on down the corridor, wanting to lose herJedi escort. It was probably hopeless, but even a few moments might allow herto collect herself.

“Thank you,” said a quiet voice at her side, and Padméturned without slowing to find Kitster Banai walking beside her. To his right,Shmi Skywalker watched her with raw, reddened eyes.

“It’s Senator Amidala, isn’t it?” Kitster asked, smilingpolitely. But there was something guarded behind his gaze.

“Yes,” Padmé said, offering a warm smile of her own. “Andyou’re Kitster Banai. I saw you in TheTragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise.” She hesitated. But after all, howcould it hurt? “Anakin loved that play, you know.”

His eyes widened and his smile warmed. “Oh,” he murmured. “I– yes. I’d forgotten he saw it.” But then his face twisted, the smile becominga rictus grin. “I didn’t recognize him. My own brother, and I didn’t – ” Hechoked, and stopped.

Padmé had no idea what to say to him, or to the woman besidehim with her carven face and her shadowed eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said inanely,and then, “The hangar is this way.” It was utterly inadequate, but whateverelse she might have said, she couldn’t say it here.

Shmi seemed to understand. She nodded at Padmé, and now itwas she who took Kitster’s arm. They made their way to the hangar in absolutesilence. Even when Obi-Wan joined them once more, he said nothing, and Padméwas grateful.