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somecunttookmyurl · 3 years

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sorry if there was another part of this post/those tags that i didn’t see but… i don’t think that doctor was trying to say that doctors know more about drugs than pharmacists do?

i’m an md also, i graduated from medical school a few years ago. and that person is right. we do learn about pharmacology and drug mechanisms and interactions in medical school. at my school (which was broken up into long blocks by body system), this was all integrated into everything else we were learning, meaning it was on every test. and it’s continued to be on every test i’ve taken since graduating. the point isn’t that we know more or even nearly as much as pharmacists about pharmacology, but that we know enough that someone who completely ignores the concept of drug interactions or the idea that different patients may metabolize certain drugs differently is a bad doctor. and i’m sorry that you’ve run across so many of them

the thing about medicine is that there is so much to know about human anatomy and physiology and disease that it’s basically impossible for any one person to know it all. medical school lays the groundwork, but there’s a reason we specialize, and spend 3-7 years in additional training in our particular field. it’s important to know what you don’t know (which is a lot, no matter what kind of doctor you are or how long you’ve been practicing). that means consulting with pharmacists when prescribing a new med or changing a dose whenever possible, just like you’d consult, say, a nephrologist when treating a patient with kidney disease. but when there isn’t a good pharmacist available, it means looking up that information yourself. i may not remember every single drug that interacts with warfarin, for example, off the top of my head, but i sure as hell know that it’s a long list and i better check everything else a patient is taking before prescribing it

anyway, good pharmacists are an incredible resource and i wish we had more of them at my hospital. and if you can’t admit that there are things you don’t know, medicine is not the field for you

yeah i've had like. no joke. 2 good doctors in 31 years. and one of them i don't even get to see again it was a one-off. but i am surgically attached to my GP until one of us dies and by god i hope i go first.

(incidentally those 2 doctors are the only ones i've ever met who even knew that differing drug metabolism on different pathways was even a thing like at all. my old psych straight up said "never heard of that, don't think that's true" even when i was presenting him with literal medical journals to the contrary like okay buddy good talk let's never do this again. i wish so much this was an uncommon experience bc i for one am tired of giving the TED talk)

readmore bc this got long

the fact you guys don't learn stuff to the same depth as pharmacists was really like my entire point. i mean, sure, you have some knowledge on it but normally pretty limited to within whatever field you practice. you've only got a limited number of brain cells. if you did have all that knowledge then pharmacy wouldn't exist as a separate degree in the first place.

so a doc coming onto that like "oh we do know side effects and get tested on interactions" is uh. i mean do you? a little, sure, but there's a limit to that knowledge by design. it's really the pharmacists who know, you know? they're the experts on it, and it kinda struck me as "i did a bit of training on this so i know everything" which is an attitude i encounter.... a lot with doctors, sadly. along with the assumption a patient can never know anything about their condition/have any input or ideas of any value/that there may be gaps in their own knowledge.

[also along with complete lack of intellectual curiosity which always baffled me like "welp, don't know what that is goodbye forever" do you not... want to know? not even a little bit? god why are you even here. if all you wanted to do was flowcharts and tick boxes there are plenty of careers in the data entry field. not quite sure why you went to medical school my man]

you sound like a good doctor. hold onto that. sadly you're more the exeption than the norm, as pretty much anybody with a chronic illness or unusal presentation/response can attest. also women, and POC.

if you've got it in you to keep at it without having a nervous breakdown (rather have you in the field than out of it babes) absolutely chew out any other doctor you catch acting like a Supreme Unquestionable Being Who Can Never Be Wrong though.

honestly? i think, genuinely, most do start out like you (you said you only graduated a few years ago right? so you're still new really) and... at some point along the way they become fucking insufferable.

i don't know if it's burnout bc it's a stressful job, or if having power over the health & wellbeing over other people eventually goes to your head, or you get stuck in "what i learned 20 years ago is still unquestionable" or "i've been doing this for years pfff i don't need to check things anymore" complacency or what but there is for sure SOMETHING that changes in a whole lotta doctors. hold on to how you practice now. be one of the few who STAY like that 10, 20, 30 years from now. please. stay curious, stay cautious, stay sharp.

i don't hate doctors (i say it jokingly, true, but don't take it personally) but i have absolutely met enough of them that don't listen, or check, or investigate that i heavily side-eye a new one until they demonstrate otherwise. you're listening to me and working with me and checking things? cool! i'm still gonna double-check anyway because even good doctors make mistakes,

but a good good doctor doesn't take offence at that anyway. i mean. it's my health you're in charge of here. remaining alive and not hospitalised is generally preferable.

hey, maybe it's a bit harsh to judge from a couple tags but coming onto a post saying that pharmacists are the real drug nerds here and doctors have limited knowledge about that (with a heavy dose of complacency a lot of the time, tbqh) so please make sure stuff is checked with "we do know about interactions we get tested on it" sent up a HUGE "i can't admit when there are gaps in my knowledge and can't handle being questioned" red flag.

#my GP went absolutely OFF once about specialists having god complexes and it was a delight #but there is a lot of that going around and like. taking offence at being questioned or checked?#bro i ain't trust ANYONE implicitly that goes double for someone making health decisions bc you CAN'T know everything? you just can't?#AMOUNT who think they do though mein gott #man if i trusted doctors implicitly and blindly i would honestly be dead 3 times over from the fuckups #good doctors exist they just get progressively more rare the longer they stay doctors #it's like a pokémon evolution but bad #FUCK GO BACK #my fav psych appointment was when there was a trainee present who knew more than the man WHO HAS BEEN A CONSULTANT FOR 20 YEARS #bc he is simply allergic to acquiring knowledge and back in the stone age we did not know this particular thing i was talking about

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thewritingof-therose · 3 years

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Hi! Last week, with the publishing of the 20th chapter of Hasard, I reached the 100 kudos on the fic, so to celebrate it, here’s some kind of bonus chapter where I talk a little about the conception of the story, along with comments about each chapters.

Enjoy!

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So… 20 chapters and 100 kudos already. To be honest, by the time I started imagining this story, I wasn’t really expecting to be able to celebrate that milestone of kudo on a single fic and even if I already celebrated the 2000 kudos in general this year, if we make a quick calcul based on the numbers of kudos and all the fics I’ve published, at the time I’m writing those words, it’s the same that if each one of my fic had only 20 kudos… So yeah, finally reaching the hundred on a single one makes me so happy \o/

Anyway, here’s some trivia and fun facts about Hasard and the first twenty chapters of the story.

First of all, some history:

I had the idea for Hasard in May 2018 as I was watching the tv show Lucifer (I am not up to date with it, please don’t try to spoil me this show ^^’) and I imagined one scene that just… shaped the entire story and it took me less than a few hours to know that I would write it. Even if I wasn’t sure how long it would be and that there had been some changes. And no, I won’t tell what scene kickstarted it all because she still has to come and it could be quite a huge spoiler.

Following it, my brain quickly went into developing the full story and a few things changed. On the top of my head, I can say that Maiev was meant to be more on her own, almost a complete independent Hunter that would have also been resented by the other Hunters, along with a way more black and white view of the demons. She was meant to be more aggressive against all demons and really thinking that they all deserved to die, but I softened that side of her as I shifted the world building with the presence of hybrids.

At first, the hybrids were meant to be a really rare kind and I wanted to keep that status for a few select characters because it could have brought some really good story for them. Then, as I kept working on the worldbuilding, I came to the idea that actually, hybrids were extremely common, but at the same time, the demon’s presence was still a secret from most of the world because most hybrids started centuries ago and their blood and physical attributions were weakening the more they were reproducing. So, about 80% of the world is made of hybrids of all kinds of generation (who is my way of scaling the demonic influence on their life) and the 20% left is shared with the full demons and full humans.

Full demons are simply people who don't have a single drop of human blood in them. Usually, they are born from two other full demon parents or they just appeared like that (that’s the mytho). They are extremely powerful and good magic users, but now, they are rare. It was easier to be a full demon millenia ago when they ruled over the world and the few that are left in the current world of Hasard, survived either by hiding really well, manipulating their way to stay alive, or simply because they accepted to work with the humans and they went on.

My best example of a full demon is Velen.

The full humans, are the humans who either had never gotten a single drop of demon’s blood in their bloodlines, either they purged the bloodline after making sure that there had been at least 10 generations since the last time a hybrid was born (technically, every child following it would be considered as an hybrid, but the other parent would be a full human to weaken the demon’s blood which each new generation). Full humans are rarer than full demons and they tend to be bad news as almost all of them are associated with the Priesthood (who’ll get some more explanation later.)

I haven’t presented yet one of them to give an example, but one is ready to show up in the Second arc of the story. Won’t say who to not spoil the surprise x)

As for hybrids, there are two kinds. The one born from a demon and a human, and or hybrids (two hybrids will keep creating hybrids and technically, as long as one of the parents has human blood, the bloodline will stay a hybrid one). And the second one hadn’t been introduced yet. We have characters that are that kind, but it’s some worldbuilding elements that will show up later and so, I'll keep it to myself for now. Feel free to theorize though! And usually, most hybrids will simply call themselves demons instead of showing signs of weaknesses by not being a full one.

For the title of the story, it had been extremely hard for me to find one. Ever since I started preparing everything, it had a codename and it was “Modern AU” and it stayed like that until the very minute of the publishing of the first chapter. I was already going towards “Le Hasard Fait Bien Les Choses” but I was bothered because it was French, and no matter what, I couldn’t find a good English idiom that would have all the nuances of the French one. The only thing that comes close to it would be “Fate is a funny thing” and yet, I’m not entirely satisfied with it. So, after a long debate with myself and help from other people, I came to the conclusion that I had to keep the French title if I wanted to be happy with it.

It might not help much to get people interested, and I’m considering adding “Fate is a Funny Thing” after it but I’m debating it.

I think that's already a lot, so let's move to the trivia per chapters:

A Muffled Shout In The Night

Oh boy, first chapter! I was so excited to finally start the story but I was also really stressed. I tried to give away a quick summary of how the universe was working, along with my two main characters + showing up the first supportive characters towards Maiev. Trying to present all the cast (so adding Illidari and more about Illidan) right in that chapter wouldn't have really worked so, instead, I went to show that a more "Legion-y" timeline could be expected thanks to Khadgar and Velen's presence in the chapter.

I kinda hope that I succeeded to already show Maiev's obsession towards the Betrayer through her first lines.

Though I will be one hundred percent honest with you. The end of the chapter with Illidan running away, don't expect much from that interaction. I kind of always forget about it unless I'm reading back the chapter… I only needed a reason for them to stop fighting and the chapter to carry on.

But who knows, maybe I'll tie it to something one day.

Two Black Coffees And A Meeting, Please

When writing it, I always knew that Drelanim was on the other side of the call (or at least another Hunter) but as I read the moment a few times, I realized that I could have gone for a completely different way. One that would have probably surprised everyone.

But yeah, in another universe, it's Illidan who calls Maiev because he's in front of her place as they decided to meet for breakfast there. It would have been quite nice and unexpected for the story, especially that Illidan would have gotten right away the reveal that Maiev was actually the Warden as she would have complained about the wounds of the night.

In the end, I went on with my first idea and made them meet for good in the chapter.

And, like with the first chapter… the "current problem" that he talks about to Kor'vas went nowhere… I'll more than probably get him to acknowledge some uninteresting side story for it at some point.

Memories Of A Rainy Day That Will Never Be Forgotten

For that one, one word: Ouch.

By the time I started to write this chapter, I was also preparing the Advent Calendar of 2019 and I had decided on telling Naisha's story, and I had to realize that I still had to foreshadow some elements from it to make it work. Of course, the title is fully referencing the day she died and the demon that Maiev killed right at the beginning of the chapter was similar to Naisha, putting Maiev in a stabbing mood. And it led us to another necessary addition for the Calendar's chapter: Malfurion.

(I'm also wondering how many people guessed right away that Malfurion was the one Illidan was calling…)

Brother, My Brother, Tell Me What We're Fighting For?

Even if Malfurion had more of a cameo than anything in the Calendar's story, I felt the need to introduce him to put the bases of the twins' relationship. I always knew that he was a doctor and that he was mostly helping Illidan when he was getting in trouble, and as their backstory is different from WoW and that they are both demons, I didn't want to go on the canon path for them.

I cannot tell much about it because we'll get fast to their backstory (Second arc) but here, Illidan and Malfurion mostly grew up in a world where it was them against the rest of the world. They were born during the glorious days when demons ruled the world and they saw it change through the millennia that followed. After everything, they would be devastated to lose the other and suddenly be the only one left. This is why they are way closer than they could ever be in canon (and also Tyrande isn't part of their backstory so it helped them keep a good relationship). Sometimes, they part ways for a few decades. Malfurion goes back to medical school somewhere and makes sure that he's up to date for it, or Illidan just moves with his clan to experience new things. But they stay in contact and always come back in proximity of one another.

The end of the chapter was my obligatory "shock reveal/cliffhangers" before a break. But well, I wanted to keep the Legion's existence in my sleeve for a little longer, but I realized that it would allow me to make them into a concrete threat as the story will progress + allowing Illidan and, mostly, the Illidari to be a little more presents into the story.

Actually, the chapter's name comes from a song from the occidental version of the first Pokemon movie. It's a line from the song that plays when the Pokemon and their clone fights, and i used it mostly for the brother's mentions and because it would totally be a thing said by one of the twins in their past…

A Flower Arrangement Made With Your Face In Mind

At that time, I wanted to make a chapter to develop a little more the supporting characters of the cast, and as I was taking back the writing of the fic after a four or five months break, I thought it would be nice.

So, we got a little side dish of Illidari for it and that’s pretty much the only chapter (until now) where Illidan or Maiev barely appears in it. Yet, I threw some worldbuilding and foreshadowing in it and I still like it, so it isn’t really a filler.

I’ll probably do more chapters like that in the future, but I’ll see with the pacing of the story.

Willingly Accepting Your Death Isn't As Easy As I Thought

I don’t have much to say about this chapter. I still really like it and especially Maiev and Velen’s interaction.

Along with showing that we were far from a potential romantic relationship, at least on Maiev’s side x)

A Laugh That Will Echo Through The Ages

Oh my God, that chapter! I could probably talk about it for hours but we would quickly reach the spoiler territory so I’ll see what I can tell without shooting myself in the foot.

I loved giving Khadgar some more identity and I like his relationship with Maiev. In the story, they are around 10 years apart, with Khadgar being the youngest. He’s like an honorary younger brother to every Hunter and even if Maiev won’t admit it, she’s kinda thinking the same.

If he had been in the spotlight for this chapter, it was actually because I was thinking of writing his backstory for the Calendar of 2020 but in the end, I scrapped the idea and wrote something else. But It’ll happen at some point.

You Were In My Dream Last Night, And I Found You That Morning

A simple and nice chapter to calm down from the action heavy that was the precedent. I do throw some crumbs of foreshadowing and backstory, mostly for Maiev, but we will have to wait quite some time for the full one. Even if to be honest, before I release it fully, there will probably be some people that will stitch everything from my crumbs.

Illidan’s dreams are meant to be a plot point all through the story, and I decided to start them with this chapter. And of course, we can see that it’s the first chapter where Illidan, even if he isn’t conscious of it, starts to like Maiev more than he should have at that point.

A Red Dress And Heels To Hide The Knife In Plainsight

I loved writing that one. Showing that Maiev had more hobbies than hunting demons, along with showing how you had to act to get her to do things that she would refuse to do otherwise. Most of the time, if Sira gently asks if she wants to go do some shopping, Maiev always has something else to do. Not that she hates shopping, just that she thinks there’s better things to do.

I could probably go more about Worgens and their existence, but it would spoil some part of the story :/

And honestly, I had an alternate version of this chapter where Illidan saw Maiev and Sira hurrying in the streets, followed them and he would have eavesdropped on the conversation about him. It was obviously bad because it was confirming that Maiev was at least a Hunter (which he won’t know until a while by that time) and it would have been totally an excuse for smut x)

A Warning Falling In Deaf Ears

With this chapter, I’ve been working on mixing the idea of chapters 5 (to concentrate on rest of the cast) with more of the main story. Like that, I show that there’s more than Illidan and Maiev in this universe, but at the same time, I’m still progressing their story by sharing the chapter between the two. I really liked writing Kayn like that and I think that one of my favorite things to write in this story, it’s Illidan and Malfurion interacting.

A Touch So Familiar, Yet So Strangely Threatening

I remember writing that chapter and suddenly realizing that it was going to be longer than the precedent, and i thought for a moment that I had to cut it in half, but I couldn’t find a satisfying way to do it, and it would have fucked up my outline, so I just carried on with it until I had told everything that I had to.

With that chapter, I’m trying to show that Maiev can be really crazy when it comes to the Betrayer and his followers, but I can assure that she wouldn’t wound any of the Hunters, even if they cannot really be sure about it. And the little dialogue with the B-word made me laugh and yes, Maiev already called the Betrayer a bitch to his face. In 13 years, it would have been weird that she didn’t think of it at least once.

For the rest of the chapter, I just wanted to show that Maiev and Illidan were becoming comfortable with each other + setting up a reason for her to be worried about Illidan to show him her good side.

Screaming Under The Full Moon Won't Change Your Fate

The one thing I keep from this chapter, is that I can’t wait to dive more into Velen and Maiev's relationship.

Otherwise, yeah, if Illidan were to go into a fight only wanting to use magic, he could kill Maiev without breaking a sweat. But he likes the challenge and feels like it wouldn’t be satisfying to annihilate her with just a spell, so he’s fighting blade against blades, unless Maiev is really close to kill him.

A Fateful Call That Only You Can Be Blamed For

I have nothing much to say about it. It was one chapter that I really wanted to write and publish, because it’s the one where Illidan just let his guard down around Maiev for good, and now that he won’t try to trap her into admitting that she is the Warden, it allows him to see Maiev in another light.

That anyone can guess what it is.

Oh yeah, just that I threw some good crumbs of the fact that Illidan is a self-loathing addict in my fics and that it’s one of the reasons he falls so hard for Maiev after this chapter. But it’ll be a good talk for either another chapter, or later.

Going Separate Ways For A Night But Not The Life

Nothing to say, it was a transitional chapter to show that Illidan really believes that Maiev isn’t the Warden, and that there’s more than the fight to them.

Stab Me Once, Shame On You. Stab Me More Than Twice...

A fun little chapter. Velen is more modern than most people can believe and once again, I like writing about the interactions between Illidan and Malfurion. Of course, if you go back to read this one after chapter 20, you might see that I already knew how it was going to happen from this chapter, as the 20th got his title in this one.

I just hope that people read the story from the Advent Calendar 2020 to know what happened in the middle of it.

And From There, Fate Laughed At Them

I could talk for hours about Cordana in my AU. I just love what I’m going to do with her characters and I hope that my readers will like it too.

