#no wait this has external links. oh well

[chaosquillcollection]

🗺️ Hello, traveler! 🗺️

After all this time on this journey, it is time to share the memories collected along the way. You can download the journal for free now!

-> GET IT HERE! <-

This zine features: 🌎over 100 pages! 🌍art and fics representing many corners of the world 🌏poetry 🌎worldbuilding 🌍10 yummy recipes (all are vegetarian by default!) 🌏two printable DIY merch items 🗺️world map

[lewkwoodnco]

Now That We Don't Talk - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: very very brief suicidal mention, sooooo much writer's block hhhh (the seasonal depression is depressing), (angst but diluted if that makes sense) add/remove yourself from my taglist in the link beloooow ALSO

🎄Special Announcement! I'll be doing a twelve days of Christmas fic series (1 songfic fic a day leading up to Christmas) BUT I will also be accepting extra holiday-themed requests (if any)!🎄

(speaking of the holidays, thinking of switching to a santa-themed george icon soon hmmm), wc 3.1k

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

TAGLIST | MATERLIST

Moving had been a surprisingly smooth process that she remembered little of. She had to take care to not think too much about the ornaments she was packing or the boxes she was taping shut or the lonely town she was numbly driving towards, lest the rest of her catch up to the grief weighing her down. Her supervisor had looked plenty confused when she explained where she was transferring to, and muttered something about not knowing if there were any visitors there.

As steep as the change was from working in central London to a significantly sleepier town, she seemed to be adjusting fine. In fact, she was liking the peace and quiet. Or at least, she would, soon enough. She'd learn the right habits, like finding contentment in the stagnant void that descended on her windows far too quickly every evening, the same way she'd unlearn bad habits, like him. So no, her biggest problem was hardly the early sunsets here, but was actually what everyone wanted to talk to her about when she called. The one thing everyone - her old teammates, colleagues, friends - wanted to make sure she knew.

"The gala was fantastic this year - though not as fun without you, of course -"

"You'll never believe who showed up."

"He looked very sharp in his suit. He cleans up nice, I suppose - Anthony Lockwood, I mean."

"They've become quite the celebrities, that Lockwood & Co., though the other two don't seem to tolerate the cameras like he does."

"Oh, you should have seen it. Say what you will about Lockwood but does he know how to make an entrance!"

"Were you at the gala this year?"

She sighed for what must have been the fifth time that day. "No, Ted, I was not. You were at my farewell party, remember?"

"Tha' was for you?"

"Goodbye, Ted."

"Wait! You've seen the pictures, haven't you?"

"No, I haven't, because contrary to popular belief, I am not obsessed with evrything that goes on at Fittes."

"Well, we had a tiptop chocolate fountain this year. Didn't get clogged once and looked absolutely gorgeous. Anywho, I've recently stumbled upon this smashing business opportunity involving chocolate fountains - they're selling like hot cakes, I tell you! - and I'd love to spread the wealth."

"Theodore, you haven't joined another MLM, have you?"

"What is an MLM, other than an opportunity to invest in yourself?"

"Don't make me phone your mother."

The call ended rather abruptly after that. Only Lucy, as always, was an angel.

"I take it you've heard plenty about him?"

"Who? Oh, him. Yes, more than plenty."

"I thought you might. He has...quite the presence, so the papers wanted to interview him, and he agreed - "

" - obviously - "

"And I think they asked him about you at some point."

Her mouth dried. She struggled to find her voice, forcing it to stay casually disinterested. "Hm? What did he say?"

"Absolutely nothing. First and probably last time I've seen him stunned speechless. Naturally, it's all anyone can talk about."

"Mhm."

"He hasn't talked about you, if you're wondering. Sees it coming from a mile away every time George and I try to bring it up. It's so stupid; we know it, he knows it, and he's always in a foul mood. He keeps thinking, these days...Y/N?"

"I don't care."

"No one would blame you if you did."

"I don't."

"So how are you holding up?"

"Well, Luce, I felt happiness outside of external validation for the first time in...ever, then three months later I'm crying in my bathtub wishing I would die, and now I'm miles away from everyone I ever knew and it's always dark outside and I'm always miserable. I'm doing great."

She could hear the exhaustion in the crackling static of the telephone. It occurred to her that she wasn't much acting all that cheerful either.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think he half-expected to see you there."

She inhaled sharply and sat up in her armchair so fast she could feel a cramp curling in her neck. She didn't dare believe Lucy's words. "Really?" she wanted to breathe into the telephone, and revel in dormant delusions, if only for a moment. Instead, she gingerly sank back into the chair, continuing in a flat voice.

"Well, I don't care about any of that now. Oh, I'm sick of it. All of it. If I never hear his name again for as long as I live, it'll be still be too soon. How's George doing?"

After she hung up, she laid in her chair, watching the shadows from her shutters stretch and fold over her furniture as the sun set. She was thinking about the last party she had been to, a yacht party where some of Fittes' and Rotwell's biggest investors were in attendance. How Lockwood had managed to score an invite was beyond her, but what intrigued her more was the cab ride they shared back to Portland Row.

She had been half-dozing off when she felt a hand cover hers. As she blinked at him blearily, she noticed the rigid tension in his spine, as if poised and waiting for an attack. He was clutching her hand purposefully, as if holding off on warning her about something malevolent that was consuming him. She couldn't see his face, which began to feel no different from the cold, hard window pane it was peering out of.

She stirred, distantly unnerved by his impersonality. He glanced at her, apologetically retracting his hand with a sheepish smile. But that look of consternation remained on his face as he turned back to the window with a furrowed brow, with the air of waiting for something. He visibly relaxed as they approached Portland Row, but she couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling even by the time they reached the doorstep.

"You all right?" she was asking, while Lockwood fumbled with their keys.

"'Course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She didn't respond, and the two of them watched him wrench at the key in the lock, trying to steady his mildly trembling fingers.

"Key turns the other way."

He paused his efforts, and after a second or two turned the key the other way. The door slid open smoothly with a click. He held it open, but she just looked at him expectantly. He sighed.

"I'm fine, I promise. I just...get a little nervous around some parts of London."

"Which parts?"

"Some."

"Scared of what?"

"A few things."

"Why?"

"For fun. Look, I'm freezing out here. Can we just drop this?"

That was more than a mild exaggeration; the sun had only just set and the air was still pleasantly balmy. But he looked so beseechingly, and it didn't take much for her to relent when it came to Lockwood, so they stepped inside and shrugged their coats off in silence.

"I'll tell you some day. I'm sure I will."

That was some day too far away. Now she'll never know if, or why he ever felt like that. Or rather, she wouldn't know when he would feel like that. But it was no matter. It was none of her business then, and it was even less of her business now.

She had mostly forgotten about her conversation with Lucy by the following week, which was why her parcel came as a bit of a surprise, especially since she'd mentioned being swamped by a mountain of upcoming cases.

Y/N -

I was thinking about our call the other day. On a completely unrelated note, here's about every gossip rag from the past month I could find at Arif's.

Love, Lucy.

She was beginning to see what was so appealing about these magazines. As ruthless as they could be, they sure knew how to sell a pipe dream to common folk with less exciting lives. The gala was clearly as glitzy and glamorous as it was every year, and the articles held an air of intrigue now that she was quite separate from Fittes. But that quivering excitement became somewhat muffled as she flipped through the glossy pages.

The Anthony Lockwood she saw now looked worlds apart from the Lockwood she left behind. His well-fitting suit, megawatt smile and carefully styled hair made him look expensive in a way that destabilised her. She flipped through photograph after photograph of him looking jarringly luxurious besides walls of text effusing about the success of their latest case, and what an honour it must have been to be personally invited by Marissa Fittes herself. It weighed at the pit in her stomach to see this unfamiliar silhouette of a friend who was become increasingly unattainable, speeding along roads to prosperity faster than she could ever keep up with.

She sifted through the other rags. The most extensive feature was a few pages long, and was centered more on the exciting, up-and-coming agency that was Lockwood & Co. rather than a specific case. There were pictures from their most recent cases, and in each one he looked unnaturally distinct from the last, but in every single one he oozed an appealingly languid charisma. It was good to see him doing so well. She was happy for him. Or she would be, tomorrow, when she had the strength for it. Lockwood was unbearable in a way that made him perfect for a life in the public eye, a life for which she was somehow always deficient. She traced a too-long strand of hair flopped on his forehead in one of the photographs, as if she could magically straighten it out.

She could see him now, thumbing through the pages with an approving tilt to his head, limbs folded uncomfortably in the armchair he always insisted on sharing with her. "No such thing as bad press," he'd claim absent-mindedly, his too-long hair flopping impractically. And she'd watch him with bruised eyes like she always did, wishing for nothing more in that moment shared with him. In other words, wishing for nothing short of what she could never have.

Maybe it was some lingering wish to break herself before he beat her to it. Because that was all it was; dodging blows, lying through pretty teeth, racing ahead to pull one over on him, cursing the feel of his breath on her. There was simply no calm, no respite, only the all-consuming experience of becoming wrapped up in him and losing bits and pieces of herself which would never again be truly hers.

She picked up the telephone again. It felt too heavy in her hand. Numbly, she spun the dial as if on autopilot, keying in her mother's phone number. The dial tone comforted her in some twisted yet cathartic acknowledgement of the emptiness inside of her.

Looking at it now she could see the distinct air of mystery that engulfed Lockwood and clouded her vision. He was never quite fully present; a part of him was always tucked away to be kept secret in some dark corner, and her mind was only too happy to extrapolate, to construct this most desirable yet entirely mythical figment. She felt ragged, winded and worn from battling reality day after day, all alone. And most of all, she felt so very stupid.

Her mother was saying that she had made the right decision. Not that she needed any reminding. Of course her life had taken an upward swing ever since; she'd be a fool to think otherwise. She was positively paralysed with liberty, bedridden with joy, simply immobile with ecstasy!

She was slowly but surely going very insane. Now making eyes at each other, now disconnect, now love, now heartache, now this, now that, but never any peace. Maybe it was some lingering wish to shatter and let the pent up misery dissipate.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Months passed. The holiday season arrived, and she choked through the November blues with shivering bones and clammy hands. Even with the slight uptick in visitors, as was expected in the colder months, her life provided little to distract her from her own ghosts under the floorboards. So when she received a consultancy request from Fittes one morning, she had written back and mailed her response all while still holding the jam knife.

The train was crowded and noisy with the bustle of the holidays, but as it chugged along through the fields of snow, she couldn't help but perk up ever so slightly at every sigh and creak of its wheels. There was a spring in her step all the way to Fittes headquarters, where she was supposed to collect her apartment key.

A tall, indistinct figure was walking out of the revolving doors as she approached. She flinched when she realised who it was - Lockwood, who didn't seem much happier to see her either. He looked mostly well, though the corners of his mouth were a little strained, his face flushed in the cold.

"...Y/N?"

"Lockwood."

"You're...home?"

"Yeah. Um, how have you been?"

"Good...good. Busy. As busy as winter gets."

He was wearing a different coat. It was quite similar to his old one, but this one was thicker and more structured, and looked like it was at least somewhat effective in keeping the brisk winter wind out. He looked foreign and unfamiliar in a way he hadn't since...since the Investors Party.

It had taken her a while to pick his face out of the pretentious crowd, given how preoccupied she was with weaving through the thicket of people. It had taken her a eyes minute to adjust to the almost nauseatingly charismatic silhouette of an especially-chuffed Lockwood in a newly tailored but otherwise identical suit. She tried to give him a reproaching look, but there was something infectious in his smooth ease as he larked about in his prime which made her lips twitch despite herself as he waded through the crowds.

"You really shouldn't be here."

"You're clearly not drunk enough yet."

"How did you even get in? This is invitation-only."

"Had an invite, didn't I?"

She pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. He was hopelessly incorrigible in an oddly fascinating way. Her voice dropped to a murmur as she felt herself begin to relent.

"I ought to...tell someone about you."

"That you're secretly in love with me?"

"That we have an illegal stowaway."

"You're not going to rat me out, are you?"

The pleading look on his face was enough to give her pause. She was already beginning to regret her decision, but he looked so vivacious it was difficult to stay disapproving for long.

"Excellent. Now, would you be so good as to point me in the direction of the bigger spenders?"

They spend the next few hours laughing and entertaining the many important men on the boat and their great deal of important thoughts. She'd excuse herself towards the end of every conversation to leave Lockwood and the glimmer in his eye to close a deal. For someone so adept at climbing the corporate ladder, she was surprisingly poor at fulfilling these adjacent duties.

She hated every second of it, and she drank as much as she could without raising eyebrows to make it all halfway palatable, but it was all worth it then. He had wanted to stay for as long as it would have been polite, so when they finally left, long after the media had made their rounds at the event, his jacket was folded over his left arm and his hand was delicately holding hers.

When she was stuck in her drafty cottage on the edge of nowhere, she'd think about the feel of his fingers curling around her palm more than it was appropriate, and wonder how she ever thought she was somehow better off here.

But that evening's sense of camraderie was long gone. Now, she regarded him coolly, holding him at arm's length. They may have had a rough falling out, but that didn't mean they couldn't still be friends. Just friends. Nothing more. But the vaguely intimate look in Lockwood's eye told her he was in no mood to entertain any kind of platonic notions.

"I didn't know you were back."

She relented. It was the season of giving, after all.

"Only for a while. Fittes hired me as a consultant for a few months."

He blinked at her. "You could have called."

"I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Of course I'd be interested. I'm always interested when it comes to you."

She sighed sharply. It was so easy to get swept up and believe him when he said things like that, that she wondered how she found the strength to leave. He was a bastard, a ne'er-do-well who only knew how to break her heart after promising sweet, simple luxuries in whispers over expanses of skin. She made her lips tremble, her pulse quicken, her heart shake in all the worst ways.

But underneath all that, love was there. Love was there...still.

"Ready to go?"

They turned in unison towards a strikingly beautiful girl with glossy raven curls walking out of the revolving doors. The girl's smile only slipped a fraction as she shook her hand, and she was distantly aware of making some kind of clumsy introduction. They stuttered through some stunted small talk, during which all she was aware of was the blood roaring in her ears that gave the whole scene a distantly muffled feel. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Well, this was...lovely. Shall we go, then?"

The girl turned to leave, but some semblance of hesitation prevented her from pulling Lockwood along with her.. His face still had that same confused look.

"You could have called," he repeated tonelessly, like a broken record. The girl's presence made the back of her neck smart and prickle uncomfortably.

"I might, later."

"Bye. Nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you too."

"We're home all day."

The last one was from Lockwood.

"Just...if you want to drop by. So that Luce and George don't have my head on a platter by supper."

"Goodbye, Lockwood."

He was captivating in a way that made her want to keep him all to herself. No one needed to intrude on this tantalising secret they shared. It was at that moment that she made the very unfortunate realisation that she didn't need to say it out loud to make what she had been screaming from the rooftops of her heart any more real - him and her would forever be unfinished business.

And nothing she could do could make the palpitations of her heart any less real either.

As the life she once dreamed of walked away from her, all she was acutely aware of was that it was a lingering wish, some half-thought dream, to sit opposite him in a chilly kitchen on blustery mornings, watching him drink his tea while she got drunk on him.

TAGLIST: @novelizt @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @mischivana @mitskiswift99 @houseoftwistedspirits

[alpydk]

Cabinet of Oddities - Part 2 (Fanfic)

TavxGale (Custom)

Wanted to wait for the weekend but had unexpected time off so have carried on. Enjoying getting back into the headspace of the chaos that is Nana.

Summary:

“Oh, his voice is like butter…” - Nana re: Gale Nana makes her way to the campsite - Would the party be willing to accept her?

Ao3 link

“Stealthy, sneaky. That’s what I need to be.” Her internal monologue was very much external as she crept through the darkness towards the fireplace. The inhabitants were asleep and she hoped that by just joining them maybe they wouldn’t ask too many questions and she could claim she had always been there travelling alongside them.

“Purple, Black… Wait, where's the white one?” she mumbled as she felt the cold dagger close around her throat. “Ah…there he is.” Nana’s body tensed as the white-haired elf held her close, preventing her from fighting back. She could feel the pressure of his chest against her back and she tried to struggle against his grip.

“Well aren't you just a delectable little thing?” his voice hissed into her ear.

Her mind raced as she went over every possibility. He hadn’t killed her outright so that was a good sign but then what was he going to do? She went over the observations she had seen. This one is ruthless, more likely to kill than reason with. I could strike back but then I would have a fight on my hands. But then he just has the one dagger, or maybe he has two. What’s that pressed in my back? Is that his- wait, focus. Should I scream and wake the others? That could possibly work. Maybe seduction, do I even know what his type is?

“Are you honestly listing off ways to get away from me… out loud?” He uttered with a mixture of confusion and humour in his voice. Her external monologue caused his grip to loosen slightly.

Nana took this opportunity to direct an elbow into his midsection freeing herself in the process. She stood facing the pale vampire holding her hands up in front of her. “Hey now, don’t do anything rash. I’m just here to say hi to everyone.” She raised her right hand a little for a polite wave. “See? Hi.”

With the sound of the disturbance, the other members of the party began to stir and quickly armed themselves surrounding Nana. She looked around curiously at them, taking in all of their appearances up close for the first time. She turned back to the elf with a smile on her face. “You can put the dagger down, you know. I’m not going to hurt anyone.” Her voice was unusually positive for someone in her situation.

He glared at her, his piercing red eyes glowing in the light of the campfire. He then addressed the group. “I found her skulking around here, counting us…” 

“Well,” she exclaimed back “I was checking you were all here. I didn’t want to miss out on meeting anyone.”

“Astarion, put the dagger down, she’s obviously not a threat.” spoke one of the group.

“Oh, his voice is like butter…” muttered Nana to herself. The remark did not go unheard and a smirk crept up on the lips of the purple-clothed wizard.

“See Astarion, she’s maybe a little of the odd persuasion, but I don’t think she is looking to harm any of us.” He took a few steps over to Nana and offered out a hand. “Gale of Waterdeep, a pleasure to meet you on this most beautiful of evenings.”

Nana studied the hand and then gazed back into the captivating eyes of its occupant. Her cheeks blushed and her smile widened. She wanted to introduce herself back, trying to act as casually as she could, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she made an awkward giggle and shuffled her feet.

