So! I mentioned an announcement earlier today and here it is: Me and My Husband are moving from North Carolina with our good friend so we can live a more independent life. We'll be driving cross-country later this month as well.
We're waiting on his disability payments to come in so we can buy a camper to make our big move, but while we wait, my husband is offering writing commissions!
Money would go to bills, moving costs, feeding our very fluffy cat, getting our car's AC fixed, and finally replacing our 12 year old hybrid battery!
Info here: https://kofi.com/wizardquill/commissions
If you're interested in helping out a nonbinary trans dude and his legally blind husband, or just want a piece of writing of your own, we'd really appreciate it. And if you can't help out, a reblog always helps, but there's no pressure.
As soon as he came back to town, Simon’s first stop wasn’t the pub, or even his own home.
No, he came to yours first, dropping his bag at the door like he lived here. He washed his hands, grabbed a muslin and asked to hold the baby.
He was haggard and shaking like an addict asking for his fix.
There was no protest on your part. Being overworked, with an agitated infant, you wouldn’t refuse help, especially if it meant being around someone who could actually speak back.
After only a few minutes, his mood had already improved. He was soothing your baby and himself at the same time. Your son was an adult pacifier.
He always looked out of place in the baby-proofed, gently decorated flat. Not to mention the neat soft yellow muslin patterned with little flowers covering his shoulder and chest, a jarring contrast with his muted clothes and bruised and scarred hands.
The two of you met when your son was only a few weeks old. You moved into the cheapest apartment complex you could find. You were a broken mess, alone, with a baby who did nothing but cry.
Simon was your neighbor, a man of only a few words.
So few, in fact, you thought he hated you, and your screaming baby.
It took a while for you to realise he wasn’t being rude, just curt. Besides, his silence made him a good listener and for someone who talked a lot, it was the best counterpart.
This man became your best advisor and friend.
“What do you think?” you asked after another of your long rants.
“I think he’s a baby,” he replied curtly.
“Well, we should have looked into it sooner,” you mumbled, picking another preschool pamphlet from the coffee table, questioning yourself on how you could manage to afford it with the little money you were making.
“The other mother at the park said she started looking for one when her kids were still in the womb, and that it’s important for socializing and entering you know…society—”
“He’s eight months old,” he reiterated, swaying the baby securely on his chest. It was comical seeing him so soft while speaking so sternly.
“Yes, that means I waited too long. Apparently the good ones are selective. Not to mention the cost. I’d have to sell a kidney to afford this—god, I messed up again,” you muttered the last part anxiously reading the pamphlet. “Maybe if I get another job.”
The paper was plucked from your view, leaving you to stare at your empty hand.
He shook his head, “No.”
“It’s okay, if I get someone to watch him a little longer until he enters preschool, then I’ll have more time and—”
“You won’t see him grow,” he cut in, “Don’t take his mummy away, he only has you.”
As you witnessed the gentle confidence with which he cradled the baby in his arms, it was clear you weren’t the only one here for him, but you’d never dare say it yourself.
“You’ll do as we planned,” he said, “despite what some nutter told you, kids who start school at four are just fine,”
His eyes were kind as they met yours, “and just so you know, you’re doing a good job.”
“You think?”
“I know,” he hummed.
Simon, a man of a few but meaningful words.
You watched him resume his pacing, going through the kitchen and back, gently rubbing the little boy’s back, as if covering more ground would lull the baby to sleep.
He strode to the couch, lowering himself so you could check on the baby’s status. You looked at your son’s bright, round eyes and let a tired smile slip.
“Wide awake,” you chuckled, the back of your forefinger brushing against his round cheek, “It doesn’t usually take this long…”
You glanced at your watch. It was already 2 in the morning and no sign of getting the rascal to sleep.
“Is he sick?” Simon asked, but you shook your head.
“Trust me, we would hear it,” you assured, “Remember his last colic?” You yawned.
Desperately trying to stay awake, you stood up, now getting a better view of the little man.
His slow, tired blinks made it clear he was fighting to stay awake.
You smiled blowing softly on your son’s face.
He was startled, blinking fast, his small fist clenched, gripping Simon’s shirt.
“Aren’t you, little headache?”
He let out a little fuss.