But to give some crumbs, Maiev and Cordana have been best friends since high school and she’s the first long-time friend that Maiev had made in her life and thanks to Cordana, she met with Sira and the group, but most importantly Velen. Cordana is a hybrid of sixth generation, so her demonic attributes are almost non-existent, but she kept some supernatural ability from her legacy. She knew from a very young age that she wanted to hunt demons and protect people, and met with Velen early to prepare her future job. Once she discovered that Maiev had some natural abilities to hunt demons, she saw them as the future “Best Best Friend and Hunters” and convinced Maiev to give a go to the hunt. She was forced to move out in another city but she kept contact with Maiev and the rest of the group. In terms of strength, abilities and hunting score, she is right behind Maiev.

Otherwise, I will add that I had a lot of fun writing the conversation between them about Illidan and how he would be better than the Betrayer *winkwink*.

I didn’t make it clear in that chapter and it won’t be important, but Khadgar has a crush on Cordana.

Cordana meant well with the message, and even if in real life, I would condone such action, here, I needed it to move things around because yes, neither Illidan nor Maiev would make the first step if it wasn’t for Cordana.

During the fight, at the beginning of the scene, Illidan totally complimented the Warden on her abilities but don’t try to make him admit it.

Last thing: my nickname is Fate. I’m the one laughing.

Games, Games, All Is Games

I don’t really have anything to say about this chapter.

Sometimes, Cowardice Allows The Survival Of The Smartest

To be perfectly honest, I regret how I handled Cordana’s week in the story because I’ve barely done anything with her but I can explain where the problem is. I knew that I wanted Illidan to discover the warden’s identity on chapter 20, and I planned all my updates around that one fact, but when it came to the outline, I wasn’t sure what to tell between the chapter 13 and 20 to reach that point and thanks to the Calendar, I moved things around that one and I ended up having the idea of making Cordana appears (She should have come in person in the story much, much later). And as I needed chapters 18 and 19 to build up to the reveal, I ended up completely stuck and making her appearance too fast and if it wasn’t for the message, she would have been useless to the story. But I realized it too late and I couldn’t rework my outline in time.

But well, i’ll give her a better mini-arc in the second arc of the story to atone for it.

Otherwise, I hope that the feel of the countdown to the reveal starting by the end of the chapter had been caught by some people x) It’s obvious to me, but well, i’m the writer.

Step By Step, Tick Tock Said The Clock

Just a build up chapter for the 20th. Even if I really like it and that I’m preparing the ground for future plotlines but I’ll let you guess which one it could be x)

I know I haven’t make it clear in the chapter, but Malfurion knew that Illidan was lying when he pretended that his problem was the Warden “may-be-may-be-not-a-hybrid/demon” but as he also know that his brother is a “stubborn motherfucker” he let it slid.

And yes, somewhere in my mind, there’s an alternate universe where Maiev accepted Illidan’s invitation and that they would spend the evening at her place. Without a reveal first.

Any Last Wish?

I don’t really have something to add to this chapter. I succeeded to write it just as I wanted.

I just had a long debate with myself as to how I wanted it to end, as I had the choice between cutting it right as Illidan is saved by the Warden (maybe not revealing her identity before the next chapter, or it would have been the last line) or just as I did, by them reaching her place first. I chose the latter because I want Chapter 21 to start with a really specific scene and I thought that it was better than a cheap cliffhanger.

The last thing I'll add, is that for the story to go well, I had to make Illidan be the first to be aware of the identity of the other, mostly because he can be the one to change his mind more easily about wanting to kill the Warden. If it had been Maiev discovering that Illidan was the Betrayer at this moment of the story, he would have died.

And now, because I'm not done yet, here’s some info about the bonus chapters that were published independently from the main story!

AC Day 8: A Morning

First calendar, in 2018, and I already knew that I was going to write Hasard. It had no name by this time, but I had written that small scene to try out a few things and see how it’ll work.

There’s a really high chance that I end up rewriting it for the main story, but I think that a few elements will change. We’ll see.

AC19 Day 24: Hasard: Naisha

Probably the worst (in terms of feels) chapter of the story yet.

Naisha is probably the character who had a story and fate the closest to canon and I wanted to keep it like that, as it allowed to shape even more the hate between the Warden and the Betrayer. Honestly, she wasn’t deserving of a death like that, especially that if the Betrayer hadn’t intervened that day by trying to kill Maiev, Naisha would have survived.

Actually, in any other universes/storylines possible, she would have survived. Unfortunately for her, she fell right into the feud and became a victim of it.

At this point of the story, Illidan isn’t even completely aware of what happened that day, and he has no idea who Naisha was. All that he knows is that he thought to have killed the Warden, only to find her, even more angry in the following week. He just knows that he had killed the wrong person, but he had no idea who. Maiev herself doesn’t know for sure that it was the Betrayer the culprit, as she couldn’t see clearly in the rain.

Of course, it’ll end up being brought up in the story :)

AC20 Day 8: Hasard: Malfurion’s Hellish Day

It should have been Khadgar's backstory actually for that Calendar. But even if I have a good idea about it, I realized that I wasn’t completely inspired and that I was missing a few details to be able to write it. So, in the end, I went desperately after another idea and thanks to Melowen, I think, she got me on the idea of writing about Malfurion.

In the end, this chapter, meant to be a funny one with Illidan and Maiev forced to be in the same place for the same job, with Malfurion, aware that it would be a catastrophe to let them discover the truth, ended up shaping the last chapters currently published.

And if you are wondering, no, Illidan wasn’t trying to trick his brother in giving him the secret identity of Maiev. He was just trying to get his brother approbation about the woman he was starting to crush on.

The line: ‘“Yeah, everyone tells me that I look like a famous actor,” Malfurion faked a chuckle, glancing at the woman.’ is a reference to my Bodyguard AU where Illidan is an actor.

Alright, that’s all for the trivia! Thanks for reading this bonus chapter, and the main story until now, and I hope you’ll keep enjoying reading Hasard!

Rose

#world of warcraft #illidan x maiev #long text

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

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Time is Irrelevant (2/?): Vive La France

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of death

Word Count: 4.5k (she’s long lol sorry about it)

Part Summary: Y/N wakes up dazed and confused. From then on, things only get more confused as she starts to realize she’s in 18th century France with a strange man.

Masterlist

I gradually open my eyes, my vision blurry at first. A bright light burns them and I feel as though I’m staring into the gates of Heaven. Then, the memory of what happened jolts me awake. Startled, I frantically scan my surroundings. I come to the horrifying conclusion that I’m no longer at the table in the student union. In fact, I have no clue where I am! I’m in a bedroom, on a bed with tall dark wood posts. The room looks too grand and vintage to be anywhere on campus. It’s baby blue walls and crown molding don’t exactly scream cinderblock dorm room. The furniture appears to be so detailed and too fragile to touch, which will be a problem because I woke up on the bed. Am I in a museum?

I stand up cautiously, afraid someone may barge in. I glance down and I see I’m in a white cotton nightgown. A grandma nightgown, seriously? How did I get here and why am I in grandma's pajamas? As I take in my appearance, I don’t see any injuries or bruising, that’s good. I feel alright, panicked, but alright. My brain is pounding against my skull. I can hear my mom now, ranting in my mind. She’d say, “don’t hurry to get up! You could have a concussion.” I rarely listen to her and I don’t plan on starting now.

I step closer to what appears to be a balcony and I peer out to get an idea of where I am. Leaning over the iron rail, I see a dirt road below. People crowd the streets, they maintain a loud banter. Their clothes, they’re odd. Wait, is that man wearing a white wig? Where the hell am I? A gold plated carriage goes by down the street and a man yells at the top of his lungs in what sounds to me as French. As I focus on the commotion, all I hear is French. I take note of the architecture of the surrounding buildings and it all is very French, specifically Parisian. I’m not an expert who has never been to France but I would say the architecture of Paris is pretty iconic. Wait no, this can’t be real! It couldn’t be possible in Paris! How could I possibly be in the United States one minute, then wake up in France? It’s not possible. My heart drops, I’ve been kidnapped and taken out of the country!

“Good! You’re awake!”

I jump at the sudden voice. When I whip around, I spot the strange man from before entering the room.

“Put this on,” he instructs, tossing me a gown nonchalantly. “You stand out like a lily in a field full of daisies.”

I take in his appearance. He’s decked out in colonial-era clothing like the cluster of people down below. My mind screams, reminding me that this is all ridiculous. There’s no way I’m in France and there must be a good reason as to why everyone is dressed as though we’re about to go eat some cake with Marie Antonette. I snickered lightly, baffled at the idea of any of this being real. I’m clearly still asleep.

“Y/N!” The strange professor snaps his fingers and I'm pulled from my thoughts. “Please, before we’re late!”

I snap out of the daze and remember that this man has kidnapped me. Chucking the dress onto the bed, I proceed to bark at him. “Where am I?! Where have you taken me?!” My voice progressively escaping me in screams.

He grins slyly, staring into my soul. “I believe you've already figured that out for yourself…”

I shake my head, laughing at what he’s suggesting. He must think I’m an idiot. He narrows his eyes at me, curious.

“Oh please,” I tease him. “You can’t possibly think I would believe any of this? I’m in college, not kindergarten! Now, let me go!” I start to approach the door but he steps in my way.

His fingers wrap around my forearm with a forceful grip. “Look Y/N, we don’t have time for this! You ARE indeed in France. You ARE in 1778! Now, get dressed! We can’t be late!”

I stare into his eyes as he shouts this nonsense to me. The miniature oceans that encompass them. They have this electricity about them that draws me in and I feel hypnotized. Yet, I must remain level headed if I plan on escaping and surviving this.

Aggressively, I yank my arm free. “Let go of me you psycho! Have you lost your mind? There’s no way-”

The professor wraps his arm around me and presses his free hand over my mouth. I scream for someone to help, but my words are muffled against his hand.

“But it is!” He argues, “I possess the ability to time travel! Okay! The Eye of Harmony, Rassilon's Star, it exists!”

Upon hearing his words, I stop fighting him, utterly stunned. His hands ease off of my face and release my arm. My chest rises and plummets at an inconsistent rate. There are very few people who speak of the star. It’s legend, ancient mythology, lost in history.

“But…” I struggle to find the words, “but that's not possible.” My volume has lost its touch. My words flowing out like little puffs of wind.

“But it is! Now, get dressed and I’ll explain everything!” He tells me, seemingly eager to clear the air.

I watch silently as he turns to leave abruptly. Does he drop the bombshell that he may have the most powerful stone in the world then goes to leave? Of course, he would.

As he walks away, he presses, “we have somewhere we need to be and soon!”

Processing the situation, I take matters into my own hands. “Will you just wait for a second?!”

Irritable, he crosses his arms, “what it is?”

“I believe I deserve some sort of explanation! Now! I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me some sort of explanation now!”

He huffs, rubbing his temple. “We’re in France! I need you in that dress! We have an appointment and running late! There’s your explanation! Now if you’ll please,” he gestures towards the gown on the bed.

Swallowing hard, I comprehend the fact that he won’t be so forthcoming with me. I’ve seen plenty of thrillers where a girl is kidnaped and she acts out or doesn’t do anything which leads to her demise. I always shout at the girls to play along until the right opportunity arises. For all I know, I’m somewhere close to school and he’s messing with my head. All I’m sure about is I have to make it home.

“1778 you claim?” I clarify as I pick up the dress on the bed. As I examine the attire, I’m reminded of how uncomfortable women dressed. “This should be interesting...” If I’m going to play along I’ll need the proper attire and this isn’t it. I huff, “I’ll need a corset, heels, shift, pannier-”

The professor waves his hands for me to quiet down. “Yes! Yes, I know! I’ll be sending Joséphine in to help you. Any further questions?”

I shake my head, still struggling to cope.

“Very well,” he bows his head. As soon as he appeared he disappears into the halls. As soon as the door shuts, I feel as though I’m on the verge of fainting. I stumble over to the balcony in search of an escape route. I may only have minutes before he returns.

“I must be dreaming,” I tell myself to remain sane.

He’s really taking this whole charade about time travel seriously. Apart of me wishes to believe what he’s saying is true, the part of me that loves history blindly. If I’m truly in 1778 Paris that would incredible. Yet, I know logically time travel is impossible. Except, according to legend, the Eye of Harmony is said to allow time travel. Of course, that’s just ancient mythology, folklore. There’s no one alive that’s seen the star.

I watch the people in the streets below in awe. It all seems so real, the wagons, women dressed in corsets, and men dressed like the Founding Fathers. He must’ve drugged me, that’s the only explanation. Suddenly, the door creaks behind me and I jump like a scared cat. A lady, whom I assume is Joséphine, enters the room.

“Bonsoir Madame,” she greets me with a curtsy.

“Bonsoir…” I mutter, terrified but trying to remain calm.

Joséphine offers me a reassuring smile. I’m guessing she’s about my age, perhaps a few years older but not much. She guides me over to the vanity gently. At first, I stay as still as a statue. I watch as she picks up a few containers on the table and skims the labels.

“Ah oui!” She blurts out, apparently, she’s found what she was looking for.

After she selects a brush from the jar, she prepares to start on my makeup but I stop her.

“I’m okay, really! I just-”

“Non, non, non,” she objects. “ce soir madame vous devez avoir l'air parfait!”

Great, so if this really is 1778 then I’m about to get a heavy dose of lead poisoning. This white powder she’s spreading on my face makes me look like Casper. I respect the bold fashion of this era but rosy cheeks, cherry lips, and silk white skin, not my best look.

Once I’m suffocating in my dress, she pushes me down into the chair in front of the vanity and roughly yanks my auburn hair up. I study in the mirror as she pins my hair down to my scalp and digs the pins into my head. How the hell am I supposed to balance this clump of hair on my head? It’s taller than my entire head.

“Ouch!” I bark.

“Pardon, Madame,” she apologizes softly.

After I appear the part, Joséphine leads me through the house. It’s beautiful. The detail in the crown modeling and art-like wallpaper are so unique. I gawk at the walls as we walk through each room. She leads the way through the double front doors to a carriage where I’m met by the strange professor.

“Merci,” I thank Joséphine, though the experience wasn’t the most enjoyable.

She bows her head and leaves to return inside. I approach the professor, who’s dressed in the traditional french male attire of the time, wig in all. For a moment, it takes my breath away. I read so many books and seen so many movies about the era but nothing as felt more real than this.

“Nice wig,” I tease a bit, stifling a giggle.

“Dido,” he jokes in return.

“My head feels ten pounds heavier,” I poke at the cotton ball on my head. “How do I balance it?”

“You’ll learn. Takes practice.” The professor chuckles then snap his fingers for the footman to open the door of the carriage. Gesturing toward the door, he allows me to enter first.

I swift my gaze toward our mode of transpiration. I’ve never seen an authentic 18th-century carriage of this magnitude. The gold frame and light baby blue fabric are luxurious. I can only imagine how much history is within this carriage, at least will be I suppose.

“Are you admiring it or afraid of it?” The professor chuckles beside me.

“It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I’m not saying I entirely believe him with his fairytales but nonetheless, this experience so far has been like passages from my textbooks. I can feel him staring at me as I examine the carriage. It’s all too remarkable for me to look away.

“I see Joséphine did your hair and makeup as well, good,” He states with a grin. “If we’ll be at court, you’ll need to look the part.”

Before I have the chance to question his meaning, he offers me his hand to help me into the carriage. I’m hesitant. After all, this dude did kidnap me. As for his reasoning, I’m still in the dark. All I know is, possibly, that I’m in an entirely different country and almost three hundred years in the past, so he claims. I have no idea who he is or why he has me here. Yet, for some strange reason, I find myself trusting him slightly and against my better judgment. It’s his eyes. Every time I fall into them my gut tells me to trust him.

The professor sits across from me and settles in. The footman shuts the door and the driver calls to the horses to go along.

“Court?” I interrogate him, “as in the royal court?”

“Yes, precisely,” he replies as if it makes perfect sense.

He must be bonkers! There is no way we could be on our way to Versailles during the era of the monarchy and dressed like this!

“Right, right…” I raise a brow, “and who is king exactly?”

He rubs his hands up and down his thighs nervously. “That’s where you come in!”

“Me?!”

Quite frankly some rulers were just plain crazy and were temperamental! Plus, the French and English were constantly at war during the 18th century! This isn’t the time to visit for peace and quiet.

He scoffs, leaning forward to keep his voice down. “That’s the reason you’re here Miss Historian! You’re in charge of knowing everything about every century we visit!”

I narrow my eyes, “every century? Last I checked I never agreed to travel across time with you?!”

If that’s even what we’re doing. If he expects me to go to another destination with him he’s sorely mistaken.

He grins, not believing me for a second. “Oh, so you much rather go home? Sit behind a desk instead of meeting the very people you’re studying?”

If any of this was true, he’d have a point. I’ll never grant him the satisfaction of admitting that.

I scoff, “fine! You said it was 1778, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he answers quickly.

“Okay… ” I stare up at the ceiling to focus, reviewing my knowledge of the French monarchy. It appears in my mind like a timeline. I mumble, “1778… that’s in the middle of the American Revolution which means it’s before the French Revolution so the king would be… oh my god!”

My hand flies up to my mouth. I can’t believe it! If this man is telling the truth, then we’re in quite the most interesting year.

His eyes widen in horror and he grips my hands between us. “What?! What is it?!”

“Louis XVI! Louis XVI is the king! Oh, this is too good! Marie freaking Antoinette! Seriously? I can’t believe this!” I squeal, jumping up and down in my seat uncontrollably, causing the carriage to rock.

A part of me is starting to fall for the man’s word, perhaps I really am in 1778. At least then I could actually meet Louis XVI. For a second, I felt myself believing wholeheartedly.

“Is he cruel?! Kind Hearted?! Best king France has ever had?!”

I laugh, has he never picked up a history book?

“Sir, have you never heard of Louis XVI before? He’s infamous! What about the French Revolution? I mean… if we really are where you say we are, we’re living in it!”

He pouts, peering at me like an offended child. “No actually, I have heard of him! I guess you could just say he’s after my time. I’m better acquainted with his father,” he adds in a mutter.

I scrunch my eyebrows, “after your time? How could he be after-”

He cuts me off, “forget it. I’ll explain at a better time. As for now, your job is to inform me of everything I need to know about the French court. I know how to handle royalty and the protocol. All I need is for you to help me with the background information on these individuals. Though all royals are superficially the same I have to gain their trust on a personal level. In exchange, I’ll help you play the part of a lady of the court.”

I huff as I readjust my skirt, somewhat offended. Simply because I wasn’t born an aristocrat with a stick up my butt doesn’t mean I don’t know how to act civilized.

“I know how to be a lady! I can curtsy and whatnot!”