Gale’s smirk became a grin as he watched her. “You do have a name, don’t you?” He lowered his hand to his side and gave Nana a curious look.

She was frozen just staring at his face. His deep brown eyes reflected her own, the way his hair curled around the collar of his robe. She wanted him to just stay silent so she could examine every inch of him, try and memorise him perfectly as he was now.

“Gale, she’s clearly a weirdo and dangerous. She can’t stay.” Astarion spoke, twirling his finger next to his head as he said the word weirdo. “We have enough problems with the tadpoles, the last thing we need is a lunatic with no social skills.”

His voice snapped Nana out of her trance. “Hey, I am not a lunatic! I don’t have any tics at all, thank you. I’m very clean, day and night, I’ll have you know.” Nana puffed out her chest proudly.

The female half-elf stepped up. “Gale, I'd advise against humouring her. As Astarion says, she is not of sound mind and listening to her is not quite bright either. We can’t just let every refugee, wanderer, and person that tugs at your heartstrings join us.” Her voice was soft but very matter-of-fact.

“Maybe not, but I don’t think she is just your run-of-the-mill vagabond. We could give her a chance, Shadowheart. Maybe she knows where we could find a healer?”

Nana looked over Gale hopefully, like a lost puppy begging for a home. “Please can I stay?” She looked down at her feet and then up again giving a little hop. “Oh, I know what I can do! I can do the brain thing which you guys do!”  Nana concentrated on her tadpole’s presence and reached out to the party showing them her fall from the nautiloid. Traces of her past whispered through the chaos, her home, the swamp, scavenging bodies, a human soldier dying in her arms. She severed the connection instantaneously trying to shake the memory from her mind.

“Well isn’t that great…She’s infected like us. I guess that means we are stuck with her” griped Astarion, looking away from her and the group. “Well, I’m not cleaning up after her. She’s your problem now, Gale.”

Nana looked over to Gale excitedly. “Really? You’ll let me stay?”

Gale looked at the rest of the group. Shadowheart sighed and shook her head but didn't object any further. He looked over at Nana with a soft smile. “You can stay, at least until we remove these unwelcome guests.” He gestured to his head. “Besides I get the feeling you’ll be a much more pleasant travelling companion than I’ve had so far…”

Nana’s face beamed, her eyes bright. “Nana…My name’s Nana,”

[raspberryconverse]

Here is an example of a good boss. TL;DR: Your boss should always advocate for you when people higher up on the corporate ladder are asking you to do things that are unreasonable and/or not in your job description. Work/life balance is important for everyone, but especially when your job is not life and death. If someone isn't going to die/get injured because you didn't do the thing that's not in your job description, you should not be expected to do the thing.

First, a little background. I work as an email developer for an office supply distributor. My job basically is to build and send out all email communications, both internal and external. I work on a couple landing pages (web pages) too, but email is my main role.

Here is the cast of characters: CW icon: my boss, Marketing Automation Manager LS icon: my teammate, who fills in for me when I'm gone, but mostly works with our customers (people who buy products from us). We have a bunch of email marketing programs they can sign up for that we create for them that pulls in their logo and links to their website. She supports and trains them. She's also basically the cishet version of my spouse. They both have fibromyalgia, autism and ADHD. E: Director of Communications C: Senior Director of Customer Care and Sales J: Director of Marketing Operations (my boss' boss) G and C: Managers of External and Internal Communications, respectively

Laughing react is from my boss. Don't you love how E is using words like "empower" to make it sound like being on call 24/7 is a thing we'd want to do? Like we'd feel we were missing out on an opportunity by not taking on extra work that's not in our job description and not something we'd get paid extra to do because we're salaried.

For real, nobody ever died because they couldn't order post-its.

And here's the thing: we have a really awesome team. We do work really hard and we are really appreciated. I can't tell you how many times when I actually go into the office that people tell me this. I hear it at least once a visit. I only go into the office for free food because there is literally no reason I need to be there to do my job. I don't collaborate with anyone. I just copy/paste and wait for people to get their shit together.

E literally just had her 1 year anniversary with the company a few weeks ago too. Oh, I looked her up on LinkedIn and apparently her bachelors is in textiles and weaving. So there's that.

I've been here for 7 years and my boss for 9. LS only has 3 years, but she's fit in amazingly well and done such a great job with her responsibilities. LS and I are happy in our roles and honestly have no desire to move up and take on more responsibilities. The reason we love our jobs is because of the balance and flexibility we have. Being able to shut your laptop and rest or just live your life is important to us. Are we willing to hop on if there's something urgent and we're not busy? Sure. But as my boss said, we're not taking our laptops to the grocery store and whipping them out to send out something that absolutely can wait because nobody is going to die if they can't order paperclips. We don't sell medical supplies (other than first aid supplies). We sell a wide range of office supplies, but literally nothing anyone would result in someone dying if they didn't get in a timely manner.

So yeah, if your boss can see thought the "opportunity for empowerment" bullshit, they're a keeper.

[minikkicries]

Best, Beloved pt 3

Sebastian/MC 

darkfic! morally grey MC

 Here’s the ao3 link.

MC speaks to Ominis and gets a strange strange reaction.

The next morning I woke up surrounded by warmth. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I stayed still for a while, appreciating the moment before doubt began to fill my mind. What if last night was a mistake? Yes, they’ve always had a certain chemistry but Sebastian was still grieving. His life was so chaotic right now, I couldn’t expect anything. I should leave before I made things worse.

  When I began to wiggle my out he linked his arms together. “Where do you think you’re going? You don’t get to kiss me and disappear.”

  His reflexes were quick. Had he been awake this whole time?

I smiled, despite myself. Sebastian never left room for self doubt. I admired that about him, how sure of himself he was. I hope one day it’ll rub off on me.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, nuzzling myself back into bed.

  “Better than I have in a long time. Maybe in my whole life.”

“Good, then have to keep this up,” I snorted, half joking.

  “If you didn’t I would have to strap you down.”

“Would you really?”

“Yeah.” 

I elbowed him, hiding the heat rising to my cheeks. Biting my lip, I realized I would let him do it too.

I started wearing scarves to hide the marks he loved leaving down the sides of my neck. Sebastian was not a subtle person. He made it very clear to everyone around us that we were an item. If I carried a stack of textbooks he would take it from me, when we entered a room he would grab the door. I was a very independent person, so the sudden change in treatment was a bit hard to get used to. At first I wanted to make any excuse to stop him from extending his care. He wouldn’t have any of it. It was nice being doted on by him. Even if it meant letting my guard down.

  No one seemed surprised, it was more like they were waiting for it to happen. Our classmates all seemed very supportive of this, minus one. Ominis, for whatever strange reason, would give us a perturbed look whenever we passed each other in the halls. I was used to his cold shoulder, and already learned to not take it to heart, but this was somehow different. He didn’t look annoyed, more like concerned. I couldn’t really place why. Externally Sebastian seemed to finally be doing okay after Anne’s untimely death. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Maybe it was Ominis who had not been doing well. I felt selfish for forgetting about his pain. Thinking back to the day of the funeral, he had not been doing well at all. Unlike Sebastian he did not have anyone to confide in. Not that he wanted to, but perhaps needed to. It was not my responsibility, but I couldn’t help but want to extend my grace.

  I waited till after class to approach him. He was always the last to leave, which made it easy to pin him. Once most everyone cleared out I went in.

  “How are you doing? I know Anne’s passing has been hard on you. Sebastian and I are here for you if you need support.”

He glanced up at me, rolling his eyes. I expected that. Still, I couldn’t let him suffer alone.

  “I mean it.”

“Oh,” he scoffed, “I know you do. But him?”

“Er,” I think I stepped into more than I was prepared for. “Sebastian has been doing better recently. Maybe we could all meet up together sometime if there’s still some unresolved feelings left. Talking about things helps me when I’m in a bad place.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to say anything to me. Not if you’re around.” He glanced at the doorway, then began packing his things.

  I looked at the doorway and saw Sebastian patiently waiting outside the classroom. He smiled and waved.

  “He seems fine to me.”

  “Of course he seems fine to you.” With that he got up. He gave Sebastian a peculiar look at the door, then left.

  I met Sebastian at the door, nervously fidgeting with my bag strap. I didn’t know what to make out of that interaction. It seems all I did was make things worse. Was something going on I didn’t pick up on?

“What were you two talking about?”

Sebastian was quick to question me.

“I went to see how he was doing after what happened…” I was careful to avoid the sore subject. “He didn’t seem interested in talking to me.”

“Don’t think anything of it.” Sebastian assured me. “He’s always been like that. It’s not something you should worry about.”

“Hm… maybe you should talk to him? I know you two use to be close, maybe he misses you. Everything has been a lot, on everyone.”

Sebastian looked up, eyes searching for a hidden piece of information. “Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll speak to him alone. It’s a bit hard for me to think clearly when you’re around. I hope you understand. I think that's what he's going on about. Still, I don’t see how it’s any of his business.”

[mlobsters]

supernatural s9e23 do you believe in miracles? (w. jeremy carver)

saw a post briefly that said they loved the gadreel plotline which made me realize i pretty much exclusively complain about this show while continuing to watch and go on about it at length. ultimately, it's because i love sam and dean. and i have a hard time with the plotlines that put a ton of conflict between them, which is like. 2/3 of the seasons at this point it feels like. and sometimes the stress feels earned (like say, dean's deal approaching, ruby, etc) and sometimes .... not so much.

like okay for example, as the recap spins up with carry on my wayward son. this song used to pretty much gut me because of how much emotional baggage there was by the end of the season and i'd usually end up crying my way through most of the last handful of episodes in a season. but the emotional intensity just fell off a cliff. it comes out sometimes between the two of them, but not nearly with the consistency of the earlier seasons. and like i've said before, there's just too much shit (plot) happening, it's teen wolf-esque

SAM Something is wrong with you, Dean. And until we figure out what, this is where you have to stay. DEAN And you two are gonna do what? Take on Metatron yourselves? That's smart. Oh, no, wait. No, you -- you lost your Angel army. And you now you're trying to lock up the one guy who has a shot at killing the son of a bitch! Hell of a plan, fellas!

as they lock dean in the dungeon thing, reminded of this

from s5e18 point of no return (link to my ep post)

DEAN Well, they’re right. Because either it’s a trap to get me there to make me say yes, or it’s not a trap and I’m gonna say yes anyway. And I will. I’ll do it. Fair warning. SAM No, you won’t. When push shoves, you’ll make the right call. DEAN You know, if tables were turned…I’d let you rot in here. Hell, I have let you rot in here. SAM Yeah, well…I guess I’m not that smart. DEAN I—I don’t get it. Sam, why are you doing this? SAM Because… you’re still my big brother.

different situation obviously since there's this external thing forcing dean to go darkside, but speaking of emotional intensity

sometimes they have people's eyelines so close to the camera i'm not sure but then lately sometimes it's just this which when it's unexpected it's my brain screeching DO NOT PERCEIVE ME

really good scene between dean and crowley here.

CROWLEY Cain was a demon. Your body's not strong enough to contain the blade's power. DEAN What if I got rid of it? CROWLEY You want to get rid of it?

the way he asked that was surprisingly not mocking. and i mean, if he's involved in dean becoming a demon, or just generally (i don't know how that goes down) - he has a vested interest in dean embracing this. and dean's such a mess it kinda seems like he might just latch on to what crowley is selling, since he's not just angry but vulnerable

SAM Who else would he summon? I mean, he and Crowley have been bromancing over the Blade ever since Dean got the mark.

you've seen romancing the stone, now bromancing the blade

SAM Yeah, I sort of got that. I just thought you might like to know that while you two have been playing, uh, odd couple, your real friends, like Cas, like the angel you stabbed, Gadreel --they're out there right now risking their asses to help you win this fight.

real friend, gadreel? okay. that seems like a stretch there, sammy. maybe ally would be a better word :p

DEAN You mean the angel that took you for a joy ride? The angel that slaughtered Kevin? That angel? SAM Who you let in the front door in the first place. You tricked me, Dean. And now I'm the one who wakes up in the middle of the night seeing my hands killing Kevin, not you. So, please, when you say you don't want to explain anything to me, don't. I get it. And I also get that Metatron has to go. And I know you're our best shot to do that.

i know sam is practical, but he must have quite the cargo hold for the baggage he's stowing

DEAN I'm gonna take my shot, for better or worse. SAM I know. DEAN No matter the consequences. SAM I know. But if this is it, we're gonna do it together.

going down swinging etc

DEAN Listen, Sammy, about, um, you know, the last couple of months... SAM I know. So, before we find something else to fight about...tell me...Are you ready to gut this bitch?

didn't last long

i don't particularly enjoy the weird cadence of gadreel's speech. i can imagine it was easier in a way to have something pretty stark so padalecki and gadreel's actor could noticeably be similar but. i'm real tired of it. oh, well. now he's dead anyway

METATRON Wow, that big blade and that... douchy tribal tat sure gave you some super juice.

gotta meet that dean bloody and beaten face quotient

METATRON Ah. So Gadreel bites the dust. And the Angel tablet -- arguably the most powerful instrument in the history of the universe -- is in pieces, and for what again? Oh, that's right -- to save Dean Winchester. That was your goal, right? I mean, you draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?

i mean, dean and humanity

i did not know he got stabbed

DEAN What happened with you being okay with this? SAM I lied.

appreciate that, and thank you jared (wiki):

Jared confirmed that Sam was lying in 9.13 The Purge when he said he wouldn't save Dean from dying, and so he changed a line in this episode from "I didn't know this was going to happen" to "I lied".

okay it's that mushy music again! but a woodwind or brass instead of piano. maybe that's what got me so confused, that it's been the horn in the past?? mushy piano in s9e11 and s8e15

i feel like a jerk but this didn't really hit the right emotional notes for me either, similar to the s8e23 handfasting in the church (tl;dr i watched it several times and despite being a wincest shipper i just didn't feel anything)

also.. did they need to reshoot this? the lighting is weird. either the lighting doesn't match the environment because of a reshoot or just poor lighting design choices

and i hate to say it, i've come to love sam a lot and i think padalecki is a better actor than i gave him credit for, but this doesn't feel like his usual more authentic distress :\

back here again

well that did get me a little. borrowing on dean over sam's dead body on the bed in s2e22 all hell breaks loose pt2

and following the thought through of sam being truly alone

did not anticipate the blade bringing him back as a demon, but i knew we got there somehow and that he and crowley were gonna go off on a jaunt

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Ted Medium Artmight Boredpanda Wikidot

[swiftiephobe]

Hello there !!

OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE THE CUTEST CATS !! I have this dream since I was little to get a black cat and name her Sabrina but now I have a dog and I can't really afford looking after another pet so she'll stay just a dream for a little while.

And you're seeing Phoebe ????? I'm so jealous (politely). I'm such a big fan, unfortunately she rarely comes anywhere near my country and I have to see Taylor and Harry first also tickets + accommodations, everything gets very expensive so Phoebe will wait asdfghjkl.

How did it go with your friends in the pub ? I hope you had a good time !!! I understand you're already off work for the holidays ? This sounds great and I am once again jealous (politely) because we work until December 23rd so I have one more day until I can breathe.

I see you're very passionate about the MBTI types. I got my type from 16personalities and according to them I'm an INFP. I still haven't taken the test that you've linked but I will let you know my result as soon as I do !!!! Meanwhile, can you tell me something more about INFPs ? Or give me a link to a website where I can read more, if that's alright with you. Also, what's your MBTI type and what do you like and dislike about it ?

Love,

Secret Santa 🎅

omg sabrina! i love that name for a cat! was it perhaps inspired by sabrina the teenage witch (and the black cat salem from that show)? it's cool that you have a dog though!! my household has always been a cats household, i think my parents do eventually want to get a dog (and i wouldn't mind one too!) but it is a bit complicated when we already have cats haha

and yes i'm going to see phoebe in feb!! i'm super excited. i'm very lucky/grateful that i live in a city where concerts come to, as long as artists tour australia they will almost certainly come to sydney, so i don't have to pay for travel or accommodation which definitely makes a big difference. i'm guessing you're also waiting on taylor to announce international dates!! i'm very much anticipating the announcement but also fearing it because i just know trying to get tickets is going to be so crazy!

thank you, it did go well! and yeah, when i say my "work" i'm actually a phd student, so technically what i do is actually study but it's pretty much my full time job! i never know whether to refer to it as "uni" or "work" because it's not like a typical degree but i'm also not technically employed for what i do so 😅 the university i'm at closes down for two weeks between christmas and new year, so we all get that time off which is really nice! up until i started this year i worked casual in retail for like 6 years so this will be the first christmas eve in that time that i haven't had to work which is refreshing! i hope you get a nice break too!!

ooh yes, the problem with tests like 16personalities is that they're what's known as "dichotomy" tests, where they test for i vs e, s vs n, etc. which kinda oversimplifies it and gives off the impression that people are one or the other, and also leads to some stereotypes (e.g. sensors aren't creative, feelers are overemotional, etc) which just kinda biases people towards/against certain types! i have a link in my pinned post as well which is an intro to the cognitive functions which is (in my opinion) a more in-depth and accurate way to look at mbti! i have an explanation under the cut too because it got a bit long and i don't want to annoy anyone on my dash haha. i see your other ask too so i'll answer that as well so i can tell you more about your potential types!!

basically there are 8 cognitive functions and each type uses 4, probably most importantly every type actually has a mixture of all "categories" of functions - i.e. everyone senses, everyone intuits, everyone feels, everyone thinks, and there are "introverted" and "extroverted" variations on those functions that on a very basic level equates to whether you focus it function internally or externally, and you're stronger at some functions than you are at others. i'm probably not going to be the best at explaining it haha but as an example i'm an istj, so my dominant/first function is introverted sensing (Si) (and my other functions are extroverted thinking Te, introverted feeling Fi and extroverted intuition Ne, in that order). having high Si relates to me having a really good memory, and i trust what i've observed and experienced in the past to guide me in the present (as a comparison, people with extroverted sensing, or Se, are those people that live very in the moment and are really attuned to what is happening around them so are more inclined to spontaneity!). so in that sense i like that i have such a strong memory, and i think overall my functions contribute to me being as reliable as i am, but i'm definitely not as great at being flexible or going with the flow as sometimes i should be! there's definitely different strengths to each of the different types.

it can be a bit complicated to understand when you're first getting into it, especially when considering all the different functions and how they manifest at different positions - like i have Ne as my fourth/inferior function, but a person with Ne as their dominant or auxiliary (first or second) function (xNxP types) will use it very differently/more effectively than i can!! at the end of the day it's all for fun and i don't think it's the be-all-and-end-all of personality but i found that learning more about mbti really helped me understand myself and also appreciate how others approach and understand things differently to me!

