My favourite splinter has got to be a tie between these guys. I like 87 splinter for the fact that he is a goofy and silly character more than any other splinter.
With rottmnt splinter, he’s such a multi-faceted character that grows and learns just as much as his sons do throughout the show.
While in the beginning of the show he is seen as dismissive towards his sons whether it’s because he thinks he can handle themselves just fine, is depressed due to the trauma in his life or feels due to his own relationship with his grandfather that they don’t want to hang around him anymore he changes his mindset for the better and is more there for his sons. I wish we could’ve gotten a stand-alone episode to see his and Raph’s father son relationship. I feel since Raph is the eldest they interact differently one on one more than his brothers do.
Finally, I like tmnt 2012 splinter. While I disagree with some of the things he said and did towards his sons, especially when he basically told Leo his life doesn’t matter and being a leader is being self-sacrificial, he did care about his sons at the end of the day and always had the wisest training and lessons to give towards them. He really made a big impression on me as I grew up watching this show.
There were bipes from the machines, there were numbers and lines showing Wall-e heartbeat, oxygenation level, and some graphs that Dr. was really excited about. It didn’t mind any of that, and usually, it wouldn't mind the tubs injecting an unknown liquid into its veins either. Usually.
Wall-e groaned in pain again as it did the past two days, holding its head with its eyes tightly closed. It hurts, it hurts, it doesn’t stop hurting. It is in pain often, most of the time really, but the painkillers help, and it’s a forgettable pain if it doesn’t think about it, but this time there were no painkillers, there was no stop, and whatever was going into its veins were making it worse.
“Stop!” Dr. Lowell ordered, grabbing Wall-e's hand when it tried to take the tub out of its arms, he didn’t hold it with a strong grip so Wall-e pulled its hands away and growled at him, its yellow eyes full of fury, “I already told you you can’t take them off yet.”
“But I want to!” Wall-e groaned out, tears of pain and anger leaving its eyes, never from fear or sadness, it never once –not even now– showed regret.
Dr. Lowell sighed at that, he already noticed that Wall-e is moved purely by impulse, it’ll jump into dangerous situations if it wants to, and it will avoid them the second it doesn’t like it anymore. Sometimes this is helpful, as it doesn’t fear the surgeries, and it doesn’t mind bearing some pain for a while, but it was past “some pain” and “for a while.”
“I’ll need to tie you down,” Dr. Lowell said, ignoring the glare that his experiment subject was giving, “We both know that you won’t stay quiet, and this is going on for at least another two days.”
“I don’t want it,” Wall-e said firmly, “I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it!”
“I don’t want it either!” Dr. Lowell said, pulling it by its wrists and tying the straps on them, Wall-e struggled but there was nothing much it could do through the pain, “I want to finish this part so I can move up to the next step, it will end faster if you stay quiet.”
“I hate you!” it shouted, turning its head away, “I hate you, leave me alone!”
Dr. Lowell paused, it is just saying it now, it is just angry due to the pain, but he hated to hear those words, he doesn’t want Wall-e to hate him, he truly doesn’t, “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“I don’t care!” Wall-e cut angrily, pulling the restrains uselessly.
Lowell sighed, “I’ll leave you alone for a bit,” he said, getting up and leaving the room, trying to think how he would make up for it. “It’s just a lab rat,” a voice said in the back of his head, “It’s my lab rat,” Lowell corrected.
kalau mengacu pada kata sibling sebagai saudara kandung yang benar-benar sedarah. berarti saya tidak akan bisa menceritakan apa-apa. karena saya hanyalah seorang anak tunggal. yang katanya sih katanya hidupnya nyaman dan akan selalu dituruti ini dan itu.
padahal?
ah, sepertinya hanya anak tunggal saja yang paham bagaimana tepatnya perasaan yang dia miliki.
tapi kalau sibling tidak perlu harus diartikan secara tepat, atau dengan kata lain tidak perlu sedarah, ya mungkin saya perlu menceritakan tentang sosok kakak yang ditemui setelah umur saya tidak lagi muda.
seseorang yang di antara semua sakit hati dan titik terendah saya di masa-masa sekarang ini, dia juga ambil bagian di dalamnya. bahkan yang lebih lucu, ketika saya jauh sudah lebih dulu ikhlas, dia yang masih mendendam dan merasa benci setengah mati.
mungkin seperti itu rasanya jika saya punya kakak atau adik?
ada tempat berbagi cerita. ada tempat saling bergantung--meski hidup tak boleh bergantung pada siapa pun. ada yang bisa diajak berbagi beban (?)
ah saya jadi bertanya-tanya, apakah saya bersedia bila di kehidupan yang berputar ulang atau di kehidupan suatu saat nanti, saya punya saudara kandung?
Dragon Age 2
Templar Cullen Rutherford
Between lyrium malaise, migraines, insomnia and Meredith, Ser Cullen struggles to function. As he pushes his way through his duties, he can't help but notice the lyrium fog in the other templars around him. Between that and how many Tranquil Meredith has had made, is the Gallows just the dead guarding the dead?
Some Templar/Mage, lyrium/tranquil angst for @chaos-company's Angstpril 2022, Day 11 - Migraine.
I had fun with this, but then, I always enjoy exploring poor Kirkwall Cullen's lyrium-brain.