“Simon has to go home now,” you teased watching your little boy yawn, with the cutest exhausted whine.
“It’s okay, I can stay longer, it's fine,” Simon replied.
You shook your head.
“As much as I would love that, you just got back and you look exhausted,” you gestured to him and then spoke again, “I don’t know what happened over there, but you need rest, I’ll take him.”
You slid your hand under the little boy to take him but the baby started fussing again, soft little whimpers, rubbing his face into the soft muslin on Simon's chest and turning away from you.
“Aw, it’s okay sweetheart, it’s just mummy,” you hushed.
Simon's free hand came up to the baby's head as he gently rocked him.
“I can’t sleep anyway,” Simon reassured, “It’s okay, I got him.” He nodded towards your bedroom, “You go to bed. I’ll stay.”
“Don’t you think that'd be a bit exploitative of me?”
“No.” He frowned slightly. “I asked.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d done an all-nighter with you. However, today was different.
Simon had never been gone this long before. You thought his absence would settle the weird feeling that had been brewing in your heart. Instead, it made it worse.
As soon as you saw him at your door, your heart ached, your lips itched to kiss him and your arms longed to wrap around him.
It had been a month but it felt like an eternity.
Then he held your baby, like he did countless times before, but this time it was different.
It wasn't just helping or a passing greeting, like you had deluded yourself into thinking. For a moment it felt like this was where he belonged.
Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought. You crossed your arms firmly over your chest.
“If you love babies this much, shouldn’t you get one of your own?” You let slip.
His shoulders tensed up, but continued his lazy steps.
“Don’t have the time,” he muttered against your son’s head, not meeting your gaze.
Guilt simmered in the pit of your stomach, the fear you had been holding on for months now being true.
“That's because you’re here in your free time,” you pointed out following him into the kitchen. He raised a brow turning to you.
“Are you asking me to leave?”
You weren’t sure what you were asking, so you leaned against the counter, shaking your head slowly.
“No, I love having you around.”
“Then that settles it.”
“It doesn’t—Simon, the other day the old nosy lady asked me when my tall husband would be back.”
“Just tall? Not strikingly handsome? Hm.”
“It’s not funny, everyone in the building thinks that we’re dating!”
He didn’t seem to bother with this comment so you chewed on your lip. “Even the hottie on the second floor,”
He sighed, turning his back on you, and you knew he rolled his eyes.
“You know, the one who keeps eyeing you in the elevator. If the problem is lack of time, seeing someone in the same building would surely give you more—”
“You’re tired. Go to bed.” He replied.
“Oh come on, you have to want something for yourself,” you chuckled trying to play it down, chasing him back to the living room.
“This is good enough for me.” He shrugged,
“Well, not for me.” You admitted.
He stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face you again, carefully studying your face.
“Don’t you ever feel…trapped?” you asked, he stepped closer.
“Not when I’m here,” he replied matter-of-factly. After a moment, he added, “I looked forward to this.”
“To sleepless nights?” You scoffed.
He readjusted your son on his arm, “No, to see you. The both of you.”
Taken aback by the response, your gaze cowered to your son's face. His lashes were resting against his cheeks.
“He’s out,” you murmured, feeling Simon’s warmth now closer to you.
“And you?” He asked quietly.
You looked up, to meet his cautious gaze. “Me?”
He nodded once, his eyes flickering over your face. “Did you miss me?”
Your finger pinched the fabric of your baby’s onesies, just a few inches where Simon’s palm was spread widely between his shoulder blades swallowing his small frame.
You were not sure if it was alright to admit, but his breath against your face was enough to make you lose your senses.
“Yeah,” you said through a breath, your head tilted up again, shifting closer, “I did.”
He leaned down by instinct, startling himself before retracting, but you gripped his shirt.
“Simon,”
That was enough.
He pressed his mouth to yours, still too careful until you closed the remaining almost nonexistent gap between you, his free hand pressed to your lower back.
A soft cry startled you both.
“Shit,” you whispered.
“S’alright, I’ve got him,” Simon said, pulling back, adjusting his hold once again, hushing the baby gently. “I got him…” he repeated almost to himself.
You licked your lips, his warmth still vibrant on them. The gap between you was only two steps, but it felt immense.