[orangezinnia]

Marius's Mechanism, and speculation on its bioengineering

so, the elephant in the room. who built Marius's mechanism? how, exactly, does it keep him alive, if it isn't by Dr. Carmilla's masterwork?

today, i seek not to answer those questions. instead, easier ones! such as "what type of microelectrodes are used for somatosensory" and "where does osseointegration begin, and would there be wireless myoelectric leads?"

should this have probably waited until TDOBVR was released, so i could obtain potential new and updated details on the workings of Marius's brachial mechanism? no! 'cause i am not nearly that patient! anyway, 7.5k words and 3 distinct Sections under the cut!

(and for those of you who don't have the time to read 7.5k, there's a TLDR at the very very end!)

CW's for: avid descriptions of surgical procedures, medical injuries, generally invasive and fleshy experiments.

Sections-

How does it doggone move? an introduction to our dilemma - creating an external power source - alternative compliance designs in the fingers

How does it flippin' feel? peripheral nerve electrodes - reproducing bidirectional feedback - the epic highs and lows of highschool osseointegration

Why the shit does it do that? vestigial features - SKIN - closing statments and TLDR

but! before making like intrepid heros and striding into the treacherous heath of biomedical and neuroprosthetic jargon, it'd do well to get a refresher on what little lore there is to know Marius's mechanism so far, as like scavengers upon a tragedy, each scrap is sure to have its use. the checklist isn't long, but i'm enamoured with every bit of it-

Alongside Raphaella, (and potentially Tim), it wasn't created or implanted by Doc C. src: tumblr

Whereas the mechs normally 1) heal on command or instantly, 2) don't get hurt at all, or 3) may ignore a wound at leisure, Marius only "regenerates [his kneecaps] when he dies" src: Kofi's twitter

The casing of his fingers are occasionally "organic". src: Kofi's twitter (i still adore the insistence that the mechs aren't human. makes it lovingly impossible to humanize them!)

The surgical procedure, or perhaps the interface styling, that anchored Marius to his mechanism was "botched". src: Kofi's blog post about TDOBVR

Marius "always approached the concept of immortality with a little bit more skepticism than the rest of [The Mechanisms]". src: DTTM :(

way hey, look! i've got links this time!

so, How does it doggone move?! in this case, the TDOBVR post can half-help with that! (and count your lucky stars about it, too). directly quoted-

"Byron [Marius] is from a world that has devolved through an endless war of attrition. Once highly advanced, technology has regressed to circa 18th century fare..."

meaning, since we don't know where or who he got the arm from, its composition is either really advanced, or hilariously crude. but it would seem- or, i thought- if this is the same arm that's going to keep him alive for eons upon eons through supernatural powers, it's likely to be the same sort of technology which constitues those big mechas.

then, you know, i was all ready to explain to you lot about shape memory polymers, and heat wire electrodes, and the many plus sides of artifical muscle fibers, including but not limited to tolerance strain, industrial-like strength, and being the one of the most lightweight options when it comes to mass-producible robotics...

...and then i realized- i'm going too easy on him! what are the chances that Marius is receiving the "leading innovation"? nope! more likely, he's getting acquainted with pneumatic concepts from 1910's Germany that flunked! haHA!

oh, i mean that by the way. here it is-

[ID: A black and white conceptual schematic of a compressed gas-powered hand from 1919, showing a thumb-side and top-down sketch. Top down, there are four parallel cylinders in the palm, but complex gear systems only in the index and thumb. An airline, captioned "Luffzufuhr", comes up from the wrist. Thumb-side, the gear systems are clearer, as is a fifth cylinder for the thumb. /end ID]

this diagram, and that single annotation of "luffzufuhr", translating from German to "air supply", is literally all i can find about it. thankfully, there's at least one other research paper who has attempted to revive this general concept, which makes things much easier for me! both by way of not having to figure it out all by myself, and not having to choose between 300 different styles of motor systems. yippie!

to lay some basic groundwork- actuators, in the application of motorized prosthetics, operate as the replacement for muscles, providing power and resistance for an everyday range of motion- linear, rotary, oscillatory. accordingly, when looking at which actuation systems garner the most praise for prosthetic limbs, one of the first things you'll see is how sleek and precise they are, since jankiness is usually the biggest giveaway that a technology won't be human compatible.

and it's an important factor, but only half of the problem. or, well, the paradigm. it's one that's formed by no fault of our own, and bested even the most funded, functional, state-of-the-art arms. that is, dexterity vs. durability, where the more components a prosthetic requires, the more fragile it becomes. the tougher its materials are, the less agility is afforded.

generally, people who want a "tool" are going to go for the stronger one, because if a prosthetic can't hold up to the stress and strain of the human condition, then its practicality is kind of worth jack and shit.

the pneumatic arm zeros in on this shortcoming of strength, since its simplistic components- a piston pushing against a spring within a hollow cylinder, bolstered by air- need only an increase in PSI to be faster, and are stronger against torque and backlash, giving it that advantage over electric motors.

they also don't draw current when retracting, since the spring elements naturally return to position, but their ability to pull all that power means they won't get shocked under a sudden or demanding influx. though, these plus sides are often achieved at the same cost of a heavy weight and excessive size, usually in response to supplying an appropriate power source. vapor is a bit harder to shuttle along than an electrical current, you know?

but unlike their electric counterparts, the fuel being a detached compromise makes this much more resolveable. and so, we're off on our merry way to make Marius far more steampunk than i initially planned! wahoo!

one of the factors necessitating a bulk-up is getting a servo-like control of the air valves, or servovalves, to fine tune motion and pressure more deliberately. it seems hard pressed to happen on a smaller scale at all, let alone while still packing a bigger punch than electric.

funnily, the way the paper phrases these drawbacks tends to raise the problem in the same paragraph that they solve it. "ah, unfortunately, there are so small-scale high peformace servovalves... fortunately, our team invented small-scale high performance servovalves." summarized, it's a rotary, four-way motor for the gas, compacted to roughly the size of a AA battery. now That's efficiency!

they seemed pretty proud of that, and i do think that Marius's arm would make use of something akin to those, though for us, the REAL focus is the fuel!

like i said, in terms of energy sourcing, gas cartridges have largely been regarded as a poor means. in those pioneer attempts of the early to mid 1900's, the CO2 they used was a limited resource, due to expense, and the quantity demands for a full day's power. add in the heavy bulk of steel canisters, and we don't have a very pretty picture for mobility.

but this obstacle is taken care of pretty smoothly, too, by switching to a liquid monopropellant as a gas generator. in this case, it's 70 percent hydrogen peroxide, which has a hissy fit when it has to buddy up with a catalyst, and spits out more energy than the liquid-to-gas phase change of liquid CO2. the catalyst, by the way, is iridium, typically known for its durability as a metal, but its decomposition under acid is used in the- get this- the Space Industry for propulsion.

yeah, that's right! Marius's arm is a low-grade ROCKET!

because of this drastic improvement, the tank for the hydrogen can stay at about 1 / 5th the size of what the CO2 would be, while manifesting the same power, keeping it nicely in a lightweight and anthropomorphic form. (said power, according to the paper, is comparable to skeletal muscle!)

then, with a setup of 200ml monopropellant cartridge, fuel lines, and a pack of catalyst pellets as the power behind the actuator's piston movement, and the servovalves as modulators to the incoming vapor flow, a choroid of surprisingly aesthetic stainless steel tubes is what carries that oxygen gas to the pneumatic cylinders. (Not a different thing than the actuators, as i learned the hard way).

they're also taking great care to assure us how NOT flammable the propellant is, despite being, you know, rocket-grade hydrogen peroxide. i'm sure this has no implications for Mr. Raum whatsoever!

the downsides to this way of powering his arm aren't many, but in the shadow of their silent, stable, battery-powered bretherin, the nitpicks include-

- exhaust products (ooh, dieselpunk...)

- audible exhaust noise (ooh, steampunk...)

- some unpredictable internal heat (ooh, hot...topic?)

and all of these, conveniently, could compile their inconveniences to explain away the arm cuff criss-cross laces by translating them in-universe as vent slats for exhaust outlets!

on that note, i genuinely enjoy postulating on what shortcomings the mech's -anisms could have. like, jonny's heart (~steel) weighs six pounds, nastya's blood is too dense and likely causes spPOTS (space POTS), ashes's lungs might be prone to clotting (damaged endothelial response), ivy's brain is. uh. well she already can't remember dog from shit of her past. brian's joints (metal-bound) could be fucky! oh, to be a new fan theorizing on all their faults again...!

ahem, anyway. when i was still considering artificial muscles for the articulation of Marius's extremeties, particlarly what those 4 bolts on the back of the costume's hand might signify, i first imagined linear actuators tugging a false tendon strung through his digits. this, as well, turned out to be the same "fully compliant" friction design of the gas-actuator prosthetic, just with electronic back-hand linears switched out for pneumatics in the wrist.

a.k.a, he'd have Marionette Fingies. and, truth be told, it's hard to find a hand that obeys these specifications i'm getting from two different directions- follow the pneumatics, but give Marius an arm that can at least maneuver a violin bow- without coming across strange trade-offs like "we're working on making the fingers move independently" or "if you lean on this arm it'll snap-crackle-pop fucking die"

but! this is where 2009 concepts that die ignoble deaths under the technological onslaught that was the 2010's come quite in handy! (get it?) under the work of the RoMeLa team at Virginia Tech, they led the innovation of a robotic hand roughly following the same principles of "air pressure controls grip", committing to a simplicity of lower pressure = lighter grip, and higher pressure = a tighter, "firm grip that could rip out a human's windpipe."

(editor's note: while the CNET author may be biased on that front, it is, indeed, applicable to the physical demands of Marius's job.)

but this time, in order to coordinate flexion and extension of the fingers, the compressed air fills up corrugated tube actuators (built like miniature accordions) spanning the length of the digit. however, it's pertinent to comment that the gas-actuated arm explicitly does not use compressed air, and i've decided the same holds true for whatever version of this build Marius would use. the four bolts, then, are likely some cylinders or servovalves to regulate the gas expenditure.

it's purportedly "strong" under this lack of linear actuators or motors to strain, and dextrous at the exclusion of "tendon" strings or gears, as is common for most prosthetic hands on the market. feedback sensors for grip and proprioreception work in tandem with the extent of pressure, which is already much more than the highly underactuated hand of the original monopropellant arm, and further awards a gentleness fit to handle raw eggs and lightbulbs.

hmm... with one catch. unlike the self-awarded praise of our essay's predecessor, this portion might be a bit weighty for Marius? its original creation saught to eventually appendage the hand to a separate ongoing robotics project of theirs, but the team deemed it "too heavy", and so it was subsided (cough, discarded, cough) into a separate project.

yet, this isn't exactly a downside, 'cause remember! Marius's tenuous grasp on reality (as per the TDOBVR blog post) doesn't come from nowhere! eons-long pain from an inordinately heavy prosthetic would drive anyone up the wall, i think! although, they theorized that a hardier material, such as carbon fiber, could do more favours toward ease of replacement and overall weight. not that we're too worried about that ;>

in general, by the way, i think the casing (cosmetic hard shell that covers all these inner components) of Marius's arm IS carbon fiber. most real-world casings are plastic, or aluminum, and it gets into a tricker area once you start trying to replicate skin. but for now, that material figures to be a pretty easy mention, since it's well known for being Strong As Steel But Lighter, the molding process is variable and easy, and comparably more forgiving to deformation from everyday wear.

anyway, i like the RoMeLa's hand especially because, on the sparse but official page for the hand, it even advertises a potential application in "Hazardous environment operation" and "Entertainment", which if i'm not mistaken, is Marius's middle name (hyphenated.)

oh, and guess what the protoype's acronym is! too late, i'm telling you- it's the "Robotic Air Powered Hand with Elastic Ligaments," or RAPHaEL. ah? ah, get it? like la Cogni- [i am dragged off-screen like a dead extra]

here's the beaut in action, too! what a charmer. i think Marius would love her. i may or may not be projecting.

it was very very interesting to touch on something that hasn't really been feasibly explored before, because in the event of making it work, we find ourselves in a beautiful gray area of "how!" and "why?", which i think is perfect for the technological stance of Marius's- sorry, Byron's era.

i'll do you the favour of linking the IEEE video that shows the gas-actuated fucker actually in motion too, because the beginning positively oozes 2008 "The Future Is Here" vibes

also, a quick credit to that crop of Ruth's art below the fingers tweet, whose depiction of Marius's arm with steel piping very much helped solidify the idea of throwing all that advanced technology into the garbage disposal!

but, How does it flippin' feel? first off, it feels weird to use flippin' instead of a swear, hold on- fuck! fuck! there we are. balance restored.

actually, let's take a closer look at that "botched" line.

"One of the first things I decided when creating Marius is that the effects of his (probably botched) mechanisation and his advancing years have left him with a somewhat tenuous grasp on reality..."

that doesn't give us much detail, does it? commendably so, seeing as it's a spoiler-free rundown, but that dissonance between whether it was the surgical manner or the internal mechanics that render "botched" an apt descriptor kind of worried me. i mean, how would i narrow down which configuartion worked best for him, when even the lore doesn't have his best interests at heart?

and, you know what? the question kind of answered itself! what we're capable of in the real world, right now, is genuinely pretty cool, but remains unusually limited.

i think our best example of this is the microelectrode array! the way we're using them, microelectrodes, in short, (get it?), are a rather direct interface with the peripheral nervous system on the cellular level, communicating bidirectionally (translating and sending) sensory, motor, and electrical signals with the axons they're implanted in or around.

there's different types, whose physical attributes determine their strengths and weakness per application. the one that we're looking at today is an "intraneural", meaning its needles physically pierce the nerve sheath.

did i say pierce? i meant stabs it clean through the middle.

[ID: A zoomed-in screenshot on a simplistic diagram of two intraneural electrode styles. The nerves are cylindrical, yellow, and transparent. To the left, labelled "D", a flat gray electrode cuts the nerve perpendicular. To the right, labelled "E", something akin so a slanted bed of nails is embedded up to the square base. /end ID.]

(the one to the left is our guy, transverse intrafascicular multichannel electrode! the cutie right beside him is the USEA, Utah Slanted Electrode Array, which i personally headcanon Nastya as having. talk about metal!)

i'd make a running joke where we call this microelectrode TRANS, but unfortunately, pride month is over, therefore its actual acronym is TIME. you're free to imagine that i've made an awesome pun on "bidirectional", however.

the more broadly discerning that these electrodes are, the more invasive their design is- for example, bed-of-nails USEA has some 100 channels, while a C-FINE (imagine a tiny clasp, gently squeezing the nerve) may have only 8 or 16. while TIME doesn't fair much better with 10 electrodes, and its cross-section style implantation may look a tad horrific (which is exactly why i chose it), its wider spatial range of fascicles allows it to get more picky during recruitment.

it also seems to be pioneered specifically with prostheses interfacing in mind, where most TIME studies (as per a May 2018 report) have been to test its design of "selectively [activating] subsets of axons". or, sending signals from the sensors to very particular parts of the nerves- and that's perfect when our goal is to restore a sense of "touch".

the most complete long-term configuration between human and machine of indwelling electrodes sending two-way signals that i've been able to find is the 2019 in-person trial of the DEKA "LUKE" arm, which unlike their commercially available FDA-approved version, used chronically implanted USEA's to "evoke tactile perceptions on the phantom hand". and, thankfully, this is the production that most articles i've found latch onto like a lamprey.

sorry, that's misinfo. lampreys don't latch onto their prey. that's leeches!

basically, the way this can happen is by finding a method to taper and dilute those bursts of electrical signals coming into the nerve. for this team, the key in registering actual textures, pressure, joint tension, etcetera was by recording the neural responses from primate's fintertips when touched, and alongside some vaguely referenced "calculations", coding this into a procedural model for the arm.

and like i said, the LUKE system is actually bidirectional! ...as usual, with some caveats. my sources may be outdated, taking from early to mid 2010 experiment papers as i often am, but when papers say "bidirectional", they tend to mean "microelectrodes for sensation, sEMG for decoding motor command."

the "sEMG" being a superficial electrode, stuck on the skin to sense and interpret voluntary contraction on the muscles of the residual limb. y'know, the weird stickers? it's the most common, intuitive, and non-invasive way for prostheses users to "control it with their mind!!1!1!", but when the backlog of complaints ranges from socket pressure sores, sweating interference, superficial recording and loss of contact during limb repositioning, i'm not so sure that our mischevious violinist can affort that sort of setup.

but the DEKA model, at least the non-portable USEA prototype, solves this nicely. making dual-use of implantable EMGs to train a Kalmann filter on recognizing the muscular commands, the user mimics "pre-programmed movements", whose recorded values are whittled down to a select number of "features", or what i'm guessing is potential kinematic positions. i think, in laymans terms, that entails some Physical Therapy for Marius!

since when have i been here just to praise things, though, huh? ...okay, roughly the entire time, but i ain't no liar about downsides! 'cause, when referring to "touch", we're not yet at a vis-a-vis recreation of our somatosensory. more often than not, haptic interfaces are missing ways to convey accurate temperature and pain, if any.

even though i found at least a handful of articles saying that LUKE's USEA can "help sense pain and temperature" (sometimes in a copy-paste phrasing), after turning to the official NSF pdf, the only two claims they'd made on that front was, "the LUKE does not include pain and temperature sensors", and "any evoked pain or temperature sensations are uncommon". so, man, i just dunno who to believe!

but a bigger, and more perplexing issue to circumvent, is the electrodes themselves. technically, their placement is a chronic injury to our tissues, and while it might seem like the resultant scarring is ideal for securing its positon on the nerve trunk, the fibrosis can sometimes grow bad enough to insulate it and completely cut off the signals. or other times, completely push the electrode out of the nerve. (which is just our bodies reacting how they should to foreign objects. the same thing would happen if you got a splinter)

at minimum, you're looking at a good chance for nerve damage and signal disruption. and- awe, while researching for the downsides of microelectrodes, i've just stumbled across my first ever bookmarked science paper for that essay i did on Nastya's cybernetics <3 talk about ouroboric deeds! and talk about upgrades- that thing was from 2003, jeez!

ack, distractions! moreover, unless your electrodes are wireless, their channel leads will have to trail a considerable ways through the muscles, and won't be sitting pretty when forming scar tissue can pull them taut. then, if the system can't sustain itself solely indwelling, external hardware will need a way to get ahold of the nerve signals, so a percuntaneous incision will often bring the leads to outside connector pads, opening opportunities for infection and tissue decay.

why am i saying "yours"? you don't own incredibly expensive, defense agency-funded materials. right? at least, i don't. all my tupperware is already used up.

but what i Do have is some inconveniences for Marius, fabricated purely by a nature of my own design! yeah, that's right! I'M creating issues out of thin air!!

since i made the executive decision for Marius to operate under microelectrodes exclusively, and the DEKA system i mentioned used iEMG's for motor decoding, (a.k.a muscular action potential over electrical neuron firings) there's a significant likelyhood of crosstalk and interference between commands coming and going on that shared peripheral channel.

meaning, he might get some rogue signals that are twitchy, painful, or just plain uncooperative. not a complete ravage to his range as a violinist, but certainly some obstacles to overcome. (or angst about, do how you do.) told ya that i liked downsides, didn't i?

the peripheral nervous system, by the way, is just what translates sensory information to the brain. the somatic (somatosensory) is a more voluntary divison of it, and registers the stimulation of mechanoreceptors by pressure, temperature, proprioception, etcetera, for input when considering to the appropriate actions to take. when i say "peripheral", i basically mean both.

and, hey, so long as we're taking about fudging up phrases and bodies alike, how about a little admission time? because, see, here's the thing. roughly half of the robotics that i've talked about today aren't actually... wearable? frequently being "proof of concept"s created by distinctly non-amputee college teams, they would be controlled by an external computer, or someone wearing a "master exoskeleton" glove that mirrors the motions commands into the prototype.

that, or they can be removed at will, after the connecting pads for microeletrodes are merely detached. and at risk of squandering a potential hilarity, but for the sake of preserving the "ahhh irrevocable immortality!" faustian, i stringently don't believe that Marius can separate his whole mechanism from his flesh body. at most, his fingers, maybe his hand as well. (you'll see why later on ;> and that's a threat ;D)

so, let's get a rundown of osseointegration, or OI, which is probably the most Not Portable a prosthetic socket can get. for Marius, i've decided that his amputation is NOT up to the shoulder. instead, he is a transhumeral amputee, the same as every "bionic upper limb OI" subject i've seen news of, because the status of the residual limb is of course the deciding factor in candidacy for this type of surgery.