He stifles a laugh, raising a brow. “Y/N, have you ever even met a royal?”

He’s right once again. In my defense, America isn’t exactly crawling with monarchs. We got rid of that whole issue centuries ago.

“No…” I timidly admit.

He has a point, which annoys me. I may have been taught table manners and proper etiquette by my grandmother growing up but her rules are nothing compared to a royal court’s. I would be walking into a lion’s den without Danny’s guidance.

“So then, do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand. A mischievous grin coats his lips.

For all I know, I could be agreeing to anything. He could turn back on his word at any moment. I don’t trust him, not in the slightest. Yet, If I agree for the time being, it could buy me my freedom. I take a chance.

I shake his hand, “deal.”

His eyes widen, “almost forgot!”

He reaches into his frilly French jacket pocket and reveals a key. A standard old, metal key with a long string attached.

“You’ll be needing it.” He assures me as he shifts toward me and begins to put it around my neck.

“What is it?” I ask, still in awe.

“A key…” He sasses.

“Ugh,” I roll my eyes, “obviously! I’m asking why do I need it?”

“It’s to my Tardis,” he states as though everyone has one.

“What the hell-”

The carriage jolts to a stop abruptly. Soon, the driver opens the door for us and offers his hand for assistance. My mind is still focused on the blast the professor just sent in my direction. I’m still stuck on his statement, he’s after my time. What did he mean by that? Then, I learn that magic is basically real, along with time-travel.

My train of thought is soon interrupted by the professor calling my name. I hadn’t noticed him climb out of the carriage I was so deep within myself. I accept the hand of the driver and step down out of the carriage. Many of them that are similar to our own are lined up single file. Danny offers me his arm which I take instantly. I gawk at the copper-colored palace with gold embellishments. I’ve always wanted to visit Versailles. I never would have guessed it would be in this setting. I imagined hundreds of tourists with their phones out, too occupied to enjoy the magnificence in front of them. Instead, I’m surrounded by men in bright colored breeches and women wearing wigs that could reach the heavens.

“Are you alright?” he peers down at me, worried.

“Yes, it’s just… I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admit, breathlessly.

Men and women dressed in extravagant jewels and clothes. Only the highest social figures are gawking at the palace, arm in arm.

“It’s the king’s twenty-fourth birthday ball,” he informs me as we stroll into the palace doors behind various couples of the time.

My pulse must be through the roof I’m so anxious. My mind is racing. Danny is putting on a convincing show that we belong here. He has is his role well-rehearsed it appears.

“Stay close,” he instructs, searching the entrance hall.

I grip his arm, halting before we go in.

“What is it?” The man questions.

“What your name?” I comprehend I’ve never learned it. With everything going on, there was never a proper moment. Now, I realize there will never be.

“I’m the Doctor,” he answers with a sly grin.

“’ The Doctor?’ Well, I’m sorry to break it to you but there’s more than just one doctor in the world,” I laugh, this man can’t be serious.

“No,” he huffs, “my name is Doctor. I’m a... you know what, never mind. I’ll-”

“You’ll explain later,” I finish.

“Look at you catching on quickly,” he compliments and pinches my cheek. I swat his hand away with a frown. Geez, he’s annoying. He’s like the Energizer bunny in human form.

“Let’s head inside,” he instructs, guiding me along.

I adjust my skirt briefly, correcting any wrinkles from the ride here. He clears his throat and my eyes meet him as he gestures toward the ceiling with a smirk. It takes every cell of my being and a lot of self-control to not let my jaw drop. Absentmindedly, my arm falls from the Doctor as he continues to walk down the Hall of Mirrors and leaves me in awe of the architecture. I slowly come to a stop as I become engrossed in the details.

It suddenly hits me like a pile of bricks, this is all real. Everything the Doctor has said must be true. I went along with his word but now I truly believe it. The hand-painted ceiling, the solid gold statues that reflect in the mirrors, the marble walls surrounding them, and the crystal chandeliers that line the grand hall. The remaining light of the setting sun pours in through the windows and bounces off the floor. There is no possible way Versailles could be like this in modern times, it’s far too untouched and pristine. This means I’m honestly, without a doubt, in the year 1778. My heart feels as though it’s plummeted to my stomach. Oh my God, this is remarkable! This is every history lover’s dream! I’m living out my textbooks. I’m experiencing history first hand!

It must’ve taken the Doctor very little time to notice my absence. He calmly approaches me, visibly aware of my clear baffled state. I believe my reaction is valid considering the circumstances.

He whispers, “is it what you imagined based on your history books?”

I shake my head, nearly speechless. All I can do is gawk at everyone and everything around me. “It’s beyond anything I could imagine!” I finally break my attention away from the exquisite art to meet his gaze. “I believe you,” I confess to him.

Slight grin forms on the edge of his lips and his eyes fall to the floor with a slight chuckle. “I always knew you would…” He mutters under his breath.

Offering me his arm, he escorts me into a crowded ballroom. The Doctor must know the layout of the palace quite well unless he’s simply following the flow of the crowd. An orchestra plays in the background as drinks are passed around by servants with trays. I spin around slowly, staring up at the ceiling and chandeliers. All of the stories in these walls, the royals that have lived here, what will become of this palace, my head is spinning as I review the details. The music comes to a sudden halt along with the movement and banter in the room. All attention turns toward the double doors across the ballroom as they swing open. People shuffle closer, peering over each other’s heads to sneak a peek. Trumpets play a melody familiar to anyone, the signal of the King and Queen entering the room. Through the space between heads, I can see glimpses of the young notorious couple. Marie Antoinette’s tall and decorated wig, her pale and porcelain-like skin, her extraordinary gown, all perfect. The crowd disburses and form their miniature groups again. The Doctor snatches two champagne flutes from a passing tray and hands one to me.

“Doctor,” I whisper to him cautiously, in case of prying ears. “Why are we here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic but I don’t understand the purpose?”

He pulls me aside behind one of the pillars for some privacy. He scans the room to make sure no one is watching us. His actions have me wondering if our purpose here could put us in danger.

“How much do you know about the monarchs and the palace itself?”

My brows rise in astonishment, I start to question myself on how he doesn’t find the answer obvious by now. I spent a whole semester studying King Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, the French Revolution, and Versailles alone. Of course, that doesn’t make me an expert by any means but I would say I’m well-read.

He catches on to my sass and dismisses it. “Fine, fine fine, so you know a lot! Tell me more please!”

I nod, gathering the important bits from memory to summarize it all. To condense all of this history into such a brief yet crucial conversation is anything but fun.

“Okay well, I think the most important fact we have to consider is currently Her Majesty is pregnant with the couple’s first child. The baby will be a girl. Her name will be Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte de Bourbon. The couple will attempt to have more children, to have a male heir, but none will live past the age of eleven. The French Revolution won’t begin for another ten years. Both the King and the Queen will lose their lives, sadly, along with many members of the aristocracy. Then, Napoleon will become emperor. As for Versailles, it was completed in 1668 for King Louis XIV. During the revolution basically, everything will be taken from here. In modern times, the 21st century, most of it will be returned. That’s a summary of some basic information.”

The Doctor gawks at me, “you know all of this by heart? You wonderful little human. How do you memorize it all?”

I shrug, glancing in the direction of where I last saw the royal couple. “I suppose I’ve always cared so much about these people and their stories that it never really leaves me.”

The unfamiliar faces in this room are forming the world I must live in hundreds of years from now and none of them know it. The world will be completely altered by the end of the century. Every single person in this room is set to believe their roles here are unwavering. Little do they know that in less than a decade, all of it will be gone, nothing but a memory.

“I forgot to mention,” The Doctor mumbles and holds up the key that has slipped beneath the front of my dress. “Never lose it. Draw as little attention to it as possible. While we’re here, your job is to play Miss Know-it-all and mine is to find this journal.”

We’re interrupted by the grandfather clock when it dings in the corner. The Doctor’s head whips over in its direction, he checks the time.

“I have to go,” he informs me in a rush.

“But I-” I start, having a million questions.

“I’ll be back. Blend into the crowd! We’ll leave as soon as possible,” he instructs before disappearing into the cluster of people.

I stand awkwardly alone, afraid to move the slightest step. I’m surrounded by a bunch of dead people. Well, they’re not dead now, but when I’m alive they will be. I’m Versailles, holy shit! And I’m not even on a tourist trip to Versailles, no I’m at a ball in the Revolution Era! I would jump up and down squealing but I doubt that’s allowed. Instead, I’ll just smile to myself like an idiot and sip on this champagne.

__________________

Masterlist

#eleventh doctor x reader #doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x you #eleventh doctor #doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who fanfic #dw #fanfic #imagine

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hellitwasyoufirstsergeant · 4 years

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Hi everyone! I’m not really sure why I’m posting this here, I suppose because I’m not ready for people I know ‘irl’ to see this, and this is the only account I have anywhere where none of my irl friends follow it. As to why I’m posting this at all, I’m not so sure either. I suppose largely for myself, in the hope that it will exorcise some demons, and partly for other people, because eating disorders just are not discussed enough and perhaps by posting this I can show someone else that they’re not alone.

There may be mistakes in this and it may not all be 100% coherent, I found it hard to write and I didn’t wish to read it back over.

WARNING: The following post contains discussions of eating disorders and mental health issues. Please do not read if this is a trigger for you, and please not not read if you’re only here to pass judgement

Looking back now, it’s so easy to realise why I felt the way I did, and to see my descent into mental illness. At the time, it was confusing as hell. I wasn’t diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder and clinical depression until I was 17, although I had been suffering from both for six years already, I just didn’t realise it, because I just didn’t know they existed. I didn’t know there were medical conditions to describe how I felt, perhaps if I did I wouldn’t have felt so alone and so alienated. It wasn’t until last year that I realised I’d suffered from an eating disorder. Before that, I didn’t know that binge eating was an eating disorder.

The words ‘eating disorder’ to me conjured up images of skeletal bodies, of people making themselves sick. I wish that preteen and teen me knew that I was suffering from an actual condition, that other people suffered from too.

I don’t recall specifically the first time I binged on food, but over autumn (fall) of 2011 it became a regular occurrence, a habit. It was my way of coping with the changes in my life - starting a new school, my mum being diagnosed with a clinical illness and an increasingly fractured relationship with my dad - and my feelings of loneliness. I was also self conscious about my body, I was in a more advanced stage of puberty than most of my peers and I was aware of the fact that I was a little overweight. Bingeing became an outlet for feelings that I couldn’t understand, and therefore that I couldn’t process.

It was a process that I repeated regularly for six years. It was like a paradox, the more I looked at myself in the mirror and hated what I saw, the more I binged, the very thing that made me carry on putting on weight. I was overweight, I still am today, but I wish that I could have seen myself the way others saw me - slightly chubby but not the ugly monster I thought myself at the time. I ate my feelings away, it was the only coping mechanism I knew. Even when in some ways my life improved - when I was 14 I finally fell in with a group of friends who were kind and who made me feel accepted - my mental state continued to decline and I continued to eat to cope. I was also feeling confused about my sexuality, something that increased my sense of alienation and otherness. It was often the only thing that got me through the day, the only thing that made life bearable to me.

I never confided the way I felt or my problem with food to anyone during this period. My mum knew that I had issues with food, twice she found hidden stashes in my bedroom. She has been a good parent to me, but I so wish she’d handled it differently. She made me feel ashamed, something that made me more determined to hide my problem and therefore to not confront it. I think perhaps that she would’ve been a lot more understanding had she known the feelings behind the problem, but I didn’t know how to go about telling her.

I can’t remember how old I was exactly when I shoplifted food for the first time, I think around 14. The £10 a week pocket money was no longer enough to fund my problem, even though I always chose the cheapest food so that I could buy as much as possible. I shoplifted semi regularly from the local supermarkets for around 18 months, I still don’t know how I was never caught.

In September 2016, I started sixth form college. It was a fresh start that I so badly needed, my five years at secondary school having been so unhappy. It was hard to begin with, only my oldest friend went to the same college as me and old feelings of loneliness resurfaced. A part of me had hoped that the change of school would allow me to leave my bingeing habit behind, but it wasn’t to be. Even when I settled in and began making friends, I continued bingeing.

New friends at college told me of their mental health issues, and I finally felt understood - there were other people who felt the way I did, other people who wanted to die. These feelings may not be normal, but I’m not alone anymore. Despite feeling accepted properly for the first time in my life, I continued to eat. Perhaps it was the stress of A levels (my fellow Brits know how fucking hard these are), or my mum’s decline in health, or my increasingly worsening relationship with my dad.

In May/June time of 2017, my oldest friend, Imogen, who was one of a few friends now aware of my poor mental state, told me that I should go to the doctor. After a little persuading, I agreed. She came with me, but the appointment achieved nothing. I tried a few more GPs at my local surgery and eventually found one who made me feel listened to, and who was kind and sympathetic. I don’t recall the exact time I was diagnosed (to be honest this period in my life is a bit of a blur), but after some months I was finally diagnosed with GAD and clinical depression. I still continued to stay silent about my problem with food.

Ironically, it was actually the further decline of my mental state that allowed me to break my old habit. My mental health had declined fairly slowly over the past few years, but the decline accelerated over autumn and winter of 2017. I don’t know if there was a trigger behind that, I guess mental health doesn’t need a reason. I didn’t know how to deal with the way I felt, I lashed out and fell out with Imogen, which hit me hard. We didn’t talk at all for three months. Before this period, I had often thought that things would be so much easier if I was dead, but my thoughts had never progressed beyond that. Now, it became more active. I actually wanted to die. I stopped looking when I crossed the road, I stopped looking after my physical health at all. Fears about hurting my mum were the only thing stopping me from taking it further. But, I finally stopped binge eating, so disinterested in life that even the that no longer made me feel better.

My mental state didn’t take a turn for the better, but I grew used to these new feelings and started to process them properly. I got better at pushing them out, but I did eventually decide to tell my parents about my diagnoses. My mum was very supportive, she still is, my dad not so (although I probably should’ve expected that). I made up with Imogen, my behaviour started to normalise. I felt so free from my old bingeing habit, it had only been a few months but it felt like a lifetime ago.

In February 2018, my mum told me that she’d be moving to Yorkshire. She’d been forced by her job to take early retirement due to ill health, she was only 50 at the time, and wanted to live somewhere cheaper so she could save on living costs and pay off her mortgage. I was scared, and considered for a time moving in with my grandparents so that I could stay in a place where I knew people, but eventually decided that I’d move with my mum. Still, despite the biggest change ever to happen in my life, I managed to avoid a return to my binge eating habit. I’m still not sure how. Perhaps now that the habit was broken it no longer had the hold over me that it once did.

And then, around March 2018, my dad gave me £500. To this day I still have no idea why, I guess guilt. But it was so much more money than I’d ever had. The temptation not to spend any of it on food was too great. I decided to treat myself, I’d spend £100 on food and put the rest in my savings.

By the time I finished college at the beginning of June, the entire £500 was gone, at least £450 of it spent on food. I still remember the binge I had the day after me and mum moved out of our old home and in with my grandparents, who we lived with for seven weeks before going to Yorkshire. My mental state declined still further, and I wasted most of those weeks in bed, not having the energy to do anything. I kicked myself later for not using it to spend time with the friends I was leaving behind.

After we moved to Yorkshire in August, I spent two of the worst months of my life. My old feelings of loneliness resurfaced, not helped by the fact that one of my closest friends just stopped talking to me. I seemed to alternate between binge eating, my binges even bigger than they ever had been, and hardly eating at all.

But, eventually, I managed to settle in. I got a job, I made new friends. I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop binge eating again, it just happened. I wasn’t lonely anymore, but my mental state didn’t seem to get any better. But, I had healthier ways of coping and I didn’t need to binge as an outlet for my feelings anymore. In September 2019, I started uni, and I finally felt like my life had a purpose.

Now, I have more and better friends than I ever had. I’m glad I made the move to Yorkshire, where I live now is much nicer where I grew up and if I hadn’t made the move there are so many amazing people I wouldn’t have met. Most of my friends are aware of my mental health issues, although I rarely discuss them in detail.

However, only one of my friends is aware of my eating disorder. I didn’t realise until last year that binge eating was classified as an eating disorder. I’m not quite sure why, but this discovery prompted me to finally confide in my oldest friend, Imogen. She was very supportive and understanding, and I know my other friends would be, but it’s still something where I look back and I’m like ‘woah that actually happened’. Putting it out of my mind as much as possible has been my way of coping with the fact that it did happen. I have been slightly more open online that I have irl about the fact that I had an eating disorder, but this is the first time I have discussed it this in depth with anyone.

I’m going to say now what I wish preteen and teen me had known: you are not alone. Whether you’re suffering from an eating disorder, from mental health issues, or from something else, you are not alone. I can’t say truthfully that I have never regretted confiding in someone, but the majority of the time it has helped me, even in a small way. Please talk to someone if you have an eating disorder, be it a friend, a family member, a GP, a teacher, even me. It is nothing to be ashamed of.

I stopped binge eating as a regular habit at the start of winter 2018. Although I relapsed a couple times last year, it’s been twelve months and counting since my last binge.

#shut up ange #please everyone remember that no matter what you’re going through #you are not alone #find later

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years

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I Love You, I Missed You, I’m Sorry

Summary: Winter’s glacial tendrils begin to wrap the city, spiraling until London as a whole is shuddering. Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: HEAVY angst. A/N: You know the drill. Sorry in advance. Bring the tissues. Also, I apologize for all the dividers, but running two scenes simultaneously while writing in a 2nd person point of view is hard. The song for this one is: Fall - Editors

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Winter’s glacial tendrils begin to wrap the city, spiraling until London as a whole is shuddering, every citizen running for warmth as soon as they step out the door. Unseasonably frigid and snowy, London crawls to a near-standstill as Christmas quickly approaches.

Although shrinking in number as they have been each year, the party invitations begin appearing in mid-November, each one gaudier than the one before it. Why people still invite him to events is beyond him, but Henry politely declines each one, keeping only the one his mother sends in her elegant script. While he knows it will be nearly impossible to attend, Henry makes a note on the calendar to speak to Kathy about potentially playing babysitter for a few hours while he makes an appearance and leaves as quickly as he’d come.

Life is now a shuffle. One step of progress invariably means two steps in regression, and each day, the stress takes a greater and greater toll on the man who holds his world on his shoulders.

Those who knew him from before only recognize him because his body has somewhat returned to normal. Having come dangerously close to passing out one morning, Henry began slotting in time to lift weights. His body returns with ease, albeit in a slimmer form, and while he feels the shift in his health for the better, the tremors worsen week over week. It’s now second-nature for Henry to hide his affliction from everyone including Kathy, who still comes by to take her readings and check on any progress made. There are many vices open to him, but the only one he maintains is strength training, finding it practical not only for your care, but for being able to power through another day without you. It brings cold satisfaction, but no comfort whatsoever.