(On AO3 here)
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Cullen’s eyes kept drifting from the Knight-Commander’s face, removing themselves from the visual cacophony of disdain and unease to instead choose a more neutral focal point. They rested on the mounted shield and crossed swords behind her desk, making an unthinking study of the Blade of Mercy’s emblem, as though he had not seen the same symbol on near every surface since his late youth. The image was both a comfort and a reprimand, each so familiar that they bypassed any conscious effort, sitting in his stomach as readily as trained ravens return home.
The cadences of the Knight-Commander’s inflexions, the strain of her expressions, the paths of her pacing steps were all markers by which Ser Cullen succeeded, near enough, to follow the meaning of her latest private oration. The words themselves, however, were unable to breach his skull. The templar felt as though the portcullis of his mind was rusted shut, the would-be entrants gathering in their numbers and only placated by his hazarded words of vague agreement. For now, they believed that all was well, but at this quantity, by the time they realised that they risked being sent away, there could be riot.
Cullen shook his head, attempting to clear the pressure from his temples and the fog clinging about his eyes, reminding himself to leave the mental images of that simile alone and to focus on his orders for the day. If, indeed, the Commander’s weaving path would travel via his orders as it toured her latest concerns.
“Are you in disagreement, Knight-Captain?”, Meredith interrupted her diatribe to demand. Her voice was well-spoken in a manner that had impressed and intimidated him as a newly transferred recruit, won over by the way it leant itself to authority: now, he was most familiar with the extra barb it leant to recrimination.
“Not at all, Knight-Commander,” Cullen guessed, professionally. Lately, it was best to agree. Blood magic, conspiracy - the words he had managed to pick out all seemed critical and likely enough, though he would be lying if he claimed to take all of them at face value as he used to. Even he was starting to find the Commander…misguided, of late. Paranoia could cloud even the shrewdest judgement, especially in their line of work.
“Good.” She continued. His gaze again drifted from her face to the shield behind her, catching his reflection in its surface.
He looked tired: eyes pink ringed with purple, skin the yellow side of pale. And yet, apart from the signs of the years, had much had truly changed since his transfer here? The lines sat a little deeper, perhaps, the exhaustion longer dug in, but he had looked just as much a stranger to himself when he first left Ferelden’s shores.
In time, a pause came: clearly, he was expected to speak. “Of course, Knight-Commander.” It was usually a safe response.
The Knight-Captain patrolled the Gallows courtyard, alert yet only half-seeing. The mages moved about him in their droves, their clusters kept small by the other rotating templars. Large groups of either kind, templar or mage, were forbidden now, following what had transpired under Thrask on the Wounded Coast.
Like a dream - one Cullen could play behind his eyes to perfect accuracy, so repeated and well-trodden was the pattern - he watched himself cross paths with his fellow Knights, heard orders being issued by his voice, felt his mouth moving to deliver them. He himself barely took notice. Pieces of his skull were attempting to separate from each other, it felt, floating further apart and putting the rest of his head under strain: in other areas, those same bones wished to overlap, the plates of the earth before a quake. He absently wondered whether his skull could rattle clean from his neck should the quake begin.
Around him, amongst the mages, the Tranquil moved mutely through the herd. There were many more of them than there used to be. Cullen watched, blankly, as he observed the lifelessness of their expressions. Cattle herding cattle, he couldn’t help but think, wondering how many of his fellow templars were concealing similar fatigue to him; how many others had sunken, led by sleeplessness and coaxed by the lyrium, into the same malaise. One Tranquil met his eyes as she passed: numbness spoke to near-numbness.
Somewhere deep below his layers of packed earth, still trees and absent wind, the Knight felt a memory of grief over the quantity at which the Rite had been issued. Strange, when such a Solution had once appealed. Yet, some of those mages - those who were not Maleficarum like their ironically named leader - some of them, he had felt as he oversaw the Rite, had truly believed in a peace with templars. Had trusted that a truce could be reached. He had seen that belief shatter in their eyes, moments before their eyes grew dull of anything at all. It had never given him pleasure, the Rite, much though it was a mercy and an ease. But in those numbers…Seeing their expressions turn to shards and then slip away -
It was a feeling he attempted to keep hold of, but it slid from his hands just as surely as those lights, sinking back down into the peaty marshwaters of his mind. Questions - questions such as ‘In the service of the Order, or of Meredith?’ attempted to utter themselves as they sank, their open mouths inhaling and gulping down the thick waters in their attempts, until their faces slipped at last below the surface, silent.
Cullen blinked and turned his emotionless gaze back to the Tranquil. Around him, other templars did the same: each following orders, tired feet following along practised, unquestioned paths. For many, it would be a bland day until tomorrow’s lyrium. For Cullen and the others that he knew of, and many more than he suspected, it would be a shorter but more furtive wait: each covert dose brought a flash, a moment of relief, and then the return back down, that bit deeper than before. Better to be carried down deep, cradled in its arms, than the gasping, painful panic of breaking water for too long. And yet… He remembered when the extra hits had helped the work. Was it helping anymore?
He listened to the throbbing of his pulse against his skin, the Circle’s crowds falling to quiet behind it. Sleepwalkers policing ghosts - deadened soldiers guarding vacant charges. Would it continue this way? Spread further? The notion made a quiet voice deep within him attempt to despair, beating its hands against the glass, a creature trapped under a cup, but the tired templar could not deny the Chantry - it would make everything so much simpler.
the good old Aguabrial, I miss this dragon that was once in the first version of the Zinit...(also I’m not that good at drawing dragons, but I tried :’D)
27.07.2016. We must have to enjoy life as much as we can or we will regret it one day in the future. I will miss this place, it will never be the same again.
the past series: day eleven