(that's why the gas-actuated arm is conveniently also transhumeral- they crafted it with eventual OI implementation in mind)

in summary, they (the Scientists) implant a metal rod fixture, typically titanium, into the remaining skeleton. an abutement section of it protrudes out of the skin in a stoma opening, where the prosthetic is attached as an extension. (Marius, i think, does not get that differential luxury. ergo, his "arm"'s titanium bone IS the fixture itself.) obviously, there's alternative types and methods, but this is what we're giving our dear Baron.

for a basic depiction of that setup, from the OPR A Implant System site, and edited so that tungle doesn't kill me dead-

[ID: A grayscale diagram of a rounded residual limb, transparent to show a sturdy bone. Within the bone is a dark threaded metallic rod, labelled "fixture". Outside of the limb, the continuing rod smoothens, now labelled "abutement," and the thicker, bolt-like end is "abutement screw". /end ID]

i run a risky game here, folks.

the humerus is one of the 5 bones eligible for osseointegration, which does not include the shoulder, and it's reportedly ideal for the socket troubles that would come to a residual limb that's "short, wide, scarred, or painful", promptly speedrunning the checklist for "botched".

to hit those point by point- well, in opposite order- for a limb with nerve pain, the necessary compression of a socket may be a deal breaker in everyday use. energy transfer (that is, the inertial strength when performing actions) from the muscles can be put more effectively, and without much misalignment, into the prosthetic.

there's markedly less fatigue than having to work for sEMG devices to proceed with movement via over contraction of unrelated muscles, and a robustness fit for physically demanding jobs, i.e. a truck driver, a builder, a murderer. then, a stable precision for finer tasks, i.e. brushing teeth, handling eggs, setting up security cameras outside the Penelope vault.

as an added bonus, linking the prosthetic directly with the bone reopens an avenue for natural sensation, "osseoperception", where the mechanical vibration from contact (touching or stepping) can be felt through the skeleton. apparently, we can even hear the frequencies?! in our ears?! then, since this eliminates the factor of a cup socket, a suspension rig, and ideally sEMGs, a microelectrode interface is nearly a given for this system to work.

(a lot of OI is paired with Targeted Muscle Reinnervation to control the prosthesis, though. i haven't looked too far into this method myself, but it seems more helpful for transhumeral or shoulder amputees without much of a residual limb.)

(because, while TMR surgically transfers the residual nerves to defunct muscles in a gambit to boost their own signal, then communes those re-assigned nerves to the prosthetic, the TIME would talk directly to whatever remains of the upper arm's somatic. it would definitely require lots more rehabilitation than peripheral interfacing.)

so, viola! overall, a pretty marvelous way of melding a prosthetic to the body, as well as giving Marius's environmental perception and navigation a solid 2x modifier, if he can handle the months-to-years long physical therapy and rehabilitation protocol!

ah, although, the point of a lot of these surgeries is to be rather clean? like, hiding the leads via intramedullary canals, using wireless myoelectrodes. personally, if Marius's arm popped away from his limb, i'd be imagining more wires and connectors and sensors running out of him than King Cole to his machines.

which, you know who else runs the risk of infection besides percutaneous leads? a stoma! which is exactly what this exposed implant is! especially when the infection rate is "well accepted" as 100 percent! ...okay, maybe that's a bit fearmongering. mostly, these infections are "superficial", only causing inflammation or drainage at the skin around the stoma from bacteria making it past the daily hygiene.

a skilled surgeon minimizing the amount of soft tissue that can shear, or crafting an epithelial seal around the abutement can lower this risk. but when it happens, it must be intervened with strong antibiotics, and fast, 'cause any infection close to underlying bone runs the risk of becoming a "deep infection". beyond that, the pain of just that "minor" infection can purportedly keep people bedridden.

alongside the whole predictable subset of issues that can arise when melding Human and Machine, i.e. bone deterioration (aseptic) or fracturing because of the implant, when loadbearing demands on the prosthetic are excessive- machine's fault- and the implant loosening or requiring explantation because of the bone, when natural remodeling fails to fill in the gaps between metal and residuum, or after osteomyelitis (septic) failure. simplisticly, human's fault.

accidents, high-impact events such as falls and sports, patient overuse, or improper rehabilitation (cough, cough, doubling over with my coughing) MARIUS (cough.) can cause both and all of those issues, exacerbated under the event that the components were already shitty. ...do i need to start coughing again, or are we in agreement?

despite their infrequency, managing infections and monitoring the integration's efficacy is a life-long maintenance. now, you've probably seen the catch here- how for Marius, and the mechanisms at large, as immortals whose whole shtick includes (as per a tumblr ask) never getting sick and shrugging off bullet wounds like burrs, he probably wouldn't be bothered by roughly any of this...

...but, during his initial implantation, with regards to the notion that Dr. Carmilla wasn't present? as well as for reasons that i'll touch later on...? suffice to say, hooo boy! eeks! yowzers! uh-oh!

but, hell, nothing says "botched" like pioneer procedures, am i right!

Why The Shit Does It Do That?

and kicking off the final section is my favourite subsegment, titled on the fly "What The Fuck Is That"! the fuck in question-

[ID: A zoomed-in screenshot of Marius's arm, showcasing a strange brass circle on the "upper" outer forearm, where two thin side-by-side wires, colored white and red, trail up and disappear into the laced corset arm cuff. /end ID]

in my initial brainstorming post, for those who saw it, you might recall that i mentioned the similarity of the white and red wires on the back of Marius's arm and MOSFET wires, whose electric nature implied a potential utilization of that weird brass thing on the back as a Solar Cell.

wellll, if you haven't already guessed, i changed my mind. no motors here, no sir! the wires, i'm afraid i can't explain, but with regards to the gas cartridges often being treated as a separate entity from the anthropomorphic prosthetic, from even the actuators that it powers, it could be an extraneous seal for when the arm is not connected to a canister source. so, not quite an insignificant residuum.

or, imagining Marius's arm as slightly more advanced, as a stopper cap to an internal basin that stores the hydrogen peroxide. by its appearance and function, not too dissimilar from a fuel cap in automotives :>

to quote myself from a reply i made in the comments of my interest check, i do believe that Marius's mechanism is Voidily, Outer-Godily powered in terms of immortality, so i think a benign generator like this would either be vestigial of its intended applications (a.k.a., Used By Normal People), or what makes it physically operate.

as for what electrically powers the servovalves and sensors... i dunno. brother, he can just die. (/ref)

operating under that paradigm, when the monopropellant has run out, it might be limp and nonresponsive, but far from dead. kind of like a limb out of socket! the arm falling inert might also harbinger a potential return of Phantom Limb pain! i'll actually link this one, since the normal article has since become paywalled, but in 2015, one Igor Spectic who took part in DARPA'S Haptix trials, described the phantom pain from his amputated hand as "a vice grip all around."

following the experiment's development of generating communicable sensation in a prosthetic hand, where the manually varied electrical signals from pressure sensors on the hand's surface were sent to C-FINE electrodes around his remaining ulnar, radial, and median nerve trunks, the pain was reported to have decreased immensely, if not entirely disappear!

this is good news for Marius, if his arm is active. and this is bad news for Marius, if his arm isn't active. ah, aporia my beloved!

okay, self-plagiarism over. onto the most lovingly terrible section! Skiiin!

for some prelude- remember those Artificial Muscles that i kind of left in the dust? the shape-memory polymers who could hold 5000 times their own weight without permanently deforming at all? well, honesty corner, one of the features i somewhat lament losing in tandem with that whole charade is... the lead professor, Zhenan Bao.

chemical engineering is her field of expertise, and her team also pioneered a thin plastic "skin-like sensor" that could distinguish between pressures and accordingly interface with a neuron cell! and i was gonna do a little callback, start a bioengineering cinematic universe, all that fun stuff.

but, taking a step back, it becomes apparent that Zhenan's approach is So novel, that it literally can't interface with Marius in any of the ways that i've described. or that's in any way natural. what they did, see, was translate the electrical pulses into light pulses, and had those sensed by line of CNS neurons that were optogentically modified. a.k.a., they're specifically bioengineered to be influenced or activated by light frequencies.

it worked, but, not quite what we're looking for, you know? and, considering how we've already devoted lots of space to integrating Marius with the TIME microelectrodes and RAPHaEL proprioception feedback, i think we can just skip right to the part where we make this thing out of living tissue. Kofi said Marius's fingers were occasionally "organic", remember?

on that note, time to overhaul one of my cornerstone ideas on Marius's arm for, oh, say, the third time? we're getting to "she's not the same Aurora" levels, at this point! (just be glad i didn't have to turn to the fleshy phone case for research, hm?)

you know, i've noticed that a lot of these articles are just playing synonym hopscotch with each other? they don't quite care to reveal more information than the last one, the last one- just rephrase it a bit, getting more and more scant on as it goes down.

well! time to enthusiastically propogate the issue!

the broader goal by this particular team, from the University of Tokyo, is to trounce the uncanney valley by cultivating a sense of familiarity with The Artificial, under a predilection that robots would eventually be an integral staple in caretaker jobs. thankfully, i care roughly zero percent about that, so let's dig into the sciencey bits.

colloquially deemed a "biohybrid robot", the product of the experiment is cool, but not nearly so outlandish. it's actually marvelously simple! in fact, i'll keep the outline i had for "questions to answer" as a guide for us, since this subsegment runs on a big longer than my others.

How can it cover the metal?

we've already got the "covering robotic fingers" bit down on lock from the getgo, because this skin was specificially made to grow around a finger-mimicking structure! (this time, electrically driven.) it only faces strain at those typical three joints, but seems to "stretch and contract" rather forgivingly when it does!

since it's a different cadence from "grafting" on lab grown skin-sheets, adhered to each other and wrapped snug on the surface by stiches, which runs the parallel risk of the living skin incurring injury in the surgical-esque procedure, this recreation would prove a bit more complex. and fleshier.

How is it grown, exactly?

using a solution of "commercially available human cells", of course! which sounds like it should be appendaged by a * on the black market. but, hey, i know this song! from the meat berry video! we've all been haunted by Meat Berry in our recommendations, right? ...right?

okay, look, it's not as creepy as it sounds. it's actually comprised of the similar sort of ingredients in implants and hydrogels for severe burns- collagen, in that case, but the culture media also had dermal fibroblasts, both of whom are two big players in the building of connective tissue.

so with the robotic scaffold bathing calmly in that mixture, the cells, as they grew over the course of 3 days, naturally compacted and conformed to the surface's contour, as is the tendancy of collagen's elasticity and fibroblasts's traction. the team then moved it to an ablution of epidermal cells, keratinocytes, and let it develop that sealing outer layer for two weeks.

the whole sleeve ended up at about 1.5 millimeters thick, similar to an average human dermis! the scentists also lauded it for its "natural wrinkles", so... a win for Marius?

by the way, culture media- as per the meat berry video- is a solution primed with the nutrients, antibiotics, and hormones for the specific type of cell it intends to grow. it's usually a pinkish benadryl color, not naturally, but colored that way, and its hue shifts with the health of its condition, indicating to the cultivators whether it's gone bad or not.

just imagine Marius going "Raph I want organic fingers for our next performance :(" and she says, "okay, but remove them from your arm. they'll have to soak in the Science Fluids for about two weeks... beforehand."

ah, get it? get it? beforeha- [i am killed, veritably]

Does it need bloodflow?

NOPE. It pointedly doesn't have a circulatory system or sweat glands- basically only collagen and a layer to un-gooify it, right now, and it dries up (dies) when left out of the solution too long. that also means no nerves, but, eh, Marius could probably just sliiide some sensors under that bad boy.

that was actually a big selling point of one of the previous iterations of "artificial skin" i delved into researching, before i noticed that it technically duped the criteria what Kofi had originally stated as "organic". but, most incriminatingly, the prototype wasn't even skin! just some circle little sensors that "could be" placed under cosmetic silicone.

his version of the culture would also need some melanocytes, since the prototype flesh doesn't have even a bit of melanin, making it look either like a pepto bismol finger, when in the culture, or a ballistic gel dummy outside of it.

How realistic is it?

"Water repellant, self-healing, and with a texture that looks and feels like ours," as every article will happily tell you, one in particular repeated themselves 3 different ways in the same paragraph! in short- thank you epidermal, thank you fibroblasts, thank you collagen.

it's not yet up to par, however. apparently the cells weren't very mature, so although it could tolerate being pinched and stretched by the robotic joints, it was rather weaker than human skin should be. but, the epidermal could at least be picked up by tweazers! which hurts like a motherfucker, if you've ever done it.

and when these articles say "heal" they mean placing a "collagen bandage" over the clean, surgical slice, and letting the cells assimilate it into the wound. not to undercut (get it?) the achievement, though, because importantly this means the cells are living- the skin is alive! how about THAT for organic, Kofi!

Finally, what melange of mean things have articles called this scientific beauty?

icky-looking, sweaty, gooey, stinky, "westworld", "terminator", creepy, revulsive, ersatz, "out of a horror movie", and that it "looks like a, um". (you get three guesses, and none of them count. that's also why i'm giving no links this time, friends! sorry!)

also, y'all? hey y'all? this news came out, as of the time writing this (July 12th), almost Exactly a month ago. this is right now! we're LIVING in it! the future is HERE! and that just goes to show, folks- procrastination DOES pay off! because i, like, kicked this idea around for months... and months...

any! way! arriving at last to our closing statements, it is my firm bias that we would both benefit from making only as many wrap-up claims as further questions they raise. do i honestly expect any of them to be answered in TDOBVR? not a lick of hope! will i propose them anyway? absolutely!

most of these quandaries, i will admit, are conjucture stemming from one jokeful tweet. but when you add upon the more canonical layers, i.e., his mechanism lacking Dr. Carmilla's certified seal of approval, himself harboring a strangely outlier mistrust in the likelihood of true immorality, and in general, hailing from a planet that has regressed badly enough to go back to muskets, it would not surprise me if these conundrums came to pass at one point or another.

and on that peroration of resounding confidence, here goes nothing!

TLDR:

Marius's mechanism is styled, in general concept, after illustrations within a German "limb substitution" book from 1919 that ideates an externally gas-powered hand prostheses. revitalized under our "modern" technology, it is fuelled by catalyzing monopropellant hydrogen peroxide with iridium pellets in an internal reservoir.

a steel tubing network and small scale servovalves shuttle along the gas, providing the pneumatic cylinders with ample power for linear actuation, while the vapor leaves as an exhaust product through a crosshatch grille spanning the length of his inner forearm.

Plus sides are- stronger than most electromechanical prostheses, steel is very quite aesthetic

Downsides are- lacks an offhanded dexerity, constant need for fuel

as our counterpoint, let's indulge on some fun curiosities about Marius's healing factor- canonically the "device's self-regulation", as per Drive The Cold Winter Away. incipiently, if his patellas don't regenerate until he "dies," must his brain be clinically dead before he can start to heal? or does he just not share that preternatural haste of repair, where the assumption would be that he often meets death's clammy grasp quicker than any healing may have its finishing touches?

Marius's pneumatic hand is materially influenced by Virginia Tech's robotic RAPHaEL prototype, though altering RoMeLa's design to preserve the fuelant approach in its coordination. rocket-powered air fills up corrugated tubing within each finger for an enticingly individualized articulation, and an oscillatory grip strength is commanded by lowering and raising the air pressure at hand. the cosmetic shell of his entire arm, including the hand, is made of carbon fiber.