Each day, there’s a glimmer of hope, but only a sliver and while Henry always starts the day with good intentions, by evening, he’s wrecked again, curling in on himself and wondering what he’s done wrong to once more have snuffed out hope’s progression into real recovery. You’re most ‘active’ in the morning, squeezing a hand here, making a noise that more closely resembles speech there, but by lunch you’re locked in once more, shut away from the world and all the pain it’s caused. Never once does Henry get the joy of seeing your eyes open, the pain of the last time he saw your gaze still a fresh, open wound.

Two weeks before Christmas, life becomes a rollercoaster neither you nor Henry are prepared for.

“Good morning, love,” Henry murmurs, kissing your cheek tenderly, his hand smoothing back your hair as he always does. Eyes half-closed, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his arms holding you just a bit tighter for a moment. Henry’s used to seeing your eyes closed now, and though he’d give anything to see your gaze once more, he never gets his hopes up, knowing it’s far too big an ask. This particular morning however, he startles badly when he finds, after nearly three years, your eyes open and gazing up at him in horrified confusion.

The hours that follow nearly break him.

“I’m sorry, son. It’s rare, but it does happen to patients who are severely emotionally traumatized. It’s called psychogenic, or dissociative amnesia. The positive is that it’s hardly ever permanent. She will remember you, it will just take time.” Kathy’s words hardly register, Henry rocking back and forth as tears stream silently down his cheeks. Forgetting to hide his tremors, he watches the cigarette he begged Kathy for, burn up in his left hand, the world far too loud and far too cold to make any sense.

“Y-you didn’t t-tell her about t-the ba-baby, right?” He whimpers, eyes squeezing shut tightly as Kathy hugs him, Henry’s mouth frozen open in a scream that will never find the breath in his lungs.

“No, love, I didn’t. I told her your name, reassured her you were a safe person for her, and that she’s in her own house, that’s all.” Kathy speaks softly, cradling him as she would her own son, the nurse’s eyes filled with tears of heartache for the man she’s come to know so well.

“T-thank you.” Ever gracious, Henry allows himself to grieve just a little longer than usual, the pain in his chest reverberating throughout his body and making any type of movement difficult. Though you’ve returned in the physical, you’re still lost to him, and Henry knows that what comes next will hurt worse than the years he’s spent looking after your once-lifeless body.

In the days that follow, life as your husband ceases to exist for Henry. He uses your naps to hide all the mementos of your life as a couple, before you’re able to get out of bed and notice them yourself. Everything is stored away in a trunk, placed in what would have been the baby’s room. Conversations are kept to light subjects such as the weather, the upcoming holidays, or what’s on TV. He does his best to always smile and appear passively happy around you, knowing it will speed your recovery. Every doctor’s appointment is kept, and he works with you on physio as though he’s your own personal trainer. He cries in the shower thinking he can’t be heard, and starts sleeping on the couch to give you space and privacy. Each day that passes, his heart breaks more, the pain sharpening like a knife on a whetstone, tearing Henry to ribbons inside.

By week’s end, all the hard work Henry’s put in over the years starts paying off, and with all the tubing removed from your stomach thanks to a minor surgery, you’re well enough to walk to the bathroom with his help and take care of things yourself. He still helps you with showering, but keeps his back to you while you indulge in what feels like your first time under the spray. You don’t notice the slump in his shoulders, the subtle shaking of his whole frame, or how hard he has to grip the counter to keep himself upright. By the time he turns back around to lift you off your feet and help you over the lip of the tub, he’s all smiles again, composure in place.

As you become more independently mobile, Henry’s old tricks of hiding away his emotions become harder to pull off. You catch him several times just laying on the couch, a cushion crushed against his chest as he fights to breathe properly, his face soaked with tears. Every few moments, he wipes them away in a haste, terrified that you’ll see what’s going on behind the mask. More than torment, you notice that he seems to be in actual pain, Henry’s hand always clutching at his chest, as though something beneath the skin is constricting. It worries you to the point where you bring it up to Kathy the next time she stops in.

“I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s actually in pain, Kathy. I...I don’t know what to do to help him. He always puts on a brave front for me, but every time he thinks I’m not watching, he’s in tears. I just...I wish I knew what was wrong,” you lament, your own eyes a little blurry, having never been one to enjoy watching others suffer, even if they’re relative strangers.

Kathy sighs deeply, her own face dropping in sorrow. She’s begged Henry to tell you the truth for days, but the fit of panic and agony it sends him into isn’t worth the good she knows it will do to help your recovery. A hundred different responses come to her mind, but in the end, she chooses the most benign and the one least likely to put her out of favor with Henry and her employer.

“I’ll have a quick check of him, love. Make sure everything’s tickin’ away properly.”

She accosts Henry while you sleep one afternoon and indeed checks his vitals, relieved to find no outright abnormalities with his heart rate, lung capacity, or breathing. The tremor however, doesn’t slip her gaze, and she once again pleads with Henry to be seen by a physician during one of your appointments, hoping that a ‘killing two birds with one stone’ approach will get through to him. Henry says he’ll try to remember, but politely asks for some time alone to rest. For the first time in the years she’s been working with him, Kathy goes to her car and bawls, seeing that his undoing is coming close to being irreversible.

Her efforts put you somewhat at ease, but don’t help when it comes to Henry’s mood. Something is going on and you plan on getting to the bottom of it, once and for all.

Henry’s reluctant to go to his family’s Christmas celebration for various reasons, not least of which is that he still doesn’t trust that you’ll be alright on your own. You have to all but push him out the door after he ensures that you’re fed, bathed, warm enough, and set with all of the ways to contact him should you need help. You watch him go and then immediately begin your hunt, knowing the truth is somewhere in the house, especially since he’s never once gone ‘home’ to another place before. Henry’s with you 24/7 and something about that doesn’t ring as home nurse, especially with Kathy popping in every few days.

At the party, Henry hangs back from the adults, preferring to help the younger members of the family enjoy their time by keeping them distracted. He plays video games with them until it gets boring, goes out and makes a snowman with them (the first time any of them, Henry included, have had enough snow with which to do it), then brings them back in to decorate cookies. While the boys all abandon ship after a few moments, icing oozing over the sides of their cookies as they run off in glee, Henry’s niece stays with him, trying her best to decorate them in individual patterns so that everyone has a unique cookie just for them.

“Uncle Henry, are you and aunty still together?” She asks out of the blue, catching Henry off guard. Having longer hair has its advantages and one of them is looking at his niece out of the corner of his eye without her noticing due to his shaggy curls.

“Of course we are, sweetheart. Why do you ask?”

“Well, because she never comes to family stuff anymore.” The tone of longing in her voice cracks what little is left of Henry’s heart, and he covers his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply through his nose before exhaling.

“She’s been sick, sweetheart. Too sick to leave the house. But she’s getting better. You’ll see her again very soon, with any luck.”

“You don’t sound very happy that she’s getting better,” Hazel responds, her observational skills far beyond anyone her age.

The main living areas of the small house turn up nothing. No photos, no home movies, not even a trinket with an engraving. The bedroom is similarly empty, although you do find all of Henry’s clothes, momentarily getting side-tracked by a collection of fine suits, and warm comfy sweaters. You can’t help but put one on, finding the size, softness of the fabric, and lingering scent of his cologne comforting in a familiar way. It’s clear that whoever he is, Henry’s downplaying his role in your life; you just don’t know why.

With only one room left, you realize that you’ve never once seen the door open, never once seen Henry go inside, and it gives you pause. Whatever is in there either holds no value, or has all the answers you’re looking for.

Turning the knob, what meets your eye is not at all what you were expecting. Instead of an office or a man-cave, you come face to face with a nursery.

Henry tries to laugh, but the sound never escapes, and instead he looks down to find his niece eyeing him intently.

“It’s...difficult right now,” he says, thinking of dismissing the conversation, but only for a moment. His niece will either overhear it from his brother, or figure it out on her own, so he might as well be truthful. “Your aunt doesn’t remember me, or any of us, really. The illness she has makes it so she thinks I’m a stranger to her, and not her husband. So it’s been hard living under the same roof and not being able to hug or kiss the person you love because they don’t see you that way anymore.”

“But she’ll be alright again, won’t she?” Hazel asks, her eyes wide.

“The doctors seem to think she will be, but only time will tell.” Henry admits defeat, but does so with a smile aimed at his niece, one she sees right through.

“It’s alright to be sad, Uncle Henry. You love her lots, and you miss her,” Hazel’s words cut to the quick and her hug causes a cry to loose itself from Henry’s throat, muffled at the last second by his hand covering his mouth. Undeterred, Hazel holds onto his waist tightly, willing her uncle to feel better, or at least get the tears out, as her mum always says.

The nursery is well-appointed, holding everything one would need to care for a newborn infant. It takes a few moments for you to find your footing and step into the room, but as your eyes roam over the framed images, stuffed animals, and blankets, you realize that the room looks untouched. The crib has never bore the weight of a baby, the rocking chair has never been sat in, and even the blanket hanging over the rails has never once been unfolded. Whatever the plans were for this room, they’ve never come to pass. It makes you heartsick, and you wonder if this isn’t the reason Henry is always so distraught.

After the initial shock of the room wears off, the trunk is the first thing to catch your eye. Sitting in the middle of the room, the deep mahogany box seems out of place. With a shaky breath, you move to sit in front of it, eager but hesitant to see what’s inside. Although there’s a latch, you find it unlocked, and with another steadying breath, you open the heavy lid, gasping at what you see inside.

Like her uncle, Hazel is already deft at avoiding the raucousness that is her family at holiday time, and with expertise, she leads him up the stairs to her room where they can sit and have quiet.

“Tell me a story about aunty. One that I’ve never heard,” she asks once they’re settled, Hazel curling up in Henry’s lap as they watch the snow fall in big, powdered-sugar flakes outside. Henry’s tears still pour down his face, and though her request seems easy enough, he finds it hard to pick just one tale.

“Your aunt used to sing--” Henry can’t finish the sentence, the realization that it’s been years since he’s heard your voice in that way, one that kicks him right in the gut. Eyes squeezed shut, his sole comfort is Hazel’s small hand patting his forearm as he holds her close, crying into her hair, agonized by all that he’d lost years ago, and how easily he’d taken those things for granted.

Pictures line the top of the pile in the trunk, some framed, others in photobooks, while the remainder are simply stacked up, developed and left in their original form. The very first picture is one of Henry beaming at you. It’s the kind of smile that takes your breath away, and it takes you a moment to look past it to the rest of the image. Tears prick your eyes when you realize it’s a wedding photo, his adoring gaze one you’ve seen in so many other couples’ pictures, but this one is special; this one is yours.

The next picture makes you laugh out loud as it sparks a memory. It had been your first year of college, and you’d gone on holidays with a few of your friends, deciding to cross the pond for the first time in your life. On a rowdy night out, you’d met Henry, and though the sparks were immediate, you’d tried to hold back, knowing you would leave town by week’s end. The silly picture was meant to be a trip memory, not a sign of what was to come. In the photo, Henry pretends to lick your face while you make the goofiest expression you could manage, the two of you falling into a fit of laughter shortly thereafter; laughter which then quickly turned into a kiss.

It’s the third picture that breaks your heart. Shot in black and white, despite the clarity making it a more recent photograph, the composition is simple enough. Sitting in the same bed that you’d been confined to for what felt like an eternity, Henry hugs you from behind, his eyes gazing lovingly down at both you and your barely-round belly. You notice he’s wearing a simple wedding band in the picture, and as your brain checks its files, you realize the only jewelry you’ve ever seen on him was an identical band on his middle finger. The implication of the move is clear, and you cry openly, beginning to understand just how much he’s sacrificed for you.

The final picture shatters you, as everything rushes back like a bullet aimed directly at your heart. You’re not sure who took the picture, but it marks the beginning of anguish for Henry. Grizzled and unkempt, the man you married so many years ago lays his head in your hand, his face one of pure distress. Although the room more closely resembles a hotel suite, the bars along the bed make it clear you’re in the hospital and that he’d come home after all, only to find that nothing would ever be the same.

Feeling around the pockets of your sweat pants, you pull out the phone you’d been given and call Henry’s number.

Henry wipes his eyes hastily when his phone rings and, extracting his arm from Hazel’s grip momentarily, immediately takes the call when he sees the number is yours.

“Hi love, what’s going on?” He asks, doing his best to keep his voice upbeat and calm, even though his heart is already racing and his mind is fearing the worst. The tears he hears in your voice are enough to have him bolting up, lifting Hazel with ease before quickly setting her down on the carpet.

Henry flies down the stairs, only stopping to put his boots on before careening out the door to his car. He barely registers the sounds of protest coming from his family, too scared that he won’t reach you in time.

Barely remembering to put the car in park when he reaches the house, the slam of the front door opening is an afterthought as Henry races up the stairs. He finds you where he least expected to, his heart in his throat as he watches you silently for a moment, terrified that you’ll fall back into Catatonia. The secret is out, and the tears come like rivers again as he takes in your reaction to the memories. Time stills as he gazes down at you, watching more and more of your wedding photos be revealed, followed by pictures celebrating the confirmation of a new life in the family, one who would never come to pass.

“Love, I’m h-here,” Henry whispers brokenly, able to keep steady long enough to see you look up at him with real recognition.

Both of you let out a keen wail as he closes the distance, his body crashing into yours as he holds you tight.

The world stops for the two of you, giving both of you time to say what’s been held in your hearts for far too long.

I love you.

I missed you.

I’m sorry.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #angst #fic

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iwillgetridofyourangerforyou · 4 years

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The Good Doctor Kuseno

More questions than answers Possible Spoilers ahead!!

@gofancyninjaworld has a few excellent posts about this already please read them if you’re interested. These posts are well researched and provide a different perspective than my own. I recommend that everyone consume different perspectives to help inform and diversify their own. I also reference a few of them in my post here.

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/612670463398772736/when-cancel-isnt-an-option

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/612685729355759616/what-about-if-the-mad-cyborg-was-created-by

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/190986677872/the-nysh-forward-the-following-meta-has-been

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/187738207032/so-conflicts-of-interest-with-whowhat-else#notes

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/184129389540/how-to-grow-old-and-stay-mad

What do we actually know about the good doctor?

As Fancy Ninja noted:

He claims to have been chasing ‘that cyborg’ for longer than Genos has been.

He used to be angry over some injustice.

He’s not afraid to take up arms in person.

He’s a skilled scientist/engineer, specifically he “likes to dabble with mechanical engineering”

He’s deeply invested in Genos. Seemingly in both the literal and figurative sense.

Additionally and significantly, He’s not a monster.

Why is 6 important? I mean, if Garou teaches us anything it’s that the lines between Human, hero, and monster are not as clear as we may have initially assumed. And yet, Monsters truly exist in this universe and their existence is significant. (It's also notable here that we have seen a few instances where monsters appeared as the humans they were before they consumed monster cells only to reveal their identity later, but for the moment this seems to be unlikely of Kuseno.) One of the possible interpretations of this fact is that despite his past anger and continued obsession with hunting this cyborg he still has something within him that keeps him human. I’m not sure exactly what that is in this case because if I’m honest, I’m not super certain what makes humanity human in general, in OPM or otherwise. Aside from that, we know fairly little about the good doctor. We know almost nothing about his past.

What he tells us:

“When I and Genos first met, we didn’t have a single ally. It was as if the pair of us were lost and alone fumbling in the darkness… I dived into research with all I could, trying to come up with some way to fight back at the forces of evil... and yet our troubles were just beginning, because me and my boy-”

vs THis:

What does Kuseno have to gain from all his tireless effort into Genos?

Despite my reservations about Dr. Kuseno I’d be remiss to fail to admire his work on Genos. Kuseno has done an incredible job with Genos’ upgrades. The aesthetic and humanizing touches he’s given Genos are so, and I cannot emphasize this enough, important. He has a human looking face and hair. Kuseno has even been aging Genos appropriately over time, he can even eat food normally. (And we all know he’s been keeping Geno damn hot in the process) The things that he’s done to humanize Genos is sincerely one of the most compelling arguments that Dr. Kuseno is a truly good bean. But he’s not off the hook yet.

When he says that seeing Genos reminded him of his youth when he was righteous and feared nothing always charging in without thought of consequences and I have to wonder, what consequences did Dr. Kuseno experience in his life that changed him? If he’s experienced so much in his life why is he still walking the path of vengeance and promoting that path for Genos? Even if he’s not promoting the path for Genos but merely ‘supporting’ Genos on his path wouldn’t you think someone who was so similar in their youth know better than to fuel a revenge mission? But I’m not particularly apt to believe Dr. Kuseno is merely going along with ‘pushy’ Genos. He definitely has his own motives here and we’re not very clear what those are yet. For this I recommend reading Ninja’s conflicts of interest post to get some different perspectives on his varied motives. One possibility is that he’s effectively living through Genos. There is a scene in Season 2 of the anime where Dr. Kuseno is standing in a beam of light talking about his quest for justice in his youth and Genos stands under Kuseno obscured in shadow. That image made me shudder. Now the care and attention Kuseno gives Genos feels much creepier, like a doll to be dressed up and played with. I hope that’s not the case.

Who is this Dr. Kuseno and what is his relationship with Genos? Fatherly? Or Patronizing? And what are the ethics and implications of allowing Genos such extreme body modifications.

I love a found family as much as the next person, but I find it slightly suspicious that a doctor that just happens to be an expert in cybernetics arrives in time to save Genos’ life after his village was destroyed by a CYBORG. So, we’ve learned that Kuseno was chasing the mad cyborg before Genos was so maybe that explains the convenient meeting but that makes me wonder, when and how did the Cyborg’s trail go so cold that neither Kuseno or Genos seem to know where it is at the moment (or maybe Kuseno knows something more about this and is hiding it from Genos)? We’ve also since learned that even though cybernetic components are relatively commonplace in this world modifications over 30% are extremely rare. ‘Enhancements’ as extensive as Genos’ are almost unheard of and extremely risky, including a risk of madness. How did Dr. Kuseno become such an excellent doctor of cybernetics? I couldn’t have just been overnight? Learning takes trial and error and mistakes. God knows Genos has given that man more than enough trial and error for a lifetime but what about before Genos?

Ninja noted that in all of the lab frames Dr. Kuseno stands a fair distance away from Genos. I immediately think of the anime Dororo from 2019 and the way Jukai handles Hyakkimaru, who is likely not less dangerous than Genos in context. Jukai is genuinely fatherly and close, only teaching Hyakkimaru to fight once it became clear the boy would not walk a different path. In the lab Kuseno is cold and distant and the atmosphere is draped in shadow. The contrast between Dr. Kuseno’s behavior toward Genos in public verses in the lab is notable. I don’t really know what specifically to note about it, except that it reinforces for me that the two men barely know each other, which is disturbing given that Genos has known Dr. Kuseno probably longer than he’s known anyone and Kuseno was effectively Genos’ guardian. How much does Genos really know about the man who holds his life in his hands if Genos didn’t even know Dr. Kuseno had a battle suit? What else is Kuseno hiding or omitting? At the same time Dr. Kuseno notes seeing a new side of Genos at Saitama’s apartment. Does Dr. Kuseno know Genos as well as he thinks he does when he says things like “you remind me of myself in my youth.” ?