Plus sides are- fine tuned manipulation of objects, a sense of independence

Downsides are- no steampunk gears, a bit too heavy

seeing to it that his regeneration fails to be as thorough as his companions, and a stabilized form doesn't come back until death, would he still be able to recover minimally over the intervening weeks and months, like a normal person? gaping wounds to fibrous scars, deep infections to chronic sicknesses, whose remnants only get cleared away when he's fully dead, like one big reset button?

Marius has transverse intrafascicular multichannel electrodes interfacing with his peripheral nervous system to stimulate sensory feedback on the ulnar, radial, and median nerve trunks of his residual limb.

Plus sides are- increased somatosensory and kinematic precision, seeming metal as hell

Downsides are- neural scarring, and long-term glitches from signal crosstalk

on that note, during those rare occasions he survives the crew's raucous lifestyle for a continuous length of time, will his immune system begin responding appropriately untoward the traumatic, invasive, foreign implantation that is, in essence, his mechanism?

are there infections to ensue, and inflammation, and eventual scarring whose nature is inclined to cut off both his sense of touch and motor skills? by proxy, making him uncharacteristically ill and in considerable pain? (this line of thought, patently, is why i kicked up such a fuss about "wuauggh, his scar tissue! infections! stoma! blargh!")

Marius underwent a major implantation surgery to osseointegrate a threaded titanium stem, screw-fixation type, into his transhumeral. most likely, he did not have the resources at hand to abide by the prolonged rehabilitation protocol. there are no intramedullary leads going solely through his abutement, and the exoskeleton of his arm is inseparable from the indwelling fixture.

Plus sides are- remarkable stability, and rejuvinated osseoperception

Downsides are- acute infection, innate incompatibilities between skeleton and metal.

with the established hypothetical that he doesn't return to a generic save-state in an automatic fashion, we have to wonder- does he age? how slow, if altered at all? more pressingly, can his mechanism get worn down alongside it?

especially when taking into account how, while several pros-and-cons lists have praised the pneumatic actuator's simplicity under an impression of less oversight, that's once again treating the baby separate from the bathwater. maintenance of the several components, fuel lines and tight seals and valve fittings, required for reliable gas generation basically creates an inverse sunk cost.

whether he knows this or not, if the mechanism starts to act archaic and clunky after he's gone a bit too long without kicking the bucket, would he perhaps settle for a tune-up in lieu of literally biting the bullet? is he scared? is that why?

does walking head-first into certain doom become a reflex at the first sign of mechanical failure? is that why?

Marius, at a whim, may adorn his mechanism's fingers with living skin cultivated from commercially available human cells. ideally, his organics would be buffed by self sustaining perfusion channels, and melanocytes.

Plus sides- flesh, hell yeah!

Downsides- will be fingerless for a number of weeks, as the digits soak in the culture media petri dish

most of all, why doesn't he believe in immortality?

i've, well, got half an answer to that. 'cause when the contraption that's supposed to keep you alive already started out so messy, and makes no promises to keep you in top shape through your millennia of mangling and make-do, it's probably a bit hard to place the trust of eternity in its air-actuated hand, huh?

[unseelie-robynx]

So I’ve been working on the Tyrant Prince AU, with @vegalocity mostly in RP, but I did come across a mostly done chapter for my Dark Side of Oblivion, stuff. It had a different direction than the one that ended up developing in the discord and then into the Tyrant Prince dystopia AU, but I ended up wanting to keep going with that possible timeline as well, so I finished up. AO3 link is HERE (Which I really recommend because this is like, 6k words)

WARNINGS: Brainwashing, Mind Control, Psychological horror, Objectification, Dehumanization, implied Psychological torture (it’s at the end and it isn’t fully described but it happens), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Xiaotian groaned as he threw down his pencil. It was no good. None of the poses he’d tried worked. Everything he drew was just, so stiff. Almost lifeless. He couldn’t recall ever having this problem before. He shot a glance up at his mannequin, a part of him wanting to blame it for his current art block, but no. Red Son’s pose was a fluid and graceful as it was when Xiaotian had first positioned it.

 Ugg, this wasn’t fair.

 He slammed his sketchbook shut and tossed it on the floor before flopping over from where he’d been sitting on his bed. He absentmindedly rubbed at his temples.

 This whole week had been like this, like nothing he tried to do came out right. Not work, or art, or training, or anything. It was like he was constantly distracted, or like his brain was fighting him. And it made no sense!

 I mean… look, he had had a hard time getting Red Son out of his head after that disaster of a game he’d attempted with it, but that shouldn’t have been the case in the first place, let alone to the extent of messing up his normal life!

 His Mindless Plaything’s existence didn’t matter unless Xiaotian was making use of it.

 So, he shouldn’t have been fumbling basic moves in his training with Monkey King because he was worried distracted by it!

 It was that stupid game, and his stupid toy’s stupid panic attack that it shouldn’t have had because Red Son was an object and its sole purpose was to be owned and used, but he couldn’t get the sheer terror and fear that he had seen on Red’s face out of his head.

 It was just… wrong.

 And it…. Hurt? No that wasn’t quite the right word, but something in his chest had twisted up into a horrid knot when he’d seen Red Son’s distress. He’d had a physical response to his pet’s pain and—

 Oh.

Maybe that was it?

 Red Son was his Pet, and Xiaotian was its owner.

Good Owners take care of their property.

 And this whole mess had been an unintended consequence of a badly planned out game, which meant he wasn’t taking care of his pet properly.

 That made sense, Xiaotian had created an unnatural mental state for Red, trying to mimic the external act his pet had put on, while ignoring the mental truths it had hidden and denied out of fear and abandonment.

 Oh jeez, Xiaotian shot back up, when he thought about it like that, no wonder the poor thing had broken down like that! He had tried to force it to exhibit all its fake personality traits and defensive mechanisms, while denying it all the truths about itself it kept close to its heart! He had inadvertently forced his pet to deny what it truly was, and the loss of that truth, that Red Son has always been an Object, waiting for its Owner, must have been incredibly distressing for it. Losing the one thing that had been constant its entire life, Xiaotian felt tears well up at the thought of how much mental anguish his pet must have been in.

 Right!

 Xiaotian slid off the bed, standing up.

 He caused this mess, and he was good owner who took care of his property, so he was going to fix it.

 He couldn’t undo what had happened, but he could help his pet reaccept its fundamental truth. Xiaotian had created a broken mindscape inside of Red Son, and since he couldn’t unmake that, he’d just fix it up instead. It would have the added benefit of letting him play his game the way he’d intended as well.

 Xiaotian rummaged around his desk for a moment, setting up the flash drive he always kept on hand, and retrieving Red’s favorite pair of headphones, the well-worn ones it had been wearing when Xiaotian had found it at the club.

 He turned and slid them around his pet’s neck. He wasn’t actually planning on letting Red Son drift off to Oblivion, but since he wasn’t actually sure how this was going to go, he had broken his toy pretty badly after all, he figured he should probably have a backup plan. Better to fix the windows before the rain, like Pigsy was always telling him.

Stepping away, Xiaotian nodded to himself before snapping. “Wake Up, Red.”

 He watched as his pet blinked rapidly as it slowly gingerly, sorely moved from its pose to stand.

 Xiaotian knew that it would take his pet a little while to pull itself out of the muscle-locking stiffness that lingered after he had had it be his mannequin for any length of time and, as he was going to be hurting it enough by working on fixing the broken mindscape, he decided to be magnanimous and wait for it to pull itself together before proceeding.

 Finally, after was felt like an eternity to Xiaotian, who had a plan and would like to get on with it please and thank you, Red Son seemed to settle and actually become aware of Xiaotian standing in front of him. He knew this because of the adorably sweet grin that lit up his pet’s face but not his eyes, never his eyes when it did.

 Xiaotian didn’t fight the urge to lean over and take a kiss.

Mindless Playthings exist for their owner’s pleasure, after all.

 “Always so adorable, aren’t you Red?” he laughed, pulling away.

 “If it pleases Xiaotian that his pet is, yes.” Came the almost cheeky response as Red Son flushed beautifully at the praise.

 “Oh, it does.” Xiaotian couldn’t help but tease back. And for a moment he almost let himself get distracted from what it was he needed to do, but he came back to himself and sighed, moving over to the bed to sit.

 He noticed that his pet had frowned at his sigh, a cute little thing that caused its eyebrows to crinkle, but it held its tongue.

 Or, at least it did until Xiaotian stopped it from sinking to its place on its knees at the side of his bed. Instead tapping the spot next to him, against the wall so it couldn’t bolt if something went wrong later, for it to sit instead.

 “Xiaotian, has your pet done something wrong? Has it displeased you?” The furrow in its brow became more pronounced. “You are clearly troubled by something, and even something as mindless as your toy has been able to see it. You are upset, and it clearly has something…” Its head ducked down as its hands twisted and dug into its arms, “something to do with me. So—” Its gaze jerked back up, making eye contact as the desperate words tumbled forth, “so please, Xiaotian, please! If I have failed you, or misbehaved, or angered you in some way, please, please allow me to fix it!”

 Xiaotian felt his heat break just a little at how clearly distraught his pet was. He hadn’t realized he’d been projecting that much, that his frustration had leaked out to the extent that even his mindless doll was able to realize that said frustration was centered on it. Not that Red Son wasn’t attentive and observant of his moods and needs, Objects exist to serve their owners, but actively realizing that it had (indirectly) caused Xiaotian’s bad mood? Now he just felt even more guilty. After all, it was his botched game that had caused this whole mess in the first place.

 “Shhh, no Red, no, come here baby, no.” Xiaotian held his arms open and his pet all but flung itself into them, curling up against his chest as it trembled. Honestly, the only reason it hadn’t started crying yet was that Xiaotian had trained it to only shed tears when he wanted to see them, if the soft hiccups and sniffles were anything to go by.

 “You haven’t done anything wrong pet, at least, not on purpose.” And that only seemed to make the situation worse, darn it. “Something went wrong with one of our games. Our new one. But it’s ok!” Xiaotian grabbed Red Son’s head and tilted it up, so they were making eye contact again. He pushed a smile onto his face, hoping to soothe his distraught doll, “We’re going to work on fixing it, right now! And that way you’ll be able to go back to being my perfect mindless plaything! Doesn’t that sound good Red?”

 There was another sniffle as it nodded. “Yes Xiaotian. Please Xiaotian. I want to be a good mindless plaything for you. Please fix me.”

 “I will pet, don’t worry.” He soothed, shifting Red Son off his lap and into the corner. “We’re going to play our new game again, but this time we’re going to add a new rule, ok?”

 He waited for Red Son to nod before continuing. “When I say Voice and tap your mouth like this.” He demonstrated, gently tapping his index finger against his doll’s lips, “You can speak. But when I tell you to Hush,” again he demonstrated, bringing a finger to his own lips in the gesture for silence, “you lose the ability to make a single sound.”

 Xiaotian watched his pet nod again, internalizing its new commands. “Good boy, there’s just one more thing, while we're playing our new game, it’s impossible for you to lie. Understand?”

 “Yes, Xiaotian.” Came the dutiful response.

His pet was so good at obeying listening to him.

 “Perfect. Now, let’s start. Clarity.” He reached over and tapped Red Son’s forehead twice, signaling the start of their game.

 _______________________

 Red Son blinked, trying to banish the haze from his eyes. There was a throbbing in the back of his skull, and what felt like a weight pressing down at him from all angles. He thought he felt something on his mouth for a brief moment.

 “Did, did that work? Red?”

 Noodle Boy’s voice right next to him startled him enough to try and jerk backwards. Which is when he found out he couldn’t move. Again. He might have started panicking a little bit.

 “Shit! No no no! We just started! Abort!”

 And there were fingers stretching towards him, and suddenly the memory of everything cutting out, of a moment of sheer nothingness before he woke up and—

 “I’m fine!” Red Son blurted out, desperate words spilling from his lips, “I’m fine! I’m ok! Please no! I—”

 He took a huge, shuddering breath and forced himself to exhale slowly.

He couldn’t move. Ok. That was ok. He was ok. He could talk. He could talk!

And if he could talk this time, which meant he could communicate, he could get answers. It was ok, he was ok, he was Red Son, Prince of the Demon Bull Family, he could do this.

 “I’m ok. I… apologize for my outburst.” It rankled something inside him to apologize to the Noodle Boy, but unfortunately, the peasant seemed to be the one holding all the cards at the moment, and only an idiot would fail to acknowledge that.

 “I…” the Noodle Boy seemed to hover there, uncertain hand still outstretched, and it made Red Son want to bolt, “Are you sure you’re ok? This might be too soon. Maybe I should wait to work on this later…”

 “As I said, I’m fine N—” A sudden sensation gripped Red Son, like a muzzle forcibly yanking his jaw shut. There was a flicker of fear at that, one he desperately hoped hadn’t shown on his face.

 “Xiaotian.” He found himself finishing.

 Or rather, he intended to finish.

 Instead, words poured out of him completely unbidden. “I was just confused and reacting to not knowing where I was. Am. And not being able to move is distressing, it makes me feel helpless and out of control. But I am under control now, and I’m not going to have another freak out unprompted.”

 If he could, Red Son would have slapped his hands over his mouth. What. Was. That? He hadn’t… why had he said all that? This time he couldn’t stop the mild horror from slipping onto his face. He was just lucky the Noodle Boy Xiaotian didn’t seem to notice.

 “Ok, right.” Xiaotian said, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. “That makes sense, that’s totally how the projected persona would feel.”

 “How the what would what?” Red Son blurted out. Evidently, he either wasn’t used to being able to actually, you know, speak and communicate again, or his brain-to-mouth filter had been completely shot.

 He wasn’t entirely sure which option would be worse.

 “Ahh, right.” The hand in The Noodl Xiaotian’s hair shifted to the back of his head, and the other boy somehow managed to look sheepish. “Got to remember, just because its acting like it can think, doesn’t change what it really is.”

 “Excuse ME!’ Red Son snapped, voice shooting up an octave. What the Hell! How dare this peasant speak to him like that! No, to make it worse, he wasn’t even being spoken to! He was being spoken at! Red Son felt his face twist and contort in his furry, but just as he was going to open his mouth to verbally eviscerate the pathetic, arrogant—

 SNAP

 “Information.” Xiaotian rolled his eyes as Red Son felt a pressure on the back of his mind. “What are you, Red?”

 “I am a Mindless Plaything, an Object to be Owned.”

 And Red Son couldn’t stop the almost instinctive response. Nor his own horror at the words. This is what had happened last time, only this time he could speak, could control his voice somewhat, and yet still, still

 “No. No that’s not— No none of this is—,” His voice was rising in pitch, hysteria creeping in, “I can’t— What did you do to—”

 “Hush.” There was a finger on Xiaotian’s lips and Red Son felt his own voice choke off at the other’s command.

 “Right, So, explanations. I guess.” Xiaotian was speaking, and Red Son forced himself to push to horror to the back of his mind. He needed answers, and information, if he was ever going to get out of this.  He could break down once he was safe and back home.

 “Basic breakdown, since the freak out is probably an instinctive defense mechanism of the projection to keep from collapsing, this should at least give me something to start from.” The Noo Xiaotian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to make a new game, I honestly can’t remember the thought process behind it, something about how you used to act, and the fronts you’d put up, and progress or something. Doesn’t realy matter now, what does it that I most certainly botched what I was trying to do. This,” He guested vaguely at Red Son, still not actually looking at him, “was the end result. As far as I can figure, the reason you’re so stressed out and upset is that I accidentally created a mental state based solely on the front you would put up in self-defense, and inadvertently stole your truths from you. I don’t think you can like, access or even acknowledge them like this.”

 Red Son really wanted to snap back that the reason he was so stressed out was that he couldn’t move, and couldn’t speak, (and it appeared that Xiaotian was responsible for both of those things), and last time he had even been aware of himself he had been done up like a porcelain doll or… or a Zhaoyi, or something!

 This prompted a mental assessment of himself. He couldn’t turn his head to look down, but he didn’t feel any silk. And he didn’t feel any additional weight against his head, but that was its own set of problems if he truly had been… wherever this was, (surly not Xiaotian’s apartment? He would have been found sooner if that was the case. Wouldn’t he?) for long enough to let his hair grow to such length naturally. Sure, it grew fairly quickly, but the length he half-remembered was unprecedented for any reasonable time frame of being held captive.

 Evidently Xiaotian had not noticed Red Son’s laps in attention because he was still speaking (at and not to him, which was slowly stoking Red Son’s anger).

 “And since I can’t really undo this, we’re gonna try like, fixing it. Basically, re-teach you those truths that you can’t remember right now. Sound good?” Xiaotian finally turned to him expectantly.

 Red Son raised an eyebrow.

 “Oh. Right.” Xiaotian looked sheepish again before he leaned over into Red Son’s space. Then the tip of his finger was on Red Son’s lips, and he would deny to his death how brightly he flushed at the intimate uncomfortable contact. “Speak.”

 “What?” Oh. His voice was back. That was… he was not fond of the almost literal mute button Xiaotian seemed to have for him, but at the moment that was farther down on his priorities list.

 Xiaotian let out a small chuckle, “In simple terms, Pet, I accidentally made you forget something important about yourself and now I’m going to help you re-learn it.”

 “Right….” Red Son pulled the word out buying himself time to process (had Xiaotian just referred to him as a pet?), “And what is it, exactly, that I’ve forgotten?”

 “What you are.” Came the immediate response.

 “And that is…?” Red Son had a sinking feeling building up, not helped by the fog that seemed to linger persistently on the edges of his mind, making it an active effort to process any of what was going on.

 Xiaotian just raised an eyebrow at him. “You already said it Red. I know there’s not much going on in there, but this isn’t going to work if I just spell things out for you. I’m pretty sure the defense mechanisms in this hardscape would just trigger and then you’d be freaking out and I’d feel bad and we’d have to stop, and anyway,” he shook his head, “just, try and make some connections for me? What was that thing you were always saying about how ‘brilliant’ you were? I know that was a front you put up to try and deal with the neglect and make yourself useful somehow and have a purpose, but like, it was a big part of the persona that got mixed into this game so you should be able to at least put a little effort into figuring things out.”

 Red Son blinked several times. He… none of that was right. He wasn’t neglected, he was useful to his family was brilliant and the implication otherwise rankled. “I am Red Son, Prince of the Demon Bull Court. I don’t see why I would have to relearn that.” He snapped. He was almost certain that Xiaotian was referring to the… thing that had forced itself from his lips earlier, but he refused to acknowledge it.