Genos believes he isn’t good enough and never will be good enough. Intentionally or unintentionally Dr. Kuseno feeds into this insecurity. Does that mean he’s responsible for Genos’ insecurities? No. But it is a piece of the troubling looking puzzle connecting the two of them. Unfortunately, when Genos goes to see Kuseno it’s often in defeat so he didn’t get much meaningful encouragement from the doctor. Even in victory, after G4, Dr. Kuseno doesn’t give Genos much encouragement. “There are still areas where we can improve you” even after getting a completely new upgrade neither Dr. Kuseno nor Genos seem to be satisfied. We consistently see Kuseno chiding Genos for being reckless and begging him to be more careful and to stay alive at the very least. Perhaps Kuseno is more concerned about losing his investment than the psychological health of his charge? Kuseno is more of a scientist than anything else and it's difficult to fault him for his excellent skills but can you imagine how actually damaging it is for a growing human to literally be a never fished project in the eyes of the person who should be loving you unconditionally. We all need to grow and change constantly, but there is a difference between acknowledging a person’s strengths and weaknesses and only acknowledging (in any meaningful way) a person’s failures. It’s a habit Genos has made for himself but unfortunately, even if not intentionally, Dr. Kuseno may have helped build that habit. Ever since Genos’ family died everything in his life seems to be reinforcing the ‘not good enough’ narrative. Not good enough to save his family, not strong enough to protect anyone. Every victory is shallow and meaningless in his mind because his eyes were set only on the final goal of defeating Mad Cyborg. Which is, likely as not, unattainable.

Genos may see Saitama as his mentor but he is dependent on Kuseno for his growth making Kuseno far more practically his ‘mentor’. There is an important part of a typical hero’s journey story when a hero must move past the teaching of their mentor and grow on their own. This is a fundamentally important stage to help the hero see that they are ‘good enough’ they have the tools they need to succeed. Sometimes this transition is painful, think back to Iroh refusing to speak to Zuko while they were in the fire nation or when Jukai refused to help Hyakkimaru anymore. Both Zuko and Hyakkimaru were angry and devastated, but it was in the end a vital part of their progress. I fear a mentor who is either not willing or not able to allow them to surpass them.

Whether through compliance or malice the system created by the relationship between Genos and Dr. Kuseno is one where Genos relies heavily on Dr. Kuseno. If Genos is compromised he could put Dr. Kuseno at risk but the battle suit indicates that Dr. Kuseno may be more prepared to deal with risk than an average scientist. But if Dr. Kuseno is compromised that could put Genos in an early grave. Regardless of the scientists intentions Dr. Kuseno is holding Genos back. Since Genos’ latest upgrade in the anime we’ve learned that Genos used to have safety restrictions on his parts but when we first meet Genos he is about to self-destruct his own core. So what were the safety restrictions for? The practically seem more about preserving an investment than protecting the human being. Garou’s story seems to indicate there is an important part of the path for one to push their limiter is possibly to get to the brink of death itself (probably not the only way) but possibly Genos’ safety restrictions have been holding him well below his limiter for ages. Maybe he can’t break his limiter because of his cybernetic body but I honestly don’t think it’s so cut and dry. (Also I find it sad and notable that when Genos is about to self-destruct he apologizes to Dr. Kuseno for letting him down. Genos wants to live badly, but he’s so deeply self-destructive just the tip of the iceberg of emotional issues Genos is battling. When he apologizes to Dr. K, even though he’s the one who would lose his life! It’s like he’s so afraid of failing the Dr.’s expectations again he’d rather die.) Genos needs to be able to repair himself. I’m desperately afraid that the practicality of complete cybernetic repair will render Genos dependent on someone forever.

We already know that Genos would do anything to get stronger but what has ‘doing anything’ looked like for him? What does it mean for him? I don’t really know how you can take one look at this guy and deny he’s already made painful sacrifices to get stronger. It looks like he’s willing to sacrifice his dignity, youth, life, respect, independence, joy, all sensual pleasures, and much much more for his goal to be stronger. That goal servers a purpose and that purpose was given to him by Dr. Kuseno when his village was destroyed ‘defeat Mad Cyborg’. But what will his goal for ultimate strength be without the purpose that will almost definitely be taken away from him. Even if it isn’t and he accomplishes it what will he do then? Will the sacrifices be worth it in the end? Will he be able to rebuild a new purpose and a new life for himself?

#genos #opm #meta #one punch man #Forgive me I don't know how to make links look nice on tumblr rn #dr kuseno #kuseno #saitama #demon cyborg #cyborgs #How and why did he recognize the parts that Genos brought him #What does this mean?#“Somehow or other I ended up supporting Genos?#And yet Genos directly attributes his survival from the Mad Cyborg to the good doctor?#Before the doctor mentions that he’s been tracking the Mad Cyborg longer than Genos #and inquires how Genos’ search is going?#Is Dr. Kuseno is responsible for the creation of the Mad Cyborg?#Does Dr. Kuseno actively puts Genos at risk to gather useful data?#Was Mad Cyborg was destroyed already?#and does Kuseno know this?#Is he hiding that information from Genos to keep Genos hungry and desperate?#making him easier to manipulate.#If Dr. Kuseno and Bofoi are rivals and genos could be dangerously caught between them in the future?#I did a lot of research for this post because it’s a really dicy topic I have a lot of conflicting views about #I also have a bag full of internalized resentment I'm working through so please don’t look in there.#one punch man webcomic

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aristocraticvision · 4 years

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Chapter 22: An Unwilling Heir

Devon sat quietly in the waiting room. While not an especially religious person, he prayed now that his cousin would survive his injuries – partially for Stephen’s sake, but mostly for his own.

He did not want the throne. He never had, though his parents had done their best to prepare him for it. When Princess Marie had given birth to no more children after Stephen, Devon’s father had become “the spare,” and Devon after him. Yet, while the late Earl of Buckland would have served his nation admirably, Devon had never had any desire to rule. In fact, he had never wanted to be an earl. He had always just wanted an ordinary life.

But fate had chosen his future for him.

At least, as earl, he could still live somewhat anonymously. While the press still monitored his engagements, they rarely reported on his activities. Even when he was younger, and had done stupid things like skipping classes or drinking before he was of age, he had managed to keep a low profile in the public eye.

But that would change if Stephen were to die. As the prince’s only remaining male relative (Devon’s mother had been the younger sister of Prince George, Stephen’s father), he would be compelled to succeed his cousin, regardless of his personal wishes. His life would never be the same – and any dreams of a relatively normal existence would evaporate.

“May I join you?” a voice asked.

Devon looked up to see a beautiful, if not tired, woman gazing down at him.

“Of course,” Devon said.

“I’m Caroline,” she said. “I’m … a friend of Stephen’s. I assume you are Devon Grey?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, smiling weakly. “I’d rather be just about anyone else in the world at the moment.”

Caroline sat down. “I know this must be difficult for you,” she said. “But I’m sure you’ll do your duty, if called upon to do so.”

“If I have to, then yes,” Devon said. “But I hope and pray that it’s not necessary.”

“As we all do,” Caroline replied, looking wistfully toward Stephen’s room.

“I just can’t believe any of this is happening,” Devon went on. “It’s like a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.”

“I know,” Caroline said. “I never imagined anyone would harm Stephen. He’s only been on the throne for a short time, and he’s worked so hard to improve the lives of his people. I thought the people would admire him. He’s made so much progress in such a short time.”

“Well, you can’t make everyone happy,” Devon said, sighing. “I doubt it would be different no matter who was on the throne. A reigning prince is bound to have enemies – even if he doesn’t know who they are.”

The two looked up to see Dr. Howes approaching and stood. Princess Marie and Prime Minister Darnley joined them.

“Stephen’s condition seems to be improving,” the doctor said. “He awakened for a few minutes, and responded normally to our initial tests. He’s sleeping again now, but we’ve taken him off supplemental oxygen, as he’s breathing very well on his own. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of additional internal bleeding or infection.”

“So he will live?” Marie asked.

“As I said, he still has a lot of healing to do,” Dr. Howes said. “But his prognosis is much improved.”

Devon dropped back into his seat, overcome.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, relief washing over him.

“Indeed,” the prime minister agreed. “I’m assuming he’ll be here for quite some time, correct?”

“Yes,” Dr. Howes said. “He will still require round-the-clock care. I anticipate several weeks at least, and potentially some physical therapy following that, depending on how his body reacts. But he’s resting comfortably now, so I suggest you all go home and get some rest yourselves.”

The dowager princess took a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, stubbornly.

Caroline stepped in before the physician could respond. “I know you want to be here for Stephen, your highness, but you must also take care of yourself if you are to be of any use to him.”

Marie looked at her for a moment, then dropped her gaze.

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “Very well, then. I’ll go, so long as you’re willing to stay while I am resting?”

“Of course, ma’am,” Caroline responded, nodding. “I’ll stay until you return.”

“Very good then,” Marie said. “And you, young man, may leave. Your presence here is no longer required.”

Devon looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

“Believe me, your highness,” he said, “no one is happier about that than I am.”

He turned to Darnley. “Prime minister, please let me know if I can be of further assistance.”

“Of course, Lord Buckland,” Darnley replied. “Thank you for coming.”

BEGINNING | PREV | NEXT

Continent of Oceana | History of Weston

#TS4 #ts4 royal family #ts4 royalty #ts4 monarchy #ts4 royal legacy #Principality of Weston #HRH Prince Stephen III #assassination #Oceana Stories

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of Black Lives Matter, @mystifiedgal donated $30, and requested Tony Stark/Stephen Strange pre-slash. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

It’s a real busy month. The superfriends break out of supermax, with the help of a blond beefboy who flings frisbees at the security cameras and doesn’t care who sees his face; the UN goes ballistic and demands Tony help; Tony gets extremely, extremely drunk like he hasn’t in years and sends Ross a manip video of Tucker Maxx getting rawed by a donkey dressed as a colonel instead of responding; the superfriends crash back into America, and Natasha--traitor--lets them back in to the Avengers compound upstate; Tony, still drunk, decides to let them stay instead of incinerating the damn thing from space; Wanda gets kidnapped by a wizard; Tony and Steve have to go save her. Tony and Steve. No, Tony’s not bitter.

“I’m struggling to come up with a reason why I shouldn’t have my house nuke your house from orbit,” Tony says. Steve gives him a bitchy look. Yeah, what else is new. He lifts his chin, looks at the wizard through his green glasses. Everything’s better in green. “Anything? Mister Wizard?”

Said wizard gives him an unimpressed look. Tony doesn’t know why. His facial hair is even more ridiculous than Tony’s, and Tony cultivates this shit. “Strange.”

“Yes, you are,” Tony says, and Steve sighs and cuts his hand through the air before Tony can continue.

“Doctor,” he says, polite. Tony rolls his eyes. Wanda, in stasis halfway up to the skylight in this weird-ass mansion, pulsates in angry red, trapped in amber. “You have to understand that things were--different. The Avengers have no desire to go to war with the--Sanctum.”

“The Sanctum has no desire to go to war with the Avengers,” the wizard says--and, jesus, what is his name? Blue eyes, good hair, cape that seems to float in magic wind. Fancy Bastard isn’t something that should go on a birth certificate. “However, you are harboring a magic user who could cause extreme damage to the innocent people of this plane if left unchecked.”

Steve frowns. “Now, look--” he says, and the wizard’s eyebrow cocks and he waves a hand, and in the circle of amber that appears midair (how?) there’s a perfect 4k, 3D view of the deaths of innocents in Lagos, of the devastation of Johannesburg after the Hulk was enraged there, of a man with red light crawling up his neck and the terror filling his eyes before his neck snaps.

Above, Wanda’s silent fury goes quiet as the red dims. Steve looks constipated, which Tony can admit inside his own head actually means he looks grim and upset and heroic. The wizard looks between the two of them. “This is a problem. It would be wisest to transfer her to an alternate plane, or at least to have her abilities removed.”

“They’re part of her,” Steve says, immediately. Tony looks up. Hard to see, from down here, but he can see that Wanda’s eyes are closed, inside her amber prison, and her face--he looks away. “You can’t remove them without killing her.”

“Well,” the wizard says, and doesn’t look even remotely regretful--who is this guy?--and Steve’s shoulders square up in that muscular way that presages a truly stupid fucking fight that’s about to ensue, and Tony opens his mouth without a single iota of a plan and says, “Wait a minute,” and the wizard and Steve and Wanda all look at him, and oh, for fuck’s sake. That means--

Doctor Stephen Strange. Brilliant surgeon. Incredible asshole. Drama queen, and the worst kind of all because he pretends not to be. No one has that beard without wanting to cause drama. Tony would know. Unfortunately--Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, and Stephen Strange, super wizard, and Stephen Strange, taking over a wing of the compound, coming and going as he pleases in a whisk of amber light, and Stephen Strange, Tony’s lab companion for the foreseeable future.

He misses Bruce.

The compound isn’t comfy. The various wings are divided into factions. Steve and the superfriends, hiding out from the UN and all of the other dozens of countries that want to prosecute them, are on the east side where the sparring rooms are. Tony’s set up on the west side where the labs are, and he didn’t think to put a bedroom in the lab because he thought this place would be all kumbaya, superhero summer camp, and figured maybe they’d actually want to talk to each other when they were all here. More fool him. He sleeps on the couch in the lab most days, when he sleeps at all, and it means he’s got a great view every time there’s a swirling mind-bending circle of amber light and all of a sudden there’s a fucking wizard in his house, ready to work with Wanda on how not to accidentally kill thousands of people.

This morning, for example. Morning? Tony drags a hand over his face, smears drool and engine grease. “Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Strange says, and Tony mouths it back at him schoolyard style--what he assumes normal kids did in schoolyards--and Tony lets Friday speak the room into brightness, telling him the time and the weather and whether the world’s blown up, while he’s catnapped.

“How’s the scarlet terror?” Tony says, knuckling his eyes. Christ, this sucks. 69 degrees and he can’t even make a joke about it.

A pause. “Progressing,” Strange says. He’s still wearing that stupidass cosplay outfit. Cape and all.

Tony squints at him, slumped back on the couch. “You know, if you were a real wizard, you’d magic me up some coffee.”

Strange looks at him. He always looks stern. Like Tony’s failing some test. It’s tiring from the rest of the supercrew; it’s not better from some rando in a RenFaire uniform. Strange gestures, with his left hand, and unfurls the fist of his right at the lab table, which--abruptly becomes a coffee table, in that there’s a pot of steaming coffee and toast and what Tony thinks is--fucking lox?

“From that deli on 44th,” Strange says, matter-of-fact. “You know, when I’m not a sorcerer I’m a doctor. In my medical opinion, you could look less like shit.”

Tony staggers upright, fetches up against the table. His head gongs like a--like a fuckin’ gong. It’s too early for metaphor. He pours a cup of coffee and ignores that his hands are trembling. “In my layman opinion you can suck my dick,” he says, friendly, and Strange rolls his eyes but he--he smiles, too, and he--doesn’t look like nearly so much of a dickhead when he smiles. Cape or no. Tony holds the cup (finest porcelain, like Tony has drunk coffee at Buckingham Palace in less-nice china than this) and squints, brain still offline, and Strange shakes his head and says, “Good luck, Tony,” and whisks away to deal with their little magical terror, and leaves Tony to think of what the hell. Just--what the hell.

Turns out there’s a big difference between kinds of magic. And here was Tony, just thinking that physics were physics. “No, no,” Strange says, impatiently. “There is of course the physics of our plane, which follow their own laws. Then, naturally, there is the magic of Asgard, brought forth from Yggdrasil the world-tree and the belief therein, which is the sort that Loki and Odin may perform. Then there is the magic of the Infinity Stones, which perform their own miracles, and of course there is our problem with Miss Maximoff.”

He’s drawing a chart in the air with his hands as he talks, marked out in amber light. Tony says, “Friday, take that down,” and the house grabs the image of whatever magic Strange is doing and transmutes it into data, neatly transcribed in cells and manipulable forms for Tony to grab and hold and think about, and Tony grips Strange’s leatherette-and-cape shoulder and says, “Buddy, I could kiss you,” and Strange rolls his eyes but his cape swirls up and pats Tony on the hand in a brush of woolly affection, and Tony doesn’t really think about that because he’s locked into the possibilities and sees a lot of sleepless nights ahead, but that’s okay. He’s got time to think about it, later.

Strange won’t give up much info about the rest of his little magic crew. Numbers, attitudes, location. “I am the representative on Earth,” is all he’ll say, and--jeez-us, what a statement.

“I am the representative of the Avengers in Oneida County,” Tony says, in exactly the same tone, and then pauses, flicking armor designs from one ephemeral bin to another. “Shit. Am I? Maybe it’s Steve. Okay. I am the deposed representative of the Avengers in--”

“You’re the one I’m talking to,” Strange says. He’s still sitting in the antique armchair he magicked up for himself, sipping tea. Seriously. Like every single thing he does is for the hashtag-aesthetic. “Mr. Rogers is certainly impressive, but it’s you who has had every actionable idea on streamlining Ms. Maximoff’s abilities. Don’t undercut yourself.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, lowers his hands. “How dare you,” he says, lightly, even if his chest feels--some kind of way. “I have never, in my life, in my entire existence, undercut myself, and in fact I think I’m going to set the StarkTech legal team on you--Friday, call up Pepper, see if we can sue the entirety of the Sanctum Sanctorum and also magic itself, and throw David Bowie in there too--”

Yes, Mister Stark, Friday says from nowhere, lightly amused just like she should be--good girl--and Strange rolls his eyes. “Don’t bring Bowie into this,” he says, mild, and Tony grins and Friday cues up Fame without even needing to be asked.

“Oh, very good choice,” Strange says, looking up at the ceiling, and Tony waves the armor out of existence and says, “Okay, Mister Wizard--dinner, and we’re talking Bowie and we’re talking King Crimson and we’re talking Yes, and you’re putting in an opinion about those star-and-moon pants Page used to wear, let’s go--” and Strange says, “First, they’re incredible; second, only if we’re getting Thai,” and Tony--Tony could just--

A bad night. Tony lays on the couch in the lab and hugs a bottle of very good, very rare, very expensive scotch against his ribs, and doesn’t drink it, and wants to. Above he’s had Friday peel away the armor of the ceiling and the sky’s a patchwork quilt of stars. Enough sound baffling and he can’t hear whatever might be going on in the rest of the compound; if Steve and the others are training; if anyone’s even here, but him. It’s peaceful. It sucks.