 There was a sigh, and Xiaotian patted Red Son’s head as if he were a child, completely ignoring the indignant squawk that slipped out. “That’s who you are Red. Not what.”

 Right. He did not like that there was a distinction being made here. He didn’t like the implications, he didn’t like how it tied into the… ‘nicknames’ that Xiaotian had been using on him, he didn’t like how it fit with the phrase that had lingered in the back of his head since he had spoken it aloud.

 He refused to indulge in this messed up ‘game’ and the other boy kept calling it.

 But Xiaotian seemed to grow impatient when he didn’t respond. “Really Red? Not even a guess?” He frowned; brow pursed as he obviously considered something. Then it was like a lightbulb had gone off as Xiaotian smacked his fist into his palm. “Right, it was always trying to make itself seem important and freaked out when you poked any sort of hole in the narrative it was trying to project for itself. That probably got included into this as well, I just need to poke at its pride to help it want to try and think.”

 Red Son didn’t know what was pissing him off more. The fact that Xiaotian was talking about him, not to him. The fact that he was straight up insulting him. Or the fact that he was implying that Red Son wasn’t answering because he was incapable of thinking of an answer. If he hadn’t just decided not to respond and play into this farce…

 “Listen Red,” and it seemed Xiaotian had decided to pay attention to him again, “I understand that you’ve got nothing going on upstairs, it’s only natural, but even I didn’t think you were this stupid.”

 Ok. So, it looked like Xiaotian was actually going to resort to something as juvenile as basic insults to try and provoke a response out of him. Red Son would have scoffed if that wouldn’t have been conceding the point. He was far beyond lowering himself to engaging with such petty behavior.

 “I mean-“

And it seemed like Xiaotian had every intention of continuing with this disgrace.

“-sure you always botched everything you tried. And never succeeded even once with any of those ‘brilliant plans’ of yours-“

Red Son knew he just had to tune him out. Find a quiet place in his mind to shut out the insults and petty words. He could do that. It wouldn’t even be all that hard. “-in fact I think the only times you ever did manage to do anything right was when Princess Iron Fan came in and cleaned up after you. She at least seemed to somewhat understand what you were, I mean she at least knew enough to understand that you’re a ‘sweet useless-“

 “I’m NOT!” The words ripped free from Red Son’s lips before he could stop them. If he’d been able to move at all under his own volition, then he would have slapped his hands over his mouth. As it was though, he couldn’t, and it was like once the small level of control over if he talked or not was broken, he had absolutely no control over what he was saying.

 “I’m not useless, I’m not! I.. I’m plenty useful to my family. I.. I help with the plans, and I freed Father! And I… maybe I don’t.. but that’s because you always RUIN things and… and I’m not useless!”

 “Then what are you?” There was a smugness to Xiaotian’s voice that felt like nails against the chalkboard of Red Son’s pride, but he’d already caved by speaking, and to go back to being silent now would just show himself to be childish and petty.

 “I’m…” Although perhaps if he knew what to say beyond, ‘helpful’, he wouldn’t feel like such a fool. But then as soon as the thought hit his mind, it was like his body was speaking for him. “I’m helpful. And.. and a good son and obedient and I’m certainly not usel-“

 “Your Good?” Xiaotian cut him off again and Red Son couldn’t stop the slight snarl that overtook his features. Evidently the peasant noticed it because he was frowning at the sight, before shaking his head and continuing with whatever notion he’d gotten into his head.

“Are you telling me that you, Red Son, are somehow Good and Obedient? Don’t make me laugh.” There was something in the way Xiaotian was speaking, the all too pleased look on his face, that Red Son knew wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help himself from responding anyways.

 “YES!” He all but hissed at the other. “I AM. I just said that I.. I wouldn’t expect a Noo-“ The sensation of his jaw being violently forced shut was back and for a moment Red Son was scared but he shoved it to the side again. He couldn’t afford that right now. “-a fool like you to understand how amazing and Good I am but that’s hardly-“

 “You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you are a Good Boy, now can you Red Son?”

 “I AM!” Red was so sick of Xioatian interrupting and talking down to him in that condescending tone. It made it so hard to think, to get his thoughts together and make his argument, not that he should need to be arguing with the peasant in the first place but nothing about this situation was ideal right now, and he had to make the best of it.

 “I am helpful and useful and obedient and a Good Boy and-“

“How do you know?”

“How do I! Of course I know! That’s a stupid question to-“

 “So someone told you you were? You expect me to believe that someone told a thing like you that they were a Good Boy? That’s ridiculous. Who would ever do a thing like tha-“

 “YOU WOULD!” Red Son latched onto the moment, knowing he had him now. “You do! You tell me all the time that I’m your Good Boy and-“

 “So you’re mine?”

 “Of course I am, I belong to Xiaotian, what kind of a moronic question is-“

 The things he’d been saying finally hit Red Son and his words cut off with a sharp breath. The tunnel vision that had taken over him finally lifted, and they could see every detail of the overly smug, cat that got the canary, look on Xiaotian’s face.

 Xiaotian who he, of his own volition, had said he belonged to.

He’d said that.

And he’d meant it.

It sat there, looming in his mind, like the fact that the refraction of light particles made the sky appear blue, or that a flame needed Oxygen to burn.

Red Son belonged to Xiaotian.

 “No. Nonononnononononn-“ Red Son realized distantly that he was hyperventilating, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He couldn’t do anything about the tears that had built up and were breaking free either.

This.. this wasn’t right. And yet his brain was telling him it was.

It hurt.

It hurt and he wanted it to stop and he didn’t know how to make it stop and-

 “Shhhhh”

 All of a sudden the torrent of pained pleas spilling from his lips dried up, and there were soft, gentle, safe hands on his face wiping away tears.

 “It’s alright baby, shhhh. It’s ok. I know. It’s hard. There’s so many fake things in your head right now and they make the truth hard. But it’s ok. Cause we got something back, didn’t we? You’re my Good Boy Red.”

 The wiping fingers had changed to something else. Again and again there was the soft press against his face, Xiaotian’s own filling his vision. Red Son… he couldn’t bring himself to admit to what was happening, let alone that he desperately craved the intimate contact. Eventually though, the points of contact stopped, and Xiaotian was pulling away.

 “I’m gonna let you nod now, ok baby? You don’t have to try and talk, just be a Good Boy and answer me. This was a lot, huh? So much for your silly little head to deal with.”

 The words were condescending, but the tone was so light and gentle, and it was giving Red Son a feeling of whiplash, lost in between the two.

 “But you did so good for me pet, you managed to figure out something important again. But it’s been just so much for you, and since you were so good, I’m gonna let you pick, ok? I know the real you doesn’t like needing to pretend to think to make decisions, but this fake you still needs them. So I’ll make it simple and give you two options. Do you wanna keep going? Keep working on fixing this part of you and remembering the Truth? Or do you wanna stop playing Clarity and go back to being yourself again? Give me a nod if you wanna keep playing, ok Doll?”

 That word. ‘Clarity’. It seemed to work like the trigger to lift whatever magic was pressing down on Red Son’s mind, even if only a little. It helped to clear the painful confusion and heavy fog that was bogging him down.

 But it didn’t help the situation he was in.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move except to give The Noodle Boy Xiaotian the answer he wanted.

And they weren’t really choices.

 Did he want to keep going like this?

Playing this messed up ‘game’ and hearing his own voice spout lies and.. and horrible things?

Or did he want to fall away into that nothingness again?

 Except that Truth was still present in his head, even with it clear like this. The idea that he belonged to The Noodl Xiaotian, was owned by him was… it felt like Fact.

(And that scared him)

And if he kept up.. whatever this was then.. then… Xiaotian had said there was more.

More things he was going to somehow get Red Son to say. To admit and to… to believe and he…

 Red Son shook his head no.

 He couldn’t. He just.. he couldn’t.

At least when he was nothing he didn’t have to witness whatever was happening to him. Had already happened to him.

 “Ok Red.”

There was a hand against his head.

“Oblivion.”

And everything faded away.

 ______________________________

 “Xiaotian?” His pet was blinking up at him with wet eyes, but the shimmering gold that had laced through them was gone again.

Xiaotian missed it already.

“Did your Mindless Plaything do well? Is its Owner pleased with it?”

 Xiaotian wasn’t even sure how to answer that question.

 On one hand, yah, Red had. He’d managed to trick all those silly little defenses and gotten his pet to admit that he belonged to him.

On the other, it had almost immediately been too much for his doll and the thing had started crying.

 Xiaotian hated when Red Son cried.

If his pet was going to cry, it was because Xiaotian wanted to see those tears. Not because it didn’t like hearing the truth.

Although kissing away all those tears, and watching the fake mask try and process the affection had been fun.

 “You were fine pet.” Xiaotian eventually decided on. “I got at least a little bit of what I wanted done. But it looks like this is going to be a longer process than I thought, so I’m gonna need to play this game with you more often till I get everything fixed.”

 Xiaotian wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to that or not. It had been so frustrating how willful and disobedient his toy was. But it had also been so satisfying to watch it realize that it had spoken a truth. Those moments of clarity and acceptance, before its pesky fake personality kicked in and the thing’s coping mechanisms didn’t know how to process it and it shut down.

 He supposed he’d just have to see how he felt after next time. But for now…

 “Pet, tell me what you are.” He ordered.

 “I am Xiaotian’s Mindless Plaything. The Object he created to own and to have love him with every fiber of its being.”

 The earnest words felt good to hear. A reminder that his doll did know the Truth, and that he would be able to get his Clarity game working properly. It was just a matter of time.

And in the meantime, he had plenty of other games to play.

And some frustration to work off.

 “Pet. Touch your cheek for me. What’s that?”

 He watched, eyes glinting even under the haze that had sunken into them as his toy obeyed. Reaching up to wipe at a cheek and staring blankly at the wetness that came away for several long moments. Xiaotian knew how stupid his doll was, so he knew it would take a few moments for the dots to connect in its empty brain. But when they did…

 There was a horrified, pained sound as his toy threw itself off the bed and onto the floor in a kowtow. Desperate apologies and self-depreciations for its incompetence and disobedience spilling from frantic lips.

 It was a truly delicious sight.

 “Shhhh.” Xiaotian soothed, reaching down to tangle his hand in scarlet locks. With a yank he jerked his pet’s head up, twisting its neck painfully so it was looking at him. “I know. I know you’re my Good Boy and didn’t mean it. But it still happened. It’s my fault though. I guess I just haven’t trained you well enough, you’re body still doesn’t know that it’s not allowed to cry unless I say it’s ok. But you don’t have to worry, alright doll? Because Good Owners take care of their property so I’m going to take care of you. Isn’t that nice of me?”

 “Yes Xiaotian. Thank you Xiaotian. Please train your mindless plaything so it will never be bad like this again.” There was a desperation in his doll’s voice as it spoke. It knew what was coming, and it knew that it deserved what was coming. Because Red Son knew that he wasn’t allowed to cry, game or not.

 “Very well then.” Xiaotian tugged his hand free of his pet’s hair, uncaring that several long red strands came free with it. “I think we need to go back to the basics, don’t you? We’re going to play Burn.” His toy had gone very still where he had pressed itself back into a proper kowtow on the floor.

 “You do remember the rules of this one, right Red? Everywhere I touch, burns. And the burns don’t heal until the game is over. And if you shed even a single tear before I’m done, then for each one the pain doubles. I know we moved past this a long time ago, but you’ve proven that your fundamentals are slipping, and what kind of Owner would I be if I let that happen?”

 Xiaotian gave a tisk and shook his head. “A bad one, that’s what. We’re only going to focus on those physical tears today though. With how much you messed up I think trying to be nice and silent for me would be too much for your stupid brain to deal with, so I’ll give you permission to let our every sound that your body wants to make. What do you say to me for being so kind?”

 “Thank you Xiaotian.”

 “Good Boy.” He cooed, drinking in the sight of the perfect submission. “Then let’s get started. Time for you to Burn.”

 Xiaotian gave a SNAP, just so the thing's empty head would correctly understand that they were in fact starting, before he kicked the thing so that it fell over on its side, already whimpering from the blow.

 Then, almost delicately, Xiaotian kneeled beside it, so he could press two fingers into the ugly scar on its face.

 (The place HIS toy had let someone else permanently mark HIS property. Xiaotian hated that mark, and he made sure all the time to let the thing know that having it almost ruined him, and that it should be grateful it knew how to make itself at least somewhat lovely even with the disgusting mark ruining its beauty.)

 He held them there, watching as the toy writhed in pain before the screams finally started.

But not a single tear.

[purplelea]

I love how they chose to show Strelitzia in the very first KH4 trailer we got. For multiple reasons, excluding the obvious "because she's one of my favourite characters".

1. It gives the time to those who haven't played KHUX to catch up with the story. Like, the trailer basically said "hey you know this girl that was shown for like 5 min in the mobile game you don't care about? Well now you'd better learn a little more about her because she's going to be really important for the next game". At the end of kh3 people might have thought "oh I just need to watch back cover cutscenes since we saw the foretellers and it tells their story", but now they quite literally have to watch KHUX too. As they should.

2. It gives Strelitzia a pretty direct link to Sora and thus, links Sora more tightly to the next story. Let me explain.

Sora has pretty much finished his mission, hasn't he? He defeated Xehanort, brought all of his friends back, even those he never met (Xion my beloved) and the only thing he had to do was to find a way back after "dying". But nothing linked him to the foretellers nor to the union leaders story, and I was afraid that Yen Sid would just ask Sora to save the day again without having any other reason to do so than because he was the hero and that's what heroes do. (when Sora is in fact just a child and needs a huge nap for the next ten years or so)

Now to get back to Strelitzia. We still don't know much about her, but her connections with the living characters are pretty thin- she is linked to Lauriam and Elrena who will be recompleted for the next game for sure, and to the foretellers. Where is Sora in this? Nowhere. That's why it's so great. This is creating bonds between the characters and that's what Kingdom Hearts is about. Sora is fighting to save his friends from the very beginning and he keeps on doing so. That's what pushes him forward.

By meeting Strelitzia now, Sora creates that bond that will push him naturally to the next story, without him being an external intervention in a story he isn't a part of. During Kh3 we saw multiple times that Sora, when he doesn't know anything about the world, tries to help people if possible, but only against the heartless, or for simple tasks. He doesn't fight other people for others, at least until he becomes friends with them. Then he can intervene, because he's not doing so as a keyblade wielder, he's doing so as a friend. So during the conflict between with the foretellers, Sora will be able to intervene as a friend, as he always did.

Tl;dr : I'm so glad we saw Strelitzia again and I can't wait for kh4

[runtedfiction]

nothing

day 6: abnormality @zelinkweek2021

ao3

AN: inspired by this lovely artwork from @eerna. it's so good that it's seared into my personal canon. (also, day 7 will be egregiously late, so i'll prob post it as its own thing)

* * *

The aftermath of the Spring of Power.

* * *

“What’s wrong with me?”

When she asks it, she doesn’t expect to hear anything, just like always. But still, she can’t help but stare into the stupid statue’s eyes and hope for something to happen. She stares and stares until the water begins to feel almost warm. Until Link appears in the periphery of her vision.

“Princess, your fingers are purple.”

When he helps her out of the spring, she isn’t shivering--she’s cried so hard that she doesn't have energy for anything else. He wraps a cloak around her, his brow the most furrowed she’s ever seen. She barely has the energy to thank him, let alone walk. After she nearly trips for the third time on the way back to their campsite, he stops.

“Can--” he stumbles over his words. Even lifting her head to look at him makes her tired. “Can I carry you?”

“Yes. Please.” She just wants to be somewhere warm. The chill is coming back, and this time it’s deeper than it’s ever been.

He places one arm beneath her legs, and one behind her back.

Perhaps in another life, she would have blushed while her handsome knight carried her, bridal style, to their lodgings for the night. In another life, she would’ve taken this opportunity to loop her arms around his neck and bury her face in his neck.

In this one, as soon as her body doesn’t have to work to move, she passes out.

* * *

She wakes up shortly after he places her down to the sound of the kettle whistling. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, and she would fall back asleep instantly if her dress weren’t still so cold. Link’s moved her bedroll as close as it can be to the fire. She closes her eyes to soak in the heat on her cheeks.

“I’m making tea,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“You should change.”

“Ok.” She closes her eyes for a bit more. It isn’t so bad now that her face is warm. She can almost ignore the fact that the rest of her body feels like the Biron Snowshelf, and if she focuses on the fire and its crackle it sounds so soothing, and—

“Princess,” he says gently. “You should change.”

Zelda rubs her eyes and sits up. “You’re right.”

In the tent, she shivers as she peels off her dress. Link also laid out a towel, and she runs it over her body as quickly as she can considering her hands hurt like hell. She focuses on getting her Rito set as quickly as possible.

When she walks out to sit next to him, he has a mug of tea and a second cloak ready.

“Here.” He drapes it over her shoulders, and hands her the steaming mug. She estimates she’s feeling one tenth of how hot the metal actually is as she wraps her hands around it.

“Thank you.”

Slowly, the unbearable chill defrosts. She takes a sip of the tea.

“Mm,” she says to break the silence. Now that the fog in her brain is also clearing, it’s easy to remember that she cried in front of him for the better part of an hour. She’s too tired to be embarrassed, but still. “This is good. What is it?”

He doesn’t look up from polishing his sword. “Oolong. Decaf.”

“Fancy,” she says.

He nods.

“Did you know,” she says, after a beat, “that oolong is one of the most difficult teas to produce? Some say it’s similar to making fine wine.”

He doesn’t say anything; it seems like there’s a spot of rust or monster gunk that’s particularly to get off. But she’s used to his silence by this point--if anything, now that she’s gotten him to open up, it’s strange when he does respond. It’s easy to keep talking.

“Excluding external factors like the mountain you’re on and that year’s weather conditions, there are millions of small things you can do to vary the flavor. You need to choose a specific variety to grow, how long you want it to oxidize for, and in the case of decaf, you need to expose the moistened tea leaves to pressurized carbon dioxide.”

She looks into the fire. “But, there’s one thing all oolong producers need to do--you need to let it wilt in the sun. Once you pick the plant, this living thing that you’ve cultivated and cherished and killed, you need to find a day with strong sun. You need to let it wilt.”