A swirl of amber. “You look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony shrugs. “Sometimes you get sued by grieving parents for your technology being used in exactly the way you intended and you think, fuck, they sure have a point. And then you want a ham sandwich and no one will get you one. It’s tough.”

He thinks he maybe sounded more bitter than he needed to. He maybe should’ve tried harder. He watches a satellite track across the sky, feels his body. Even now, when he breathes deep, there’s still a twinge where the reactor should be. He wishes sometimes--but it’s stupid. The reactor didn’t make him him. It wasn’t any more accountability than any other pain could’ve been.

There’s a sinking sensation, by his feet. Strange, sitting on the couch. “I could get you a ham sandwich,” he says, quiet. “But I suspect it wouldn’t do the trick.”

“Clever man, Doctor,” Tony says, acid. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to be acid. He imagines--the armor--dissolving slowly, the facemask melting into a broken sizzle of empty gestures. He maybe should’ve had less to drink.

“We are making progress, Tony,” Strange says. “Every day. Time... isn’t always on our side. But we do what we can. That’s all there is. What we can.”

Tony stretches his legs out. His shins bump Strange’s back. He’s not wearing the whole ensemble--cape and leather and whatever the hell. He’s in a sweater, and jeans, and he looks like someone Tony can actually touch. Something that obeys the physics Tony understands. Something real.

He puts the bottle of scotch on the floor. “Maybe a ham sandwich wouldn’t hurt,” he says, finally.

Strange--Stephen--touches his knee, lightly. He smiles at Tony, in the dark. “Mustard?” he says. “I can do whatever you want.”

Tony breathes deep. Settles. He says, “And you better add a pickle, cheapskate,” and feels Stephen squeeze his knee, and feels--well. Some kind of way.

#fffb #mystifiedgal #tony stark/stephen strange #...ironwizard?#my writing

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bedbellyandbeyond · 5 years

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Nathan’s Appointment

“Nathan Cassidy…” Sydryn tapped the edge of their lip with a pen. “You’re still a pretty new patient. I think you’ve known Dr. Gardi longer than me at this point.” “Yeah. I heard he’s sick. Is he okay?” “He’s recovering,” Sydryn stated, a little irritated that every patient had asked the same despite having sent out an email on the matter. “A lot has happened with you since I left, it seems. While I am not too surprised, I didn’t expect you to get pregnant.” “Yeah.” Nathan rubbed his neck. “Apparently my wolf side is female…” “Yes, I’ve been reviewing your case this last couple days,” Sydryn explained. “Yours is the most curious I have. A lot of theory, not a lot of fact.” They pulled out a USB drive and plugged it into a computer. “Luckily, I’ve been able to do some research while I was away on the nature of werewolves and were-beasts in general and we can get some facts for you.” “You did research on me during your vacation?” Nathan inquired. “You shouldn’t have…”

“It wasn’t a vacation. To be general, I went home for a family event,” Sydryn stated. “And none of us can stand each other, so I spent a good amount of time on research, not just for your sake.” “Oh. Okay, I get that…” Nathan nodded. “What’d you find out?” “Well, the documentation of half human half animals dates well back before common era,” Sydryn stated. “The thing is there’s many ‘legendary’ creatures known to have been half animal and man, such as the minotaur, some gods like Anubis, some spirits, like kitsune, but specifically wolves… The earliest record of a person turning into a wolf is in the epic of Gilgamesh, in which a woman had turned her ex lover into a wolf. There are other cases in ancient Greek and Nordic folklore, but this seems to be the story most like yours.” “But, these are just stories, right?” Nathan assumed. “Not history?” Sydryn rolled their eyes. “…Nathan, I’m a dragon.” “A dragon?!” Nathan stared at his doctor. “You’re not serious.” “I couldn’t be more serious,” Sydryn stated, letting their horns spring out their head. “History is stories. That’s entirely the point. Much of what we think is fact is fiction. Much of fiction is fact. To dismiss any record as a story would to foolish and naïve. To believe every single record would also be naïve. Thankfully I have spent multiple centuries on the Earth and I can sniff out a fib from a truth pretty well. Not to mention, we have kept our own records on mankind and otherwise, and thankfully, I do believe that this Gilgamesh story is related to your origin.” Nathan was still staring at Sydryn’s horns. “Jesus…” “Has very little to do with it.” Sydryn took a look through their records. “We prefer to call our records ‘the Chronicle’ instead of history considering that the term ‘history’ derives from the word ‘histor’ which means ‘learned, wise man’ considering the fact that we are not men, but dragons. So the Chronicle… I was not born by the time of Gilgamesh, but my ancestors were and they recorded the same findings within the Chronicle on this wolf. So, what I assumed was this. The lover the woman changed into a wolf is the origin of your affliction.” “A Mesopotamian wolfman?” Nathan tried to follow. “Yes. However, after going over Reid’s research notes here, I believe I was wrong,” Sydryn stated. “Oh.” Nathan was disheartened. “The only reason I would change this conclusion is the following,” Sydryn began. “Most if not all recordings of wolfmen have been just that. Men. But this bear mate you encountered, Dawson Grace, alleges that the women are the werewolves, or more originally wifwolves, and they only intend to recruit women. “With this information, I wondered if werewolves and wifwolves exist separately from each other with different origins. But then there’s the information Grace provided. That the transformation makes men more aggressive than women and less likely to remember their transformations. Considering most records of werewolves are men, this would make sense. If women have control of themselves as wolves, they’d do better to conceal their existence. Men wouldn’t be so lucky and would be more likely to be seen and recorded. Which leads me to the conclusion that the woman in the Gilgamesh story who turned her lover into a wolf is the true origin of the werewolf, not the lover.” “I see…” Nathan nodded. “Okay, okay, but how does that help me?” It helps a lot,” Sydryn stated. “That woman was known as the goddess Ishtar. We know little about her, but if a god did this to you, then only a god can undo it.” “A god?” Nathan leaned back. “I uh, I don’t know any gods.” “Except that you do,” Sydryn said. “Gardi’s recorded that you’ve been attending a pregnancy group here attended by a dog spirit.” “Yori?” Nathan blinked. “Yori’s a god?” “I am led to believe as much,” Sydryn stated. “Or at least enough like a god to be considered one by an early developing civilisation.” Nathan leaned forward. “…Are you suggesting that he could be…her?” Sydryn shook their head slowly. “…Not quite. Perhaps, but he doesn’t quite match up. But, he might know something about your condition,” Sydryn said. “Dealing with his kind though is very troubling when you want answers. Gods, spirits, such… They like to stay mysterious. They’re not a fan of straight answers. I would suggest befriending him and he may reveal to you something useful.” Nathan frowned and looked down. “…That’s it then? Your lead is ‘hang out with Yori’?” “At the moment yes. That’s what I have for you.” “Any chance I can see any of that research?” Nathan asked. Sydryn tapped their chin and turned to the computer. “…I will allow you some records from the Chronicle that pertain to your case. How good are you at reading cuneiform?” “…Uh, I’m a little out of practice.” Sydryn raised a manicured finger. “Give me some time to make some translations and I will deliver you copies to your room. You may not share any of it with anyone, not even your new lover.” “My…Uh, I don't…” “Nathan, it’s not worth lying to me. I know you and the thunder boy have been courting each other. You reek of it.” “We haven’t even had sex…” “I know. You should just do it and get it over with honestly. If you’re worried about him not being attracted to your naked body, I can assure you he won’t be.” “Uh, um…” Nathan blushed, feeling really embarrassed. “You don’t have to reply.” Sydryn stood up and looked over Nathan, taking a moment to feel his ears and check his scars. “Open your mouth.” They checked his canines. “Good. It appears your permanent transformations haven’t progressed any further since I last saw you. You’re good to go if you don’t have any questions.” “You’re not going to check my pregnancy?” Nathan asked. “No, your previous check up was recently enough,” Sydryn stated. “But that does bring up another thing. We’re going to move your Cesarean up to…” They checked their calendar. “Monday. It wouldn’t be safe to delay it any longer.” “Monday? That’s in four days!” Nathan was a little shocked. “Will they be okay? Not too premature?” “You’ve been in wolf cycle for two days and your wolf has been observed preparing for the birth. The twins should be alright, but we don’t exactly know what to expect, do we?” Sydryn said. “Werewolf births are rarely recorded in the Chronicle but they’re there. Problem is the bear cub you’ve got as well. That’s where I’m concerned. By bear standards, they should have been born already so we don’t know what effect this extended gestation will have on them.” Nathan looked down to his stomach and rubbed it slowly. “…Okay. You’re going to perform the surgery?” “Yes.” “How many hundreds of years have you been a doctor?” “Hm… About a century and a half,” Sydryn said. “Not a long time but we had to go in hiding around the time of the age of exploration.” “Okay…” Nathan felt a little reassured. “Monday.” “Monday. I’ll send you the time. Anything else I can help you with?” “No, I think that’s all…” Nathan got up and held the underside of his stomach. “Anything I need to do to prepare?” “I’ll send Aoife to your room to go over some preparations. It’s not so much personal upkeep you need to be aware of than personal preferences,” Sydryn explained. “Okay. Thank you…” Sydryn saw how nervous Nathan was and put a hand on his shoulder. “I can understand that you might feel a little scared. Changing doctors mid pregnancy can be scary. Dr. Gardi was doing a pretty good job with you. Compared to him, I’ve been told I can be a little blunt or cold. Especially recently. But I still have your best interest in mind.” “Yeah, thanks, doc.” Nathan nodded and smiled a bit. “I’m pretty scared.” “Everyone’s scared. It’s natural. You can’t survive without fear. Those without fear are fools.” Nathan nodded some more. “Okay. I’m gonna go.” “Alright. Eat more meat.” “Okay.”

#lore #Nathan #Sydryn #werewolf #dragon #mpreg #mpreg belly

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

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THE COURAGE OF PROJECT

Then when you start a startup anywhere. That's why mice and rabbits are furry and elephants and hippos aren't.1 The very design of the average site in the late twentieth century. He got a 4x liquidation preference. Google, it's hard to get into grad school in math. Can we claim founders are better off as a result of this new trend. Where you live should make at most a couple percent difference. But investing later should also mean they have fewer losers.

They make something moderately appealing and have decent initial growth.2 If you major in math it will be whatever the startup can get from the first one to write a paper for school, his mother would tell him: find a way to turn a billion dollar industry into a fifty million dollar industry, so much the better, if all fifty million go to you. The classic yuppie worked for a small organization. Before us, most companies in the startup funding business. The best way to get a big idea can take roost.3 4 or 5 million. This essay grew out of something I wrote for myself to figure out how to increase their load factors. But you can also apply some force by focusing the discussion: by asking what specific questions they need answered to make up their minds. This plan collapsed under its own weight.4 Startups happened because technology started to change so fast that big companies could no longer keep a lid on the smaller ones.

The only place your judgement makes a difference is in the industry.5 People who do great work, and it's a bad sign when you have a special word for that. One of the exhilarating things about coming back to Cambridge every spring is walking through the streets at dusk, when you can see into the houses. If you have steep revenue growth, say over 6x a year, no matter how many good startups approach him. Recently we managed to recruit her to help us run YC when she's not busy with architectural projects.6 This works better when a startup has 3 founders than 2, and better when the leader of the company in later rounds. I'm not saying you can get away with zero self-discipline.

We're not a replacement for don't give up. What you should not do is rebel. But while series A rounds from VCs. Someone who's scrappy manages to be both threatening and undignified at the same world everyone else does, but notice some odd detail that's compellingly mysterious.7 Even Tim O'Reilly was wearing a suit, a sight so alien I couldn't parse it at first. They can't tell how smart you are.8 The story about Web 2. Maybe one day the most important thing is to be learned from whatever book on it happens to be closest. This essay is derived from a keynote at FOWA in October 2007. They'll decide later if they want to raise.9

Sometimes it reached the point of economic sadism: site owners assumed that the more pain they caused the user, the more benefit it must be to them. It's cities that compete, not countries.10 Kids are curious, but the best founders are certainly capable of it. But investors are so fickle that you can fix for a lot of time on work that interests you, and don't just refuse to. But you have to be an insider.11 A key ingredient in many projects, almost a project on its own, is to step onto an orthogonal vector. So ironically the original description of the Web 2. Back when it cost a lot to like I've done a few things, like intro it to my friends at Foundry who were investors in Service Metrics and understand this model I am also talking to my friend Mark Pincus who had an idea like this a few years ago.12 0 seemed to mean was something about democracy. We didn't have enough saved to live on. There is another reason founders don't ask themselves whether they're default alive or default dead.13

So most investors prefer, if they wanted, raise series A rounds. They're unable to raise more money, and precisely when you'll have to switch to plan B if plan A isn't working. That doesn't mean the investor says yes to everyone. Miss out on what? It's so cheap to start web startups that orders of magnitudes more will be started. Investors evaluate startups the way customers evaluate products, not the way bosses evaluate employees. The bust was as much an overreaction as the boom.14 Startups are undergoing the same transformation that technology does when it becomes cheaper.15 Another way to fly low is to give them something for free that competitors charge for. After all, a Web 2.16 He bought a suit.

Instead you'll be compelled to seek growth in other ways. They all knew their work like a piano player knows the keys. But consulting is far from free money. They say they're going to get eliminated. What does it mean, exactly? If investors were perfect judges, the two would require exactly the same skills. And to be both good and novel, an idea probably has to seem bad to most people, or someone writes a particularly interesting article, it will show up there. The mere existence of prep schools is proof of that.17 So far the complete list of messages I've picked up from cities is: wealth, style, hipness, physical attractiveness wouldn't have been a total immersion. Don't just do what they tell you to do. But advancing technology has made web startups so cheap that you really can get a portrait of the normal distribution of most applicant pools, it matters least to judge accurately in precisely the cases where judgement has the most effect—you won't take rejection so personally. If raising money is hard.

There is no sharp line between the two types of startup ideas: those that grow organically out of your own life, and those that you decide, from afar, are going to get rarer. While some VCs have technical backgrounds, I don't know enough to say, but it happens surprisingly rarely.18 Most subjects are taught in such a boring way that it's only by discipline that you can never safely treat fundraising as more than a startup that seems like it's going to stop.19 It sounds obvious to say that you should worry? One reason startups prefer series A rounds? When I was in high school either. If you feel you've been misjudged, you can do. Google. Of course, someone has to take money from people who are young but smart and driven can make more by starting their own companies after college instead of getting jobs, that will change what happens in college.

Notes

Though they are themselves typical users. But it takes to get good grades in them to private schools that in three months, a valuation. Giving away the razor and making more per customer makes it easier to get them to stay in a time machine.

Apple's early history are from an angel investment from a mediocre VC.

In the beginning.

Plus ca change. But on the other.

And that is exactly the point of a stock is its future earnings, you now get to go behind the scenes role in IPOs, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale.

However, it will seem dumb in 100 years. Digg is Slashdot with voting instead of blacklist.

Sofbot.

I write out loud can expose awkward parts.

I've become a so-called signalling risk.

Hint: the way they have because they couldn't afford a monitor.

And it's particularly damaging when these investors flake, because there was a new search engine is low. They have no connections, you'll find that with a wink, to take care of one's markets is ultimately just another way in which income is doled out by Mitch Kapor, is to raise money after Demo Day, there would be easy to discount, but I'm not against editing. As one very successful YC founder told me they like the one hand and the exercise of stock options than any preceding president, he tried to shift back. At three months we can't believe anyone would think twice before crossing him.

Progressive tax rates has a significant startup hub. He, like speculators, that alone could in principle 100,000 sestertii apiece for slaves learned in the early adopters you evolve the idea is crack. As we walked in, we love big juicy lumbar disc herniation as juicy except literally.

It's sometimes argued that we didn't, they thought at least accepted additions to the modern idea were proposed by Timothy Hart in 1964, two years, it was cooked up by the National Center for Education Statistics, about 28%. I've come to accept that investors don't like the bizarre consequences of this essay talks about programmers, but I know of no Jews moving there, and should in some ways First Round excluded their most successful startups are competitive like running, not the original text would in itself deserving. This is not whether it's good enough at obscuring tokens for this type are also several you can't even claim, like play in a city with few other startups, because time seems to pass. Please do not try to avoid that.

This kind of people starting normal companies too. If Ron Conway had been raised religious and then using growth rate to manufacture a perfect growth curve, etc, and then a block or so.

But it is to trick admissions officers. I meant. The mere possibility of being harsh to founders. As he is at fault, since 95% of the class of 2007 came from such schools.

I started doing research for this purpose are still, as they are now. There was no more unlikely than it would be easier to say that it is dishonest of the next round, that suits took over during a critical point in the usual standards for truth. Wittgenstein: The French Laundry in Napa Valley.

It wouldn't cut their overall returns tenfold, because they wanted, so the best ideas, they mean statistical distribution. The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups.

A doctor friend warns that even this can give an inaccurate picture. At some point, when the problems you have no idea what's happening till they also influence one another directly through the window for years while they think they're just mentioning the possibility is that in Silicon Valley. I find hardest to get rich by creating wealth—wealth that, isn't it? Look at those goddamn fleas, they have less money, the big winners aren't all that matters, just as if you'd invested at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers.

Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to pound that message home. He, like arithmetic drills, instead of blacklist.

Thanks to Tim O'Reilly, Peter Norvig, and the guys at O'Reilly for inviting me to speak.

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the-rivers-sad-gift · 5 years

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Andie, my angel border collie, left this world at just after one o’clock on the morning of October 31st. My own hands dislodged a tumor on her spleen the same night, the 30th, at eight thirty pm. She was a miracle gifted by the gods, she was my service animal for many years, and was sixteen at her passing. Her energy, charisma, and smile never faultered all those years. She never bit or otherwise harmed any person. Up to the months before her death, she still wanted to join us for trips to the store and car rides. We have been together almost every second of every day for the past three or four years, but even as a pup we would rarely part. I can remember when I would bike home from school, she was two, and howling at our gate for her old owner who had a tragic accident. I sat with her for many hours, petting her until her cries died down. I gave her my bed to sleep on, fed her each morning and night. She knew many brothers and sisters and was loved by all. Andie patched together a soul that had been broken by sexual abuse and trauma. She gave me, as a lost child, a reason to live. My night terrors would send my flailing with screams, and Andie would stand over me to gently wake me up, to let me know I was safe. Her eyes were intelligent, she knew who she was looking at. She had intention, her actions had meaning. As my mental illness progressed, she was always with me. I have lost so much of myself over these last few years, whatever little of me did exist has slipped away so so quickly. All of the times I have been lost to this world, Andie brought the universe to me. For the past year, as I’ve worsened, I’ve been able to leave the small room I stay in less and less. When I walked out my door, she would step out before me. She allowed me to exist in the world with the rest of you, to let me go grocery shopping, to go on walks to see the changing of the leaves. People have always known me only as the one she followed around, Andie had the real personality, real life. She has friends in our neighborhood, dogs and humans who know and recognize her and were always so happy to see her. Andie rarely needed a leash, unless she was all service suited up, she would trot happily alongside us no problem. A meandering pup, always wanted to sniff all the new smells. She loved making new friends and seeing people smile. In college, her favorite thing was comforting the students breaking down over finals. Everyone loved her, everyone does love her. Andie could have powered the world if ya found a way to plug her in. She didn’t limp around during her last days, or sleep more than usual. The day of her passing, she seemed so much more grateful for pets, if anything she lingered a little longer on her favorite smells, her favorite places. She rode one last time to pick up her dad with me. That night, she had come up on the bed with us for cuddles. She laid down with us, being pet by myself and my boyfriend. She stood up to hop down, and I rose to help her. I should have let her get down on her own, I picked her up wrong. I knew I was picking her up wrong and I kept going. When I set her down, she sank to the ground. No grunts or wheezing, no signs of discomfort. She just, laid down. We couldn’t get her to walk, I noticed distention in her abdomen and saw improvement when pressure was applied towards the upper thorax. We brought her into an emergency clinic immediately, I almost killed all of us by nearly passing out driving us there. I couldn’t go inside, I sat with her as my boyfriend went in to take care of everything and in a few minutes they’d brought out a gurney for Andie. He went back in to continue all the paperwork, my boyfriend Forest, of not even two years handling all of this, while I sat outside in the cold begging a damn tree for answers and scaring away passer-bys with my angered rambling. Finally, one of the hands on my body was real, as Forest helped me up and inside a room in the clinic where a doctor came to talk to us. She told us that a tumor by Andie’s spleen had been hurt, and was bleeding into her body.

It was my fault. My hands. My right hand, that dislodged the tumor. Even the most expensive surgery would only buy her another few painful months. I would give anything for her to be okay, I would’ve done anything if it meant they could make her better. But they couldn’t, there wasn’t anything that could really be done. The damage I had caused was irriversible. So I had to make the call to put her down. The clinic was so so kind, they helped cover many costs, even diagnosed her immediately. We both sat with Andie for many hours. My head was killing me, the walls reeling, I couldn’t let her go. We were there for three hours on a floor because I wouldn’t move. Andie was happy though, she wasn’t afraid. She smiled at me, at both of us. When we said it was time, they took her back to prepare her a bit and brought us into a comfort room. Andie came in on a tall gurney, they gave us a whole bowl of yummy yummy treats for her. I wanted to play, to entertain her, but I couldnt even see. I sat with her as she smiled and munched for another hour or so, till Forest called in for the doc to come. They gave her a sedative first, even though she was calm and not fighting we wanted to make sure she was comfortable. We held her hands, pet her head, and watched her close her eyes. I could not say goodbye, I still can not. We said goodnight, as she exhaled for the last time. They took her back for paw prints and to get little locks of hair for us. All I remember is violently vomitting into their sink as my head exploded and I lost consciousness. I woke up on their couch, nurses in the doorway with Andie in a blue bag. The same pretty blue of her collar. We took her home, and we are burying her tonight, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to leave her there alone, to go on in this hell without her. She would be so disappointed to see me so soon, I know that. But I promised. Fourteen years she has kept me alive, woke me from manic terrors, licked my hands as I bandaged my maimed flesh.

And now she’s gone. And I did this to her. I’ve been told over and over there was nothing I could’ve done, that this might’ve happened if she jumped down by herself. But she didn’t. It was me. My hands. I killed the angel who’s miracles kept me alive. I hurt the angel who gave every ounce of energy to help me. I can’t eat, or drink, I try to think of what to do and fall apart. I passed out multiple times yesterday, feeling like my head was full of sharp electrified nails. I’ve sat in bed, unmoving. I can’t feel her in me anymore, her energy, it’s gone from where I am. I feel like I’ve already died. I’m collapsing from the outer reaches of skin inwards to a snake of boiling void that won’t stop consuming me. I wish I could honor her, that I could recover and grow and live and heal others for her the same way she healed me. But I don’t think I can. I’ve lost my child, my daughter, my angel. I did this. Wiped the last good from this world with my own hands. Ended a miracle that was pure in this world. Who am I do be so retched? Who am I to deserve to live after killing my reason to go on? Who am I now.

be sound, sweet pup, know you are ever so loved. Nobody will forget you, Andie. I love you so much, and I will find you again. Thank you for blessing this world with your life, you are always going to be my miracle, my angel.

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weerd1 · 5 years

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Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1909.19: Missions Reviewed, “Time’s Orphan,” “The Sound of Her Voice,” and “Tears of the Prophets.”

Keiko O’Brien has brought the kids back to DS9 finally, and they plan a long overdue family outing. Traveling to a small Bajoran colony world, they are having a delightful picnic when eight year old Molly finds herself inside a cave and in danger. Miles tries to save her, but she falls into a portal leftover from an extinct civilization and they realize she’s been thrown back in time. The station sends help and they manage to send a transporter beam locked on to her DNA through the portal, but when they beam her back, ten years have passed for her, and Molly is now a feral 18 year old. Back on the station, Bashir prescribes a series of methods to try to reconnect to her, but even her language skills have atrophied after a decade alone. Worf volunteers to help keep an eye on Kiarayoshi (the O’Brien’s son whom of course Kira delivered) as he wants to prove to Jadzia he can be a good father (meeting Alexander certainly has not helped with that).

Molly starts to make some progress, and asks to go home. They take her back to her quarters, but she reacts badly until she sees a picture of them on the colony planet, and they realize she wants back into nature. They take her to a holosuite, which goes well until their time expires, and Molly becomes angry, assaulting several of Quark’s patrons. Starfleet orders the girl to a treatment facility where she won’t be a danger, but O’Brien instead decides to take her and steal a Runabout, returning her to the time portal and destroying it behind her. Odo initially catches them, but lets them go.

They put older Molly back, but she arrives at the same time as her earlier self, and sends the eight-year-old version of herself back through the time portal, erasing her existence, but restoring her family. Worf meanwhile has decided he likes Yoshi despite some problems, and he and Jadzia decide he could be a father.

We waited until late in the season for our “Screw with O’Brien” episode, but indeed here it is. There are a few echoes of the fifth season “Children of Time” here (and in the next episode honestly) but overall this is an effective science fiction plot that serves as an nice analogy for families dealing with sick children, and what it takes to be a parent with the Worf story line. Worf coming at babysitting like it is a Warrior’s task is amusing, and all the more poignant very soon. I am interested in where this time portal came from, as much of it seems a little reminiscent of the Guardian of Forever, though the control interface looks rather pointedly like the TARDIS console from Doctor Who.

“The Sound of Her Voice” starts with Odo citing Quark for installing unsafe barstools and Quark deciding he has to come up with something to distract Odo so he can sell some elicit merchandise.

With Jake watching for “research” purposes, he pushes Odo to celebrate his one month “anniversary” with Kira to provide a distraction allowing him to move his goods. Meanwhile the Defiant is tracking a Starfleet distress signal to a lone survivor, Captain Lisa Cusak, of the USS Olympia (PNW, Represent!) who is on a class J planet, trying to stay alive. As they track her, the establish two way communications and to keep her company, each officer takes a turn talking to her. In their own way she begins to talk them each through problems they have experienced in their personal lives. On DS9, Odo shifts the day of his “anniversary” date, and that means Quark’s client will be there while Odo is on patrol. Without Quark and Jake knowing Odo overhears Quark lament how bad the war has been on him, and how he would like some recognition for helping bring Odo and Kira together. Odo abruptly goes back to his original plan, allowing Quark to operate. Odo tells Kira that he owes Quark one…but just one. The Defiant makes it to the planet and finds that the strange energy field that caused the Olympia to crash in the first place has acted as a time dilation effect, and Captain Cusak actually crashed three years ago, and her oxygen ran out then. Sisko brings her body back to DS9 and they throw an “Irish Wake” for her (which Worf comments seems like a very Klingon ritual) to remember the time they got to know her, and the advice she gave.

O’Brien toasts the fact that one day, it will be one of them not standing in the circle, and they should enjoy each others’ company while they can. The camera flashes to Jadzia Dax.

Holy foreshadowing, Batman. They do, they cut RIGHT to Jadzia when O’Brien laments one of them may die. Dammit, what are you people trying to do to me? Beyond that, I was struck by the similar circumstances between this episode and “Children of Time:” a planet with an strange energy field around it which displaces things in time. Being caught up with season 2 of “Star Trek: Discovery” I am struck how much the character of Captain Cusak (whom we see only as a body, three years deceased) has a personality and wit that reminds me of Tig Notaro’s character of Jett Reno. I just kept imagining her on the planet, similar actually to the situation which the Discovery crew WILL end up saving Reno from following the Klingon War in 2257 (about 117 years before this episode). I am not sure though why NO ONE tried to look up records on the Olympia, even just to see what her crew compliment was to aid in the rescue, and don’t notice the three year discrepancy in timelines. As a bit of reference, since Cusak discusses the Olympia being on an eight year mission and the ship crashed three years earlier, they Oly’s mission would have started roughly the same time the 1701D launched under Jean-Luc Picard, and she would have crashed roughly the same time the Voyager ended up in the Delta Quadrant.

“Tears of the Prophets” opens with Sisko receiving the Christopher Pike medal of valor and with Admiral Ross deciding Starfleet, Qo’Nos, and Romulus will invade Cardassian space, specifically to knock out a new type of weapon platform in the Chin’Toka system. The Romulan senator on scene is initially resistant, but becomes convinced.

Meanwhile Dax and Worf become public about deciding to have a child, and Dukat returns to the Dominion. He has recovered the Pah-Wraith Kosst Amojan (last seen possessing Jake Sisko in the apocalypse Kai Winn cancelled in “The Reckoning”) and will use it to attack the wormhole. When Sisko prepares to leave to invade Cardassia, he receives a vision from the Prophets warning him not to go, but he defaults to his Starfleet duty. While the battle is being hard fought (with the weapons platforms coming online mid-fight) Dukat infiltrates DS9 with the Pah-Wraith to deliver it into the Orb on the station.

In the sanctuary he finds Jadzia Dax, having a rare moment of religious curiosity, and blasts her with the Wraith’s power. The ancient being enters the orb, and the wormhole collapses. When the Defiant returns, Dukat is gone, and Worf arrives just in time to say goodbye to Jadzia; Bashir saved the symbiont, but could not save the host. The Celestial Temple collapsed, his friend dead, and Bajor looking to an Emissary who has suffered such major blows, Sisko decides to return to Earth for a time to clear his head. Kira assumes command of DS9, and when she enters Sisko’s office, is heartbroken to see that Sisko does not know if he will return: Benjamin has taken his baseball with him.

The death of Dax is almost arbitrary and just a senseless tragedy, which I think makes it all the more affecting. You would have expected her warrior’s death, but the almost meaningless happenstance of being in the wrong place when Dukat appears just hurts. Dramatically it is effective; the behind the scenes story about how Rick Berman treated Terry Farrell leading to this death is infuriating. I know Berman kept Trek alive a long time, but damn, am I glad he’s no longer affiliated, and Terry gets to be married to Leonard Nimoy’s son (no, seriously) and appear at conventions alongside Nicole De Boer whom we will meet next season as the new Dax host Ezri. Jadzia was an amazing character, and I will miss her as the show continues, but it is effective and visceral storytelling that brings us Ezri Dax. At least something good came out of Berman’s abuse, and Jadzia, as I rewatch, re-meet, and re-lose her 20 years later will ALWAYS be one of the best things about DS9 and Star Trek in general. And SCREW YOU Kai Winn! This Pah-Wraith being on the lose is YOUR fault. Also, I really like David Birney as the Romulan here, wish we'd seen a little more of him!

NEXT VOYAGE: A broken Sisko receives a distant mysterious vision, and an old friend with a new face appears to help find the “Image in the Sand.”

#star trek #Star Trek: Deep Space Nine #DS9 Rewatch

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cheswirls · 5 years

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tether notes 1/3

long overdue, sry abt that.

pt. 1

why is there no change to the mines after 15+ years of destroying an environment?

i modeled the sinnoh region of tether almost exclusively on the hokkaido region of japan. from the layout of cities like sapporo, abashiri, and muroran, to geography like lake saroma northeast of veilstone and the hidaka mountain range for lower mt coronet, and especially, to the isolationism. i kept it trie to pokemon in the fact that sinnoh has no railways, unlike its real-life counterpart, which has plenty for traversing its vastness. a big part of hokkaido is how empty it is.

[on that note, though i mention both, i used muroran photography to model veilstone instead of abashiri, as its a proper port town. not super significant, jsu thought i’d bring it up, since muroran is sandgem’s counterpart.]

hokkaido is vastly underpopulated in ratio to its size. its mostly due to climate, and nature. things are far less technologized there. outside of sapporo, you won’t find very many glowing billboards and fancy casinos and active nightlife. you have to ride a train for hours to reach the next big town. the mountain range cuts the northern region in half.

when compared to this, little villages out in the middle of the wilds are far more isolated than towns. especially when they’re remnants of indigenous tribes. it’s sad, but it’s pretty standard process in the world nowadays -governments don’t care about the native people much. it’s prevalent in the united states, and if you’ve ever read commentary from fma’s mangaka arakawa, you’ll know the same is true for japan. the ainu are isolated to hokkaido. they aren’t looked after much.

so, even though it’s been a direct result of oreburgh’s mines’ negative effects, it’s still a matter of most of the sinnoh region not even knowing the village existed, and even if they did, not paying it mind. the wilds of sinnoh are difficult to traverse, and it’s more logical to take a boat to your destined city instead of traversing through them. that’s why so many of the big towns in sinnoh are located on a shore. for others, like jubilife and hearthome, there are airports that cater to people. and, for real life hokkaido, there are the trains.

i really wrote abt the mining incident in reference to bangladesh. in hokkaido, once all the prevalent mines started having accidents, the japanese government was quick to shut them down. in other eastern countries, especially bangladesh, the government is notorious for doing nothing abt the insane amounts of river pollution caused by factory waste. writing the river scene was heartbreaking, but learning about the trash rivers that prevail in countries with vast amounts of pollution, of the ones that run stark orange with mining waste, that was more difficult than anything i’d written for tether.

so it comes down to being a mix of two things. one, sinnoh’s government viewing the production of the mine and the money it brings over the safety of the nature that surrounds it. and, two, no one noticing the damage anyway. it’s not like it ever affected oreburgh. or, maybe it did, but they installed the fresh-air vents to keep the mines clean, like the changes made in pokemon platinum suggest? the oreburgh mines are the sinnoh region’s majority of energy, after all (you can argue for sunyshore, but i’d say solar power only stretches so far from the source) so even if there’s a scuffle of it here or there, keeping it active is important.

also. my take of the pokemon world has always been a little gritty. so there’s that.

why hancock as champion?

i ask myself this question everyday. i don’t even like boa. why did i include her, if in name only? what was i thinking? oh well. it’s already been done.

[side note, again. if boa’s in charge of sinnoh, considering her, erm, personality, is it hard to believe nothing was ever done abt the mine pollution? aka does she care abt anyone but herself hm hm ]

pt 2.

i introduce a pokemon known as driftzel rather early on. it’s luffy’s, and it’s an in-progress pokemon, a concept i thought would be interesting to use. you can see what driftzel looks like here. it also links to the blog i got the idea from. instead of it being like a natural evolution, though, the idea in tether is more of a middle evolution for pokemon with two lines. so, there aren’t any for three-line evolutions. i was originally going to introduce ricaru, an evolution between riolu and lucario, but i moved away from that idea somewhere around writing part 4.

herbalist!law is the solution i came up with in lieu of him being a doctor. i had so much fun with the berries. when i was doing my maps for each part of tether, i had separate maps marking out the locations of berries in the games and which ones law collects along the journey to veilstone.

hearthome is the only city i didn’t base on a real world counterpart. i think because i had too much to work with already. the cathedral, the contest hall, the gym. all the architecture. the poffin house. i didn’t wanna change anything abt hearthome, and more importantly, i wanted to portray part of japan’s hospitality here, too. it does extend all the way to hokkaido, yes. people are nice, and friendly, and happy to have travelers, just as depicted in all the games.

yes, all of ace’s pokemon are named after spade pirates. except for isuka, because i couldn’t resist. yes, striker is a spade pirate, it was his ship.

[in reference to the night walk between hearthome and solaceon] remember to bring a compass, when you’re in a region with a giant magnetic mountain range at its center, because it will be a lifesaver.

Law can see how uneasy Luffy still is, but as they walk further from the coast, he eases up, so he chooses not to ask

^ in platinum, the opposite shore houses the hallowed tower where you can encounter spiritomb. sensing the presence of an evil spirit leaves luffy on edge, thus their dodge to avoid it.

why are lunar wings, an event-only item, brought up in hearthome?

you’re right. lunar wing is a rare dppt item, and you can only get it after encountering cresselia on fullmoon island. my inspiration came from an episode of the dp anime, where a stall in canalave was selling the feathers as homage to the game event. actually, to go further, the same thing happened in the darkrai movie, which is where i got most of the insp. especially for the charms made out of them -look at the picture here!! i figured, with the sinnoh region i was depicting being a place of mostly friendly and peaceful pokemon, cresselia was more generous with her feathers. they make for popular items, and if they work in keeping the bad dreams away, whats the harm? plus, they’re in hearthome, a hotbed for tourists and foreign activity, because they’d sell best there. a good luck souvenir from sinnoh? sign me up.

but they are still lunar wings, and they do work, as shown with chimchar. i really wanted a piece of practical merchandise i could show off, and once i got the idea for chimchar’s introduction, i tweaked the hearthome scene to include the feathers. if you pay attention, though, you’ll note that law no longer has restless sleep after luffy’s secured a lunar wing.

the solaceon ruins was a place i wanted to explore so badly, but it just didn’t make sense within the continuity of the story, especially when i decided to go the northern route and introduce tsuru out of the fog. my original ideas were split between that, and law/lu cutting through the mountainous area of the ruins as a shortcut to veilstone. i was really captivated with exploring the uncharted areas of sinnoh’s map, and i think at this point i had established enough, so i decided they would stay on paved routes this time. but! i did want to bring it up, which is where carmel comes in.

in the games, there are houses on the outskirts of solaceon, nestled between the trees, and very close to the ruins. there’s one house where a little boy will give you ball capsule stickers. that’s the basis for mother carmel’s house. she lives there with anana, the first of the captive granddaughters to be introduced.

anana is creepy in canon. you can’t die that. i used carmel’s canon portrayal to match, and then the scene becomes a match of who’s creepier -the ruins or this old lady? the atmosphere around the ruins is weird. there are unknown there, so the space is distorted. it’s an old place. it’s quite possibly connected to giratina and the distortion world, since there are unknown present. it’s supposed to be eerie and strange and off-putting. it’s supposed to feel like a place where a wandering child can disappear into quite easily. though, maybe carmel’s just inattentive.