She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going with this (just that it fills her with rage when she thinks about how her father couldn’t care less if she froze to death today), so she stops.

“Mm,” he says after an inappropriately long amount of time. “Interesting.”

She almost smiles. “You’re lying.”

He looks at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while more. When he puts in the last of the firewood, he speaks first.

“Are you ok?”

“What?”

He looks at her. His brow is furrowed again. “Are you ok?”

The question is so simple, so genuine, that it stabs at her.

“Sorry,” she says, wiping at her cheeks when the tears come. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“It’s ok.”

He looks back into the fire again, and waits patiently.

“To be honest,” she says with a sigh once she’s done composing herself. “I don’t think things are going too well.”

“We have time.”

He looks so calm, despite the fact that there’s only one more spring and time is running out. And sure, they have the Champions and the Divine Beasts and the Guardians, but Zelda knows that their odds of survival would increase exponentially with her.

“Yes,” she agrees, “but it isn’t enough. And this isn’t--this can’t be normal.”

“What can’t be?”

“Not hearing anything. Not feeling anything, even when all I do is pray.” She hopes she doesn’t sound too bitter.

He looks back into the fire. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

Again, for someone who normally says nothing, it’s impressive how his words cut into her like a knife. This time she swallows the lump in her throat. She can’t cry in front of him for a third time.

“Oh,” she says, in her worst impression of casualness, “so you were listening earlier?”

“Sorry.”

She smiles a little to try and put him at ease. It doesn’t look like it’s working, especially since he’s still avoiding eye contact. “You mean to tell me you aren’t listening all the time?”

“Well this one,” he says, then pauses. She wonders if he’s also remembering how broken her voice was (“What’s wrong with me?”). “This one sounded a bit different.”

“It was,” she says, choosing to not say, “I fear I will cause the apocalypse.”

He looks over at her. She doesn’t know if she wants him to tell her if everything will be ok, or if she just wants a hug.

It’s her turn to stumble over her words. “Can--can I put my head on your shoulder?”

He looks surprised, but who is a knight to refuse his princess? (And secretly, she has a feeling he’d go to the ends of the world for her.) “Sure.”

Very gingerly, she places her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. They watch the fire die down to glowing embers.

* * *

It’s hard for her to fall asleep, even when the fire is out and she’s so toasty it’s easy to forget what she felt like just a few hours ago.

She keeps playing his words over and over in her head. Nothing’s wrong with you.

Link is solid and warm and an anchor. A reminder that underneath the legends and lifetimes and lore, there’s another story here. It involves a boy and a girl, a princess and her knight.

The princess knows that she’s in love with her knight. She knows she might end the world.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda whispers.

Link shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

[h3l10tr0p3]

MANGA CH. 284 SPOILERS

OF REDEMPTIONS AND ATONEMENTS:

We all been knew, man. We all knew this was coming.

And godDAMN does it fucking HURT. (oh the sweet sweet angstfest this whole chapter is, just *chef's kiss*)

But i legit cannot put into words how deep the choice to 'Atone' cuts on my bleeding bkdk heart. Let's first take a step back and see how Katsuki went from DvK2 to here- that one keystone moment that has given us this beautiful chapter: And I meant ALLLL the way back to Chap. 252

I have already written a whole-ass post based on this panel, which you can check Here.

TL;DR Katsuki was actually paying real close attention to Endeavour in this part. He came to Endeavour to learn exactly what he was missing as a Hero, but he learnt so much more.

This scene in particular left a momentous impact on Kacchan. Here, Natsuo is resistant to the idea of forgiving his father for all his sins just because he is more involved in their lives now. And Endeavour had been dreaming for a while about a Home where he is not present with the rest of the Todoroki's which ultimately gave him the idea of buying a house for the others to live in apart from him. This is HUGE. This is what actually drove Endeavour's Redemption home- the perfect understanding and the perfect compensation, the two elements of a brilliant Redemption Arc. NOT THE FORGIVENESS, just as Enji says it. It is NEVER ABOUT THE FORGIVENESS.

Endeavour understood that it was his presence that caused his family distress, and although he dearly wanted to be a part of his family again, was even making efforts towards it by being cordial and accepting of Shouto's friends, inviting them to a family dinner, etc. etc. Endeavour realized the only way he can compensate/atone was to give up something that would cause him suffering, and them happiness. The idea that your family doesnt want you, when you just started to show some effort and HOPE that they might see you in different light, maybe forgive you and then to just terminate those ties entirely, punting yourself into a void where NO ONE CAN COME IN AND SAVE YOU FROM YOUR SUFFERING, is exactly what Endeavour did. He is actively shutting down the ONE window through which his family could see that he was suffering, and miserable, and wanted to be a part of the family again. Endeavour CHOSE to not be forgiven. To writhe with the knowledge of his sins day in and day out with only the shrine of Dabi Touya to haunt him every waking minute.

I cannot explain just how much determination it takes to do that, man. It's just- WOW.

Excuse me for ranting on Endeavour in a bkdk post, but I swear this has a point. And All Might says this the best:

This is the fanlation, the official release (which I couldnt get my hands on) also mentions that "When I meant you were like Endeavour, I meant the Change"

This here is an important bit that AM has caught onto.

In the 252 panel, where Endeavour says 'It's not like I want forgiveness' (Because Endeavour understands he cannot be, should not be, forgiven) "I just want to make up for everything I have done" (and to back this up, Endeavour shuts down the one communication link that could have offered him forgiveness, and thus salvation from the weight of his sins and his guilt)

Katsuki understood Endeavour's idea of redemption very well here, although he might not be shown with that light-bulb moment. He may have already known this wayyy before Endeavour said anything, but those words lent a solidity and to the path he must persue to acheive redemption: And it's Not forgiveness.

Let me tell you why I think Atonement is the greater factor here, even greater than Redemption itself. Redemption has an end-point: Forgiveness. But Atonement doesn't. Atonement has no expiry date. Atonement is purely propelled by the understanding of self, and the weight of guilt the self bears, whereas a Redemption is All About The Forgiveness.

Forgiveness is an external force, it may or may not be given to you and that is completely up to the person who has been wronged. Atonement is self-imposed, it is a meditation of the soul to forgive itself against the guilt it carries.

If Redemption is a marathon with a banner at the finish line, Atonement is trying to drag a twenty pounds of rocks through the Sahara desert without water, food or a compass- it's endless, hopeless.

And this is why Atonement is greater than Redemption.

And do you think someone as stubborn as Kastuki will ever find himself atoned of his deeds? No. And That, my friends, is The Point. In 252, when Endeavour says, "I dont want forgiveness" it's not just him saying it- it's also Katsuki. "I just want to make it upto you", is also Katsuki.

And to prove it, Katsuki will never ask for forgiveness. A verbal apology will be nice, sure. Especially since dumb-ass, gay-ass, 'Kacchan-sugoi' ass Izuku Doesn't even See it as Atonement. He is just #Blessed that Kacchan and he can talk almost-naturally again. And that is also Katsuki's intention- because the moment Izuku knows, he won't be able to atone this way anymore.

So, as much as I HATE to say this, the chances of a voluntary verbal apology are slim. If allowed to go on like this, Kacchan with continue to shadow Izuku through his life, worrying about him, LOSING SLEEP OVER HIM :

LOOK AT THOSE BAGS UNDER HIS EYES. /*shoves panels in yo face*/LOOK

Can you believe this bitch-ass gremlin who goes to sleep at 8:30 got bags just from stressing over his Deku??????

LOOK AT HIM DOING A HECCIN' MAJOR KOKORO-STOPPING CONCERN.

(He is flipping his shit because he worries, and he worries so much, and has worried for him for a long LONG time.)

- Katsuki will continue on this path of being Izuku's support.

Forever if it takes.

Forever, he hopes, it takes-

Because the only way he will stop is in death, either his own or Deku's.

This is his Atonement: To undo everything he once did, to support Izuku's dream instead of squashing it; To help him get stronger instead of perpetuating the narrative on his weakness; To protect him from all harm, when he once hurt; To be on his side when the whole world is against him, because once he was all, but, for him; To save Izuku as he wins, to win as he saves.

And, To deny each oppurtunity of forgiveness even as he desperately longs to be unburdened of his guilt.

Because Katsuki knows:

He knows Izuku is that one of a million, he is kind and humble and considerate and loving to a fault.

Katsuki knows that Izuku will forgive him in a heartbeat. That is just the kind of selfless, beautiful person he is.

Unlike Endeavour, who had no guarantee to forgiveness, Katsuki does. And that is what makes Katsuki's Atonement more powerful than Endeavour's. He recognizes it is in his grasp, just an arm's length away...

....Just an arm's length.

And Katsuki will deny himself that. Because he does not believe he deserves it. He hasn't atoned enough for it.

"Keep At Arm's Length"

He says. Because this is the critical distance between them. Not "Stay an arm's length away", because Katsuki doesn't wanna run away from Deku, and he doesn't want to be too far away to protect him, nor does he want to get too close to finally recieve the forgiveness that will give him salvation.

This is the fine balancing act Katsuki must maintain indefintely till he believes he has acheived his idea of atonement. (And when has he ever been happy just the bare minimum?)

I know I said Katsuki will never ask for forgiveness, and a voluntary verbal apology is very unlikely, because in it's very nature, it is inviting a forgiveness from Izuku, which we have established, Katsuki wants to avoid. And if this were any other manga, we would have been doomed to this conclusion. But, there is a scenario when Katsuki might issue a verbal apology and that is when Katsuki knows there isn't enough time to be forgiven in turn, or, hasn't atoned enough and can no longer continue to.

Like when Katsuki launches off, to deliver a final kamikaze blow to a villain, and he has only enough time to tell Deku a short "I am sorry", but not enough time to wait for a reply. Or when Deku is dying and at his final moments, when Katsuki knows however much he has atoned isn't enough and isn't how Deku should leave, without closure.

Whatever the future may hold, my dear readers, Katsuki still has a long, long way to go. And I hope to see him live through everything, to be there -

To survive these wars with Deku, To fight alongside him, To protect him. To win. To save.

To Live.

To hear Deku say "I had forgiven you a long time ago";

and ofcourse,

To forgive himself.

[secretsniper3]

Part 1: Sleep Tight

I approach my Master as he sits at his computer, tray in hand with Masters tea, as he instructed and how he likes it, placing the tray down while ignoring the moans from the porn on his screen i instead drop to my hands and knees and crawl under his desk, his cock already rigid and waiting for my mouth i open his pants slowly, hands in i grasp his cock. Masters cock isnt as thick as some other men, but its long enough to go down my throat and stop me breathing and his crazy stamina, no man has fucked me for hours and came multiple times in my pussy and ass before and Master earned my life mere weeks later.

Mouth opening  to welcome Masters amazing cock it slides in carefully, if Master feels teeth after all my training ill be a mockery to him, tongue coddling him lovingly he slides down my throat and i begin my favourite task, emptying Masters heavy balls. With the skills he hammered into me it only takes me just under 2 minutes to suck out any softness remaining and make him cum down my waiting throat, slamming my mouth to the base of his cock with his full length in me i feel it, Masters cum! His delicious cum flowing down and eventually his cock stops pumping and thats cue for me to resume pumping, Pulling back to suck on his head i eagerly swallow his length again and again, 1 minute later im rewarded once again.

Pumping his 5th load down my eager throat i can taste his cum coating my tongue, i never thought id love the taste of cum this much but after being trained by Master its almost a delicacy to me now! Feeling tired and well fed after my reward i lick my lips clean and look up to my Master.

“May i go to bed, Master?” I ask quietly. Master looks down with a smile on his face. “Of course you can, we just need to get you ready, lets get you ready.”

Rolling back in his chair Master leads me to the kitchen where Master gives me some vitamins to take with a glass of water, since cum isnt something you can live on alone, for someone on a mostly cum diet supplements are crucial. Leading me once again Master walks off to my room, its more of a place where the clothes and restraints Master bought for me are kept, not like a standard bedroom at all anymore. Walking to the wardrobe I cant help but wonder what ill be wearing tonight and my eyes widen as Master turns around holding my ultimate slave suit, a latex bodysuit. I fight back the urge to plead not to wear it as the simple act of touching latex, any latex anywhere after all the training Master put me through gets my pussy wet almost instantly, and with extended contact, will make me cum without any external stimulation.

Pushing me onto the bed i raise my legs and Master begins sliding the suit on, the sensation is already incredible but i know better than to cum without permission, or my obvious pleasurable night will be swapped for a torturous night in the basement. Before sliding past my thighs Master instructs me to stand and bend over the bed, as i do Master slides a large, heavily lubbed dildo up my ass, followed by 5 vibrating eggs slipping inside my pussy and a ring on my clit to expose it from the hoods embrace, the bodysuit covering it all tightly. The sensation is unbelievable, my exposed clit rubbing on latex directly, I cant resist and grasp my breast with my hand only to have it immediately pulled back down beside my body.

“Naughty, naughty my dear, can you not control yourself?” Master says with a smile, knowing full well I couldn't stop yourself. “sorry master” I reply weakly.

Pushing the wires to my inserted toys through a small gap in the pants just over my mound, Master continues to encase me in its tight embrace. Covering my breasts and my solid, sensitive nipples I gasp out as they get pressed into my supple breasts without a pause. I raise my arms and further my latex addicted body’s torment by subjecting my arms to its tight embrace. Reaching deep to the base my fingers meet the goal and Master pulls the latex over my shoulders, it isnt over yet. As Master slowly pulls the zipper up my spine I shudder alone with the movements till it reaches my neck. A latex hood is next, oh god I though it couldn't get any worse, or better. I still dont know how to process the sensations I was feeling.

Pulling my long red hair through the hood, the latex sits firm on my skin, mouth, nostrils and eyes, the only skin still uncovered, but that too would change. Hood pulled tight my red lips open to accept the harness gag behind my teeth, buckled tight so it cant rattle around I am pushed down onto the bed. Sitting beside me Master grabs my left foot firmly, raising it up Master slides my beautiful feet into their own prisons. Ballet heels swallow my feet and Master begins lacing it up nice and tight, padlocking it when its done Master then repeats on my right foot. A 1 foot long chain is attached to my ankles by the padlocks ensuring I cant run, let alone walk, if I could walk at all in these ballet boots.

Holding a roll of black latex tape Master begins to wrap around my thighs, just above my knees and pinning them together, reminding me of the toys stuffed inside me as I lay there unmoving. Armbinder revealed I know not to fight my Masters hands as I move my arms behind my back. It only took a minute to slide it in place and pull the laces tight, sealing my hands and elbows together. Thinking this was the last of my restraints I blink in surprise as Master pulls out 2 more chains and 2 padlocks.

Attaching a chain to the top of my harness gag to the headboard followed by a chain linking my hobble chain to the foot of the bed I realize I cant move.. not even wiggle, im pulled almost as tight as the latex covering me. I take a deep breath in my new situation, smelling the latex that coats my entire body, I can feel my pussy leaking freely with nothing I can do about it. As Master rolls me over to meet his caring gaze I can hear Master tell you “im not ready for bed yet, my dear, but ill let you get some rest if you can get some rest of course.” and with a click of his remote my ass and pussy come alive with vibrations rocking every nook and crany inside my body. My soul itself is dancing to the vibrations and I can already feel, with seconds into the night Im cumming hard. Eyes already watering as I grasp the concept of how many orgasms Im going to have tonight Master pulls the blindfold over my eyes, sealing them shut.

“Its okay, slave. You can cum as much as you want tonight, im going back to my room now, sleep well, cum hard, have a fantastic night, my slave.

[writer-ish]

in the lambent light

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 2.4K words | rating: T (language)

summary: On the rooftop of the Warehouse, Grace and Mason have an honest conversation about sexuality, small towns, and love (sort of), with the revelry and light of Unit Bravo’s first Wayhaven Pride in the background.

For Week 1, Day 1 of @wayhavensummer: First Pride + #wsfchallenge “belonging”.

*

She finds him on the roof of the warehouse, of course, kicking his feet idly as they dangle over the edge, a thin wisp of smoke coming up steadily from his cigarette.

When he sees her, he puts it out and links his fingers together, eyes following her as she comes to sit beside him.

They're high up – too high; if she looks down she feels a bit dizzy – and he grunts, his eyes narrowing as she dangles her legs, too. She looks at her colourful socks - one purple, one pink - as she tries not to think about how steep the drop would be if she lost her balance or even just shuffled forward a bit.

She wonders if maybe he'll put his hand out to hold her steady, or force her to sit back.

(He does neither.)

"You don't have to do that, you know." She gestures belatedly to the ash of his crumpled cigarette still smoking lightly on the concrete. "I know I gave you a hard time before, but really, I don't want you to stop on account of me."

He shrugs. "It's fine. I don't even know why I still do it when I don’t even really need it anymore. Habit, I guess."

She opens her mouth to insist, say how she doesn't want him, doesn't need him to change for her – but her mouth clicks shut instead. It's easier to let it slide. To not delve too deeply into why he doesn't need it anymore.

They sit in silence for a bit, the evening breeze settling on them.

The sounds of revelry in the town square continue. Grace can hear the celebrations, the music, can feel the general aura of happiness radiating from below.

When she’d left to seek out Mason, Tina had been painting a rainbow on Adam’s sharp cheekbone as he sat very still, giving the situation a gravitas that it perhaps didn’t deserve, but was still heartwarming to see nonetheless.

Eric and Verda had been watching indulgently as their girls got spoiled with treats provided by Nate, who had been doing his very best to succeed at the task of “enjoying his first Pride”.

(When he’d asked if he was “doing it right”, Grace couldn’t help but give him an impromptu hug.

“You’re doing perfectly,” she’d said warmly and he had smiled down at her, eyes sparkling.)

Felix, for his part, had been bouncing around, examining the stalls set up to highlight the queer-owned business in Wayhaven, coming back to hand Nate a new trinket or snack or pin he’d purchased, and then bounding off again, the excitement practically vibrating off of him.

She smiles wistfully at the memory of how the town embraced Unit Bravo as their own, as she regards it all from a distance now, a bloom of warmth in her chest – a collection of the happiness and pride that she feels towards her little town for coming together in this way year after year. To celebrate its people; the people who make Wayhaven what it is.

To celebrate love.

She turns to Mason, spontaneously dropping a hand to his knee. He looks down swiftly and then back up at her, silver-grey eyes meeting her own.