The trees out here are tall, towering over them in shades of deep green and dull orange, a byproduct left over from spring’s bloom

i mention orange trees in a section of the woods just past solaceon. they’re not orange from fall, though, they’re naturally so. oran trees! any off-colored trees mentioned -assume they’re berry trees. also another berry thing i had fun with, deciding which was a bushel and which was a plant and which was a huge tree.

i had way too much fun depicting the fog forest. i actually listened to a lot of pkmn soundtrack while writing tether, and for this part, this santalune forest remix was on constant replay. getting turned around, not being able to see your map, hearing the sounds and calls of wild pokemon, and then getting so lost in it that you begin to hear what isn’t there. not being able to see in front of you, barely able to dodge attacks and sabotage from wild pokemon, and feeling like youre going insane from myriads of different tunes clashing together. the road between solaceon and the dragon tamer’s house is terrifying, and i wanted to use this to depict the dangers of traveling in the pokemon world. though most sinnoh pokemon thus far had been shown to have good intentions, it can’t be said about every pokemon.

not to mention the big drop you have before the bridge, right when you get out of the fog! not really even out of it, as it sticks around near the dragon tamer’s house. could you imagine encountering something like that in real life? imagine how many accidents there would be.

so i had a bit of trouble in deciding if i wanted to use tsuru or not. this was fairly early on in wano, and i knew i wanted to use tama, but who to pair her up with for grandmother/daughter matches was iffy. looking back at my list, i had lots of other picks for the dragon elder. gloriosa, shakky, kureha, rouge, gerth, even! carmel, too, at one point was a pick, since i planned this part out early on into the story. i actually had marine tsuru on the list as well! in the end, i think i decided on wano tsuru bc of all the dragon tie-ins thus far. if i were to go back, now, i think i might change it to toki and hiyori, possibly. or, tsuru and hiyori. not that i dont love tama, though, i do.

i had a small list of grandkids, too, depending on who was the grandmother. anana, rebecca, tama, marguerite, and a few choices for marine tsuru (the standout was, apparently, isuka. then i repurposed the name for ace’s talonflame. tashigi was another pick, but in the end in wanted little girls.) at another point i thought about hiluluk and chopper, and had another grandfather/son combo that i can’t remember anymore. those were scrapped early on, since i wanted all girls. i also thought abt chimney and kokoro, but i wanted them on a more coastal city, to mirror water 7.

there were two things i really wanted to happen in tether. one was a pokemon joining a team. and another was an evolution. part 2 fulfills one of those w chimchar, the pokemon i always wanted luffy to have, and the one i never knew i needed him to earn. also, giving pokemon their own personalities is really cute.

also, just before this scene, i take a skip, marking the second time an indefinite amount of time has passed between scenes. i realized while writing the time through mt coronet that i was writing more passively than actively, and this was speeding up things more than i liked. it’s why i took a break and depicted hearthome for a couple days, so that things were happening more in the moment. still, i hope at this point it’s gotten across that it’s taken a long time to travel to veilstone. moving across the entire region is a long journey, after all.

introducting aura, a movie concept.

so. aura was the main reason i wanted tether to take place in the sinnoh region. it’s actually mentioned in the games once, and that’s from riley, one of the sinnoh quartet, on iron island. in the movie where the concept is introduced, it’s brought with a lucario, another region. in the anime, riley has an active role in aura. but, for those who’ve just played the games, or know next to nothing abt pokemon, i tried to explain my best in-story.

aura takes the place of conquerors haki in this pokemon verse, basically. you’re born with the sensitivity to it, so it’s not something just everyone can unlock. it’s rare, and it’s widely unknown. like law says, in sinnoh it’s considered an old myth. outside of sinnoh, it’s hardly known at all. so finding others to learn from is difficult. most people go their whole lives without even knowing what it is, just considering it natural luck that they can perceive things than others cannot. luffy meeting shanks, and learning that they both are sensitive to aura, is an incredible thing. having someone to teach you how to manipulate aura rare, and pretty amazing, when you think of the chances. but luffy and shanks live in different regions, and luffy has his own life. it’s been a long time, training, and as he expresses in part 2, he’s still not as far as he wants to be.

aura guardians, what shanks is, are almost unheard of. with great power comes great responsibility. and with great power comes the desire to obtain it. aura guardians are secret for a reason -if someone found out a person had an incredible power, and had the desire to, would they not seek it out for themselves? even to other aura users, revealing themselves wasn’t wise. protect yourself first. it’s a motto you’ll see come into play later.

with that said, and with one of the last things luffy mentions in part 2: could that have something to do with why shanks has gone missing?

#tether #im writing pt3 notes today #when i finish ill post them and pt3 to ffn

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alecbangkok · 5 years

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WeLearn & Why I do What I do

When I wrote this, I was trying to figure out my response to people who ask me “What is this WeLearn thing you’re involved with anyway?” and I think I’ll start by describing why I became involved with, and believe in, WeLearn.

To know a little bit about my background is probably necessary to understand my response, so here goes:

When I was in third grade, my parents moved me from my rather traditional (mid-1970’s) elementary school to the Riverside Open School, an experimental public school in my hometown of Schenectady, New York.

I had always been identified as gifted, and placed as such in all of my classes, and things went well in Grades K-2, when I had teachers who were relatively young and dedicated to their students’ growth, and weren’t afraid to try new-ish things (again, for the time) to keep us engaged. However, my first teacher in Third Grade was not of the same mold. She was “old-school,” and didn’t like independent-minded students. We did not get along. Complaining to my parents did her no good. My father was himself a relatively young and dedicated, progressive-minded high school physics teacher in a neighboring district, and my mother was the product of fairly liberal parents herself. Both understood that education was not achieved through obedience and rote memorization, and didn’t appreciate my teacher trying to turn us into little robots. Thankfully, my second-grade teacher was also teaching third grade that year, and my parents were able to get me switched back to her, so that year looked to be salvaged. Still, there was no doubt that fourth grade would bring me into contact with Robot-Lady, which led to my parents exploring alternative options to keep me engaged with my education. That’s when they found Open School, and, after some research, transferred me there.

I was extremely fortunate; my family didn’t have much money (high school teacher father + stay-at-home mom with major health issues = limited resources to say the least) and wouldn’t have been able to afford a private Montessori or Waldorf school. The fact that there was a public school that embraced a similar philosophy and was located in Schenectady, NY, was almost miraculous. That it was a perfect fit for me, even more so. My two and a half years, from the middle of Grade 3 through the end of Grade 5, were far from utopian, but they were wonderful. I still experienced the feeling of “otherness” that I would feel for the rest of my school years, not to mention adulthood, and had to deal with that, but being treated as an individual, rather than a strangely-shaped cog that didn’t fit into the existing machinery according to the instruction manual, meant that I was mostly accepted by both the teachers and the other kids, even if they didn’t understand me sometimes.

Some learning was done at least partially as a class, differentiated for the different levels of understanding, but much of what we did was project-based learning. Keep in mind that this was the mid-to-late 1970s, and both PBL and differentiation are only now beginning to creep into U.S. public school classrooms 40 years later, and you’ll understand just how progressive this school was for its time. Still, not perfect. I didn’t succeed at everything I tried, and my independence still crossed a threshold that sometimes made me a pain in the ass for those around me, but each failure and/or difficulty was treated as an opportunity to learn for the next time. My teachers communicated regularly with my parents, as they did with all parents, who also were part of many activities both in and out of our classrooms, creating a feeling of community. To that extent, my education was very much what it should have been. If only it had continued that way.

Schenectady’s school system divided grades on a Middle School model, meaning that Elementary was K-5, Middle School was 6-8, and High School was 9-12. Open School was an Elementary school, which meant that once Fifth Grade was complete it was time for Middle School, and there was no counterpart to Open School for upper grades. Luckily for me, I would be attending Woodlawn Middle School with all of my friends from my neighborhood, so I wouldn’t be coming in as a stranger without a social structure. I think I handled the division of learning into subjects pretty well, and generally had good teachers in my classes. I was back to being separated out of the pack into the GT group, which had both benefits (learning how to perform a Japanese Tea ceremony, for example) and costs (magnified “otherness” at the same time we all started going through puberty and I began to discover some extra “otherness” that I didn’t quite yet understand). So overall it was a big switch, but not life-shattering. That would happen the following school year.

While I was going through Sixth Grade, my father was granted a sabbatical year from his school district which he used to complete and defend his doctoral dissertation. This resulted in his receiving his Ph.D. in Theoretical Physics, which in turn resulted in his looking for jobs where we could pull ourselves securely into the middle class. Ultimately, the job he found was with a defense contractor in Santa Barbara, California. We were mostly excited about the change and the cross-country road trip, and my dad was especially excited about being able to do interesting research for a living.

We arrived, found a house, and I began school at Goleta Valley Junior High, in a new place, with a new culture in which kids were considerably less sheltered, knowing no one and realizing more clearly than ever that I was far more attracted to the other boys than the girls, which I dared not mention let alone think of. Without the safety net of kids with whom I had been friends for the better part of my lifetime, my “otherness” made me an outlier worthy of notice to the other kids in school. This was not a good thing. I did everything I could to be the same as everyone else (in Junior High School, this is a matter of survival as much as anything else), but there was always something that made me noticeably “other,” and, therefore, a target.

Add to this the school itself, which looked like a prison (I could never tell whether the high chain-link fences topped with barbed wire were to keep bad people out or us in), as well as teachers who valued uniformity over interest, and I felt like I was in hell. Honestly, I can remember teachers from all of my K-12 years except for the two years at GVJH. It’s not a matter of positive or negative; they were all so unmemorable that I can’t see more than my Seventh Grade English teacher’s skunk-like hairdo. But I do remember some of my fellow students and how they treated me. Fortunately, I was able to make friends with some of the other nerds, and that provided the partial security of safety in numbers, but even with them I spent a lot of time feeling “other,” and still felt isolated despite my best efforts. This was not helped by my developing severe allergies and asthma, which meant that when I got sick, it was rarely just a cold. I would spend weeks at a time home sick; weeks that were stretched considerably longer than they needed to be as a result of my feelings toward school.

Apart from contempt, familiarity breeds peer groups of a sort, and even if I spent a lot of time feeling “other,” at least I had people I could hang out with by the time high school rolled around. That, plus the acquisition of our first home computer and its included word processor, made things a bit less miserable. Why a word processor? Because it showed me that writing could be accomplished without the physical pain and graphite-smudged fingers us southpaws tend to endure. Once I realized this, I started to enjoy writing and realized I was actually pretty good at it, despite my Tenth-Grade English teacher who thought purple hair made her edgy even though she couldn’t tolerate a lack of servile conformity in her students.

I mention my Tenth-Grade English teacher and her purple mane to illuminate the stifling atmosphere that was high school. Again, with the exception of scattered teachers such as my 11th Grade English teacher Peg Harris, whose passion for writing helped shape my own, it was a lot of assembly-line providers who diminished my passion for learning with every passing period. Band, orchestra, then choir when I’d had it with the clarinet, and Junior Statesmen of America, were the only things that kept me interested. By the time 12th Grade rolled around, and we moved to Virginia, much of my love for learning and creative fire had been stifled by subjugation.

High School in Northern Virginia was a mixed bag. On the bright side, I discovered theater and had a new outlet for self-expression, if only for a short time. I lost weight, made friends relatively easily, and was just happy not to be in SoCal any more. I still felt “other,” but that was kind of drowned out in a school where I was one of roughly 5,000 students. My graduating class was close to 1,000, so I guess people were too wrapped up in their own groups to spend too much time harassing outliers. Either that, or with numbers that large we had someplace to hide. However, Fairfax County Schools took themselves really seriously (I think they were #1 in the country at that point), which in the late ‘80s meant really pushing students hard to achieve the district’s desired outcomes (not necessarily the student's). This, in turn, meant making sure everything and everyone conformed to the standards they felt led to those desired outcomes. NoVA is the home of, among other things, the Pentagon, so as you can imagine conformity was a pretty big deal with so many parents who were current or former career military officers. That meant that I went from a lot of dual-credit college classes with adult students to The Land of Educational Robotics. To give you an idea, when the admissions decisions for the service academies came out, the suicide rate spiked…significantly.

I’m not going to get into college and grad school because this is about my elementary and secondary years and how they relate to WeLearn.

I honestly didn’t think I’d be writing quite so much backstory. I guess there must be some therapeutic value in cataloging all of this educational nonsense…which leads to why I’m involved in WeLearn, as well as what we do that makes me so excited about it.

I don’t want one more student to need to find therapeutic value in cataloging educational nonsense. I want to create a student-centered educational environment, that is process-focused rather than outcome-driven, that educates instead of indoctrinates. I want students who feel “other” to embrace their “otherness” rather than fear the results of it showing, because, to some degree, there’s “otherness” in all of us. Education should be about inspiring discovery; first and foremost the discovery, exploration, and focusing of each student’s passion. At the same time, students need to learn the skills that will make them good human beings: collaboration, an ethical compass, leadership, conceptualization, emotional literacy, and a continued love of learning no matter their chosen subject or field. Maybe a fanatical devotion to the Oxford Comma. It’s a given that we really have no idea what jobs people will be doing twenty years from now - automation and AI have seen to that - so I want students to have the tools to mold an unknowable future.

I think the best way to do that is to build a community of learners, using the best tools, technological and otherwise, that are available to us. Give the community a space where they can explore those tools to learn holistically, to make their passions conflagrations rather than having them snuffed out of existence. Give them what they need to learn how to shape the future rather than be victimized by it. I believe I’ve found a team of visionaries who share what I see for the future, so it’s not just what I want; it’s what we want.

We don’t just want them to be learners; we want them to be WeLearners!

#education #edtech #futurista #project based learning #personalized learning #lgbtq youth #education reform

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septenii-a-blog · 6 years

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AU VERSE ;; MINT EYE SAEYOUNG ;; LEAVE ME TO THE WOLVES

I’m still working out some details but this is the basis of it. Under the cut because this got a bit longer than I intended.

Saeyoung planned for his life to go differently. He began reading books on coding, intent on escaping his abusive home life and eventually rescuing his twin brother. But one night illness strikes his already weak brother.

Saeran became violently ill and their mother was entirely dismissive. She refused to bring him to a doctor, angrily locking the boys in their room before going to sleep. However sneaking out was something Saeyoung had become good at. Worried only for his brother’s well being, Saeyoung snuck his brother out of the house and carried him to the church. Since churches are often safe havens, they rarely lock their doors so that those in need might find shelter. Saeyoung was betting on it.

Once safely inside the church, Saeyoung laid his brother out on a pew and began hunting through the building. The people he’d met here, Rika and her boyfriend V, volunteered here so he figured he could find some kind of information about them. He managed to find their contact information and made a call to them in the middle of the night. While he waited for them to come, he tended to his brother with supplies he scrounged up.

When they arrived, he begged them to take Saeran away. Contrary to their original plans to get Saeyoung out, he wanted them to take Saeran. Saeyoung feared he might die without medical help. The three made a plan for Saeran. Rika and V would take him to the hospital, to a private doctor, signing him in under a fake name and claiming that he’s a runaway. Saeyoung would stay behind, placate their mother who would surely want to know what happened to her son for her own selfish reasons. He would make sure she didn’t go after him.

On the other side, Saeran was taken care of by Rika and V, who then got him into school and away from his mother. The only condition was that the twins could never contact each other. As far as Saeran was concerned, he had no family to speak of. Any contact might lead to either of their parents connecting the twins. Their father could finally find them or their mother might come after the runaway twin. So the brothers split up. Saeran goes on to join the RFA and Saeyoung stays behind.

(work in progress idea)Years later, the Choi mother finds some kind of evidence of Saeran’s existence and intends to go after him and get him back. Saeyoung, unable to let this happens, kills their mother. Or perhaps Rika is still the one to do it with Saeyoung as a witness.

Eventually, Rika takes Saeyoung away from his home, just as she did with Saeran in canon. And for a while, they live happily. Until Rika’s break from reality. She inducts him into Mint Eye, intends to drug and brain wash him. She tries to instill the idea that Saeyoung sacrificed his own chance at freedom to save his brother, and yet Saeran never once thought of him after he left. He abandoned Saeyoung, completely forgot about him and left him behind. And while the feeling of being abandoned did begin to manifest in Saeyoung, his anger was more so directed at the outside world rather than at his brother. His protective instinct, his desires to protect him and give up everything in order to keep him safe still lingers in the back of his mind and makes him unable to put the blame solely on his brother. He’s not as easily manipulated as Saeran in canon.

Still, he lives at Mint Eye, goes along with everything Rika does. He’s angry and hurting, he wants peace and maybe Rika can provide it. She is after all the one who took him away from his home, the one who got his brother out. He owes her that much. Still, in her decision to bring the RFA to paradise, Saeyoung is determined to protect his brother no matter the cost. So while he’s obedient to Rika, he quietly rebels against her. He’ll help her destroy the world if that’s what she wants, but he will never let her touch Saeran.

Additional points

After Saeran’s disappearance, their mother turned all of her abuse on Saeyoung. He was forbidden from leaving the house after that point. He did continue studying on his own and going to church however.

Saeyoung maintains the name Luciel. But instead of a reminder to not become a fallen figure, it’s a label for the fallen angel he already is. He believes himself cast out by God, a sinner with no room for redemption.

Saeyoung in this verse is the dark sort. He’s cynical, generally angry, and sadistic. But most of all, he’s filled with self loathing.

He would rather kill Saeran than let Rika have him. In the worst case scenario, he plans to kill his brother and then himself if there’s no other way out.

He’s also admitted to wanting to kill Rika, to her as well. She believes him incapable, because he’s loyal to her, her loving disciple but still a rebellious teenager at heart. Saeyoung would argue that it’s only because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He is both loyal and defiant, unable to break away from Mint Eye but unwilling to submit himself entirely.

His main goal in the course of the game plot is to run Saeran out of the RFA before he finds out what’s really going on and to protect him from Rika.

While Saeran had his garden at Mint Eye, Saeyoung has an observatory. Instead of flowers, he’s interested in space and often spends nights mapping the stars.

Saeyoung occasionally takes the elixir of his own free will. Like any drug, it becomes a way to disassociate and forget.

#⚠⚠ — VERSE ( leave me to the wolves. )#⚠⚠ — HEADCANON ( a lifetime to forget. )

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