"Was it all too much for you?" She nods in the direction of light, laughter, colour, and music. "Down there?"

He shrugs. "I respect the idea behind the celebration and I'm glad the others are happy and having fun. But yeah. It's not really my thing."

She nods slowly, going quiet again. He idly begins to play with her fingers, splayed out on his thigh. Tracing them with his own, up and down.

"You know it's not—"

"You know that we—"

They both go to speak at the same time, their voices stuttering to a stop as they realize.

"You go," Mason says eventually, the side of his lips quirked up in a small smirk. "You do most of the talking for us anyway."

"Hey!" Grace squeaks out indignantly. "I do not. Most people say I don't talk enough."

Mason snorts. "People who don't know you, maybe."

Her cheeks grow warm with pleasure at the unspoken confirmation. It feels like what he really said was: "People who don't know you the way I do."

And he's right.

"I was just going to say, Wayhaven has been doing this for years now. Decades even. We used to come when I was a kid.” She laughs in reminiscence. “There’s this picture of me – maybe eighteen months old or something – on Rook’s shoulders, watching the parade as my mom smiles up at us both.”

She feels her own smile go soft, like the edges of that faded cherished photograph. She shakes her head to clear the cobwebs of nostalgia before turning to him again. He’s regarding her in a way that can only be construed as fondness and her heart twists, ever so slightly.

“I’m glad you guys got to be here for your first Pride,” she continues, steering the conversation back to the present. To safer territory. “You hear all these things about the intolerance of small towns, and lord knows it’s true in some cases, but I dunno." She shrugs, a small smile gracing her lips once more. "It feels nice to be part of one of the good ones."

He's quiet and she turns to look at him after a moment of prolonged silence. He's still staring at her, this time a more inscrutable expression on his face. She can't tell what's going through his mind, whether it's concern or agreement or even anger. His fingers have stilled overtop hers and his large palm rests on her hand, warm and steady.

It takes another beat before he clears his throat and breaks eye contact, moving his hand off of hers. The cool air rushes to the spot where his hand used to be and she finds herself missing its warmth and comfort.

"It's true," he says finally. "It is one of the good ones." He looks at her carefully. "And you’re right. They aren't all like that."

There’s a wealth of meaning in his simple statement and it’s her turn to stare at him now, processing his words and trying to formulate an appropriate response.

"Have you…" She hesitates, trying to parse her words carefully. "Have you experienced… bad ones?"

He lets out a sigh. The very human sound, probably borne from a habit he could never quite kick, sends a tender pang straight to her heart.

"Listen, sweetheart." He leans back and looks up at the quickly dimming sky, the summer heat dwindling to a more tolerable mildness, the breeze picking up slightly and bringing with it the sweet scent of the magnolias below them. "It's no secret that I am not what people would call…"

He smirks and shoots her a side-long glance, his mischievous look belied by the glint of a single fang. "Discerning."

She stays quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve never seen value in—” He pauses, appearing to search for the right word. “—In curbing my desires to fit into a certain mold. I like what I like, I like who I like, and no real external factors – like gender or appearance or the shape of your tits or your bits – have ever really come into play.” He shrugs and pulls a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, fiddling with it without lighting it. “Some people have a problem with that and some places like to make it known more than others.”

Something about his final sentence causes her pulse to quicken, her thoughts jangling in her head. She tries to gather them up before she speaks.

“Do you think…” She hesitates. “Do you somehow think that I… have a problem with that? That I don’t understand?”

“Do you understand?” He looks straight at her then, his eyes sharp and intense. Not intimidating or cruel, but as though he’s looking for something – perhaps the honest answer to a question he’s not sure he’s even asked properly.

“I mean—” She feels indignant slightly, even though she tries to tamp it down. “If you think I somehow have an opinion on who people love and the circumstances around that, then I feel like maybe you don’t know me that well.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He holds his hands up, unlit cigarette still between two fingers, lip curling slightly. “Who said anything about love? I’m talking about who I decide to fuck.”

That one stings. She purses her lips and looks away, trying not to let him see just how much, inhaling deeply as she tries to get her feelings under control.

“Yes, yes,” she says finally, looking away with a wave of her hand. “Fuck, love, whatever.” She turns to him again, eyes narrowed. “I might not understand in the way that you do, through lived experience, but I care enough to try. And I certainly don’t judge.”

“I never said you judged, Gracie.” His voice is soft and the way he says her nickname – so rare from his lips – makes her breath catch in her throat. He flicks the cigarette between his fingers now, back and forth. “I just want everything to be out there between you and me. So that there’s never any—” He hesitates. “—Surprises.”

“Oh, you mean like finding out you’re a centuries-old vampire?” she quips, raising an eyebrow at him, arms crossed.

He barks out a laugh. “Watch who you’re calling centuries old, sweetheart.”

She chuckles along with him, before getting serious once more.

“The least surprising thing about you, Mason, is the fact that you have no qualms about who you choose to be with. I’ve never met a more accepting and open person.” He looks like he’s about to argue with her, so she holds up a hand to stop him. “And just because we aren’t—exactly the same, in that regard—” She looks down, feeling her cheeks warm slightly. “—Doesn’t mean I don’t get it. Or respect it.” She shrugs, laughing self-deprecatingly. “I find it hard to believe you’re interested in my boring ass, to be honest.”

“Your ass is the least boring thing about you, Detective.” For that comment, he’s rewarded with a light whack on the leg. He laughs and wraps his arm around her. “C’mere.”

Putting the cigarette behind his ear, he tugs her closer. He holds her tightly against him, thighs touching and feet brushing against each other.

“I’m going to say something cheesy as fuck and you’re going to listen. And then you’re never going to repeat it again. Got it?”

She nods quickly, eyes widening in anticipation.

“I see people—not for what they look like or any of that shit, but for what’s in here.” He taps gently, right above her left breast. “Yeah, I don’t get mixed up in all that love stuff, and attraction does play a big role in who I seek out and why, but it’s not an attraction to physical things. I just get this—sense of who a person is, I guess. And if I like what I sense, I follow through. If I don’t, I move on.” He gives her a squeeze. “You understand?”

She bites her lip, breath growing shallow as the impact of his words infiltrates her blood stream and causes her heart to flutter painfully.

He smiles slowly, a cheshire grin, and she curses his ability to hear the increase in her pulse.

“And guess what, sweetheart?” His voice has dropped an octave now, mouth close to her ear.

“What?” It comes out as a hoarse whisper.

“I like what you’ve got in here.” Another tap, same spot. “And I’m not ready to move on.”

As far as grand romantic statements go, Grace knows this one won’t make anyone’s top ten list. But for Mason, it’s a lot. And for her, for right now—it’s everything.

She leans forward and kisses him softly, sweetly, on the lips. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, but neither makes a move to deepen the kiss in any way, keeping it gentle and close-mouthed; an affirmation rather than the initiation of anything more. Pulling away, she looks at him, feeling the softness she sees in his face reflected in her own.

Giving him one more brief kiss, she scooches back and stands up carefully, dusting off the bottom of her blue shorts.

She catches him watching the action intently and he catches her catching him. They share a smirk that turns into a laugh and it feels comfortable and fun. It feels like an inside joke.

Like belonging.

“Let’s go, hot shot.” She holds out her hand to him and he takes it, swinging his legs around and standing up, his full height enough that she needs to tilt her head to look up at him.

“Think you can manage to rejoin the party?” she asks, her hand still in his as she tugs him to the door that will lead them back through the warehouse. “We’ll stick to the quieter corners. I’ll hold your hand the whole time,” she adds, smiling up at him, her tone cajoling, teasing.

There’s something about summer in Wayhaven, something about Pride in Wayhaven – the air feels lighter, sweeter. Grace feels lighter. Bolstered by love and friendship, warmth and comfort. All the good things about her little town seem to be highlighted during this time.

All the good things about her little life, she thinks, glancing at their joined hands.

Mason snorts and looks down at her, amused, before giving her hand a squeeze.

She squeezes back, feeling happier than she can remember ever feeling before.

“I’ll even buy you a snow cone without the syrup,” she offers as they leave, bumping his shoulder with hers.

He grunts and then stops short. “Isn’t that just ice?”

She bites back a smile, feeling laughter in her throat, and nods.

There’s a pause. He blinks once. Twice. Then—he bursts into loud laughter. The sound is so free, so surprising yet pleasant, that she can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. And when he pulls her even closer and presses a kiss to the top of her head—well. She’s not sure that smile will ever go away now.

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” he murmurs, keeping her close to him.

And she does.

[rivalsforlife]

Do you have anything you wished was different from Ace Attorney canon?

Hello I'm finally slowly starting to get around to answering some of these! Sorry for the wait.

Uh this ask got super long so a basic summary of it: narumitsu being canon in a well-written way would be nice even though I don't think it would ever happen, I stand by not bringing back Phoenix as a main protagonist in DD, and I'd also want to rewrite all of SOJ so that Apollo goes to Khura'in in place of Phoenix, to have more interesting character stuff going on.

So the longer answer is this:

Aside from some of the actually problematic stuff that I don't feel qualified to talk about, story-wise, I answered a sort of similar question about a year ago here. I have changed my opinions a little bit since then, particularly with regards to the canonicity of narumitsu... because while I do love narumitsu I feel like I don't trust Ace Attorney to actually do it properly. After all if this past November has taught us anything "making a ship canon" could actually be quite undesirable and I have no desire to see Phoenix and/or Edgeworth sent to superhell. (I literally know nothing else about supernatural sorry about that.)

If capcom were somehow able to make narumitsu canon but in an unobtrusive way and as a natural progression of the storyline, like oh hey, the court record profile for Miles Edgeworth's Obligatory Last-Case Appearance has Phoenix mention they're dating, and maybe there's a few lines suggesting they live with each other, but it's not like... taking the entire story to force them together and otherwise does not change the way they interact with each other and butcher one or both of their characterizations in the process? I'd definitely be happy about that. Not gonna lie even if they made narumitsu canon in the most terrible way possible I'd have a "holy shit I can't believe they did that it's the best day of my life" kind of moment before I could think about it critically. But I honestly see no chance of them ever actually making narumitsu canon, so that's quite unrealistic to hope for anyways.

Aside from that in that other ask I talked about basically the premise of an Apollo trilogy and not bringing back Phoenix as the main protagonist in DD, and I still stand by that, buuut in my other ask I did touch on making SOJ a different game where Apollo goes to Khura'in instead of Phoenix - and you know what I'm going to take some time to actually talk about my dream version of SOJ because there were a lot of little things about the one we got that I didn't like. And it's going to be very long. So it's under a cut.

SO yeah I talked about it a bit in the other ask. I think that Phoenix going to Khura'in is a rather weak idea both externally and in-universe. In one of the interviews, too lazy to find which one, Phoenix basically goes to Khura'in because the writers couldn't figure out how to challenge him anymore. ... And then they don't actually challenge him at all. Because oh well now we're going to this new country where they KILL DEFENSE ATTORNEYS WHO LOSE and then it's supposed to be *shocking* that Phoenix would risk his life for a kid or his best friend. you know the guy who ran across a burning bridge to save his best friend. you know the guy who got punched in the face, nearly killed by the mafia, and tazed trying to save his clients. This doesn't tell me anything new about Phoenix's character. His whole travel in Khura'in doesn't tell me anything new about Phoenix's character. Basically the only reason he's there is to see Maya - Maya who theoretically would be returning home in about two weeks. Maya who was still in her training for two more weeks when Phoenix visited so he wouldn't be able to see her anyways. ... And in the meantime Trucy had the biggest show of her life that was going to be on TV and Phoenix wasn't there for it. And of course Phoenix didn't return home after Trucy was accused of murder (yes he couldn't be there for the trial, but he definitely could have for the emotional support afterwards) and instead just sits for two weeks in Khura'in doing literally nothing after Ahlbi's trial.

(And yes I know about the anime prologue that has Phoenix think Maya's in danger... but that's not strictly canon since it's never mentioned in game, isn't technically a part of the game, and even still, why wouldn't he go home after knowing that Maya's safe and that Trucy had been ACCUSED OF MURDER. Honestly that's what makes me angriest about this whole thing is that it makes Phoenix out to be a terrible dad. We really don't need any more takes like that, especially not from canon.)

And what about Apollo, you may ask? Well, given case 5 of SOJ, Apollo actually has a personal link to Khura'in and ends up staying there afterwards... after being there for like a day or two. I should note here that it has been a while since I went through SOJ in its entirety so I am fuzzy on many of the details. But both through what I remember and some conversations with people who actually played the game recently, the motivation for Apollo to actually stay in Khura'in isn't that great. It mainly seemed like guilt about his dead dad who he hadn't been in contact with for years and had completely written off until a few days ago but oh he died and then went to go visit him so... better take up the law office!

If Apollo had gone to Khura'in in place of Phoenix and spent more time there, reconnecting with his childhood home and actually getting passionate seeing how corrupt the legal system is there (even though we have a corrupt legal system at home) and being driven to fix it, that would make for a stronger story, I think. The Khura'in plot is more personally focused around Apollo than it is Phoenix. Phoenix's connection to Khura'in is through Maya, but Maya doesn't really have much of a connection to it aside from "it's where spirit channeling is from and she trains there". But Apollo, I guess, grew up there. So it's so strange to me that they force all of Apollo's connection to Khura'in in the last case while Phoenix is running around doing who-knows-what for the rest of the game. Phoenix spends more time getting to know the state of Khura'in and the Defiant Dragons and case 3's whole thing but he isn't the one who in the end decides to sit down and fix it; that's all on Apollo. It almost feels like they forced one of the two plots in to everything. And it was probably conceived as a Phoenix story that they needed to fit Apollo into last minute because oops he's supposed to be a protagonist too.

Some other strengths to Apollo going to Khura'in include that it would shake up the character dynamics a bit. Instead of Phoenix defending Maya, it's Apollo defending Maya, and that's a particularly interesting thing to look at in the context of Khura'in's "we kill defense attorneys" system. Of course, Phoenix would risk his life to save Maya, 100%, every time. But what about Apollo, who hasn't met Maya, who only knows her as "Mr. Wright's former assistant" - would he risk his life for her? And I feel like Maya would argue more against him defending her because of that. "We're strangers, you don't know me, you don't have to risk your life defending me." (Sidenote that I was always upset that Maya didn't protest much when Phoenix offered to defend her, knowing his life was at risk - sure she knows him better and knows he's always been able to get her out of these situations, but at the same time, the fact that there was no "what about your daughter?" conversation sucks. I really wish SOJ wouldn't have like. completely forgotten about the phoenix-trucy father-daughterisms.)

Let's say Apollo goes to Khura'in. Phoenix stays at home. Phoenix gets a call from Apollo that's basically "uhh hi Mr. Wright you know your friend Maya, she's been arrested for murder, if I defend her and I lose we're both dead," then you can tie in to that moment in 6-2 where Phoenix (who can't make it in time for the trial!) believes in Apollo and his skills as an attorney, not just to save Maya's life, but also his own. It ties in a bit more to the overall challenge of defending someone at the risk of your own life. Again, Phoenix would have very few hesitations, if any, risking his life to defend Maya. Apollo may have more defending a stranger at the risk of his own life.

Then if you can actually have Apollo and Maya talk together that would be neat - Maya can tell him embarrassing stories about Phoenix's rookie days, for instance. Their dynamic would be quite a bit different from Phoenix and Maya's, and that would be an interesting thing to see, unlike what we have in SOJ where all of Maya's substantial interactions are with characters she already knows or brand new characters.

(It would also be pretty neat to know more spirit channeling politics and dive in more to Maya's perspective on Khura'in and also her role as upcoming Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique and where she plans to lead the village in the future and also reconcile with her family's bloody legacy, but I'm not quite sure how to fit that in right now.)

And how about Phoenix, back home in Japanifornia? Evidently he'd end up being in charge of defending Trucy. Now, I did love the siblingsisms in canon 6-2, but I feel like there is still potential for Phoenix defending Trucy. All of Apollo Justice has a bunch of good moments between Apollo and Trucy, and she's co-counsel on all his trials, but we've never had any substantial Phoenix and Trucy investigation or co-counsel moments. I feel like AU 6-2 would be a great opportunity to dive more into Phoenix and Trucy's relationship and how it may have changed after Phoenix got his badge back. Plus, Phoenix being "the only one who knows how she really feels on the inside", he'd have unique insider knowledge into some of the Gramarye stuff that comes up in the case and Trucy's personal connection to the Gramaryes, which Apollo knows a bit of, but Phoenix knows more of. ... Or at least, should know more of, given that he raised Trucy for nine years at this point and they're very close, and Phoenix knows her better than anyone else does, even if capcom has forgotten this.

... Of course having Athena defend the case would also be great because more Athena spotlight is never a bad thing, but it's hard to come up with a reason why Phoenix wouldn't be there to defend her. And doing more switcheroos in terms of role in the plot is a bit beyond the scope of what I have in mind right now. Sorry Athena.

Aside from that, Athena still gets Storyteller, Apollo still heads Turnabout Revolution, and Phoenix still gets the DLC case. Apollo stays in Khura'in in the end with a bit more to his motivations. Rather than it just being about carrying on Dhurke's legacy, it's also something Apollo is passionate about after all he witnessed here. While we're at it I'd still rework a lot of Turnabout Revolution to make it so that Phoenix genuinely believes in Atishon because that makes for sooo much more interesting of a plot and actual character development on Phoenix's part than "Maya was kidnapped again and Phoenix is only wrong when he has no other choice", but that'd require some more detail and this post is long enough already.

And in terms of other details that need to be sorted out, there's the question of why Apollo would need to go to Khura'in in the first place. I'd probably say something to do with Dhurke. Maybe he comes back a bit earlier - actually alive, maybe, though crossing borders would be a bit of a challenge, or he reaches out to Apollo remotely somehow and Apollo goes to yell in his face about abandoning him (or at least that's what he thinks he wants.) Then we could have some more Dhurke and Apollo bonding time, potentially? Idk, if you switch up Phoenix and Apollo you're pretty much writing a whole new game and obviously I have not worked out all the details, but I think if Capcom had tried to go with this route from the outset they'd have a stronger game. At least stronger character motivations.

So... yeah. Those are my opinions. If you read through this whole thing I'm very impressed because it got very long!