“We’ll be here a while…” you nodded your head, “Coffee…I’ll make coffee...”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah!” you echoed, but didn’t move an inch, “no sugar?”
His lips curled up as he bit into them. “Mhm.”
“On it.” You said, giddy, finally heading to the kitchen.
it's interesting how often dysphoric males attribute their supposed "connection" to "womanhood" through their insistence that they prefer to socialize with women / are generally interpersonally "closer" to women / feel more "comfortable" in female company, and/or aspire towards typical female-to-female modes of communication. this, combined with mainstream discourse about masculine/male social customs and rituals ("the male loneliness epidemic", "we teach men not to feel", "men aren't allowed to be emotionally or physically vulnerable with each other", etc etc etc), demonstrates how people at large completely ignore how female conditioning affects our very modes of social interaction, most of all in mixed-sex company, but still so in single-sex company as well
coerced feminine modes of communication are held up as more "untainted" and "natural" than the supposed extreme repression on the side of men (= we are considered to be unlike men, for whom emotional sensitivity is discouraged, while in us, supposedly, let be) - and at the same time, it is implied that the negative outcomes of feminine conditioning are synonymous with female nature. women are considered virginally emotionally pristine, uncoerced and unburdened - but also "two-faced", "manipulative", "liars", "untrustworthy", "jealous", "passive-aggressive", "snakes". guys "have it out in the open", "fight it out", while women are vicious, backstabbing bitches. but vicious, backstabbing bitches that are also supposedly perfectly socially adept, adequate, emotionally intelligent and secure! in this picture of the world, we are the ones granted the general social license to experience and express the full spectrum of human emotion - we are just too stupid and petty to ultimately do so
i see how we are taught to hold back and hold things in in myself constantly, and i see how it prevents me from connecting with other women with security and authenticity; i aim to be gentle with others, but i am rarely close to them. i see the same in other women, and i also see the defensiveness, the injured security, the reactiveness that stems from this internalized idea that our feelings and thoughts will not matter, we cannot expect them to matter, to hold up space - so the only way to protect ourselves is to remain on the defensive, deflecting any inquiry that risks invalidating our most basic emotional truths. for all that dysphoric males may say about the ways we supposedly relate to one another, we are actually rarely able to. the obstacles to true and comfortable female connection and solidarity are severe - in huge part precisely because of how often we are taught and expected to prioritize, comfort and coddle men.
and that's the other aspect of it! women are conditioned to be pleasant peace-keepers at all times, but especially with a male present; we are conditioned to be understanding, empathetic, nourishing, especially when presented with vulnerability; so of course when an emotionally vulnerable male, one that has suffered adverse treatment by other males or simply felt severely alienated from them, comes around, the male-centered impulse + the nurturing impulse combine into something especially potent. the male is, as a default, more important than any female friend present, and also vulnerable and injured, and so must deserve double the resource, support, attention
this self-sacrificial, nurturing, motherly instinct is a death and erasure of self. women disappear in the placating, the peace-keeping, in acts of service. they start living for the social benefit of others. they are no longer present in the conversation, situation, relationship - they are soothing agents, supporting actors in others' - men's - personal emotional dramas
so when a dysphoric male absorbs that treatment, finds comfort in being comforted, takes pleasure in this erasure of the woman's personhood, and then claims that this is a social context in which he is "meant" to exist - he takes at face value the intense, pervasive conditioning all female people go through, validates our internal deaths as natural and authentic, reaps the benefits of our (self-)injury and believes we are nourished by nourishing him; that this is what "socializing" with us as full, uncensored people is truly like. that we are truly, essentially ourselves when he is at peace around us
when they say "i always felt more comfortable around women", "women are great/wonderful/kind/amazing", "i want to be like women", i worry and i seethe and i hurt because this is not what women are like. the true heart of all our messes and pains and anger and resentment and injured sense of justice, our ugly uncharitable judgments stemming from all the bullshit we absorb from our circumstance, our secret, stifled demands, our uncompromising dignity, our needs, our desires - they're locked and buried more often than not. we are not what you see! we do not even see ourselves or each other for most of our goddamn lives. and when we dare to allow ourselves a fraction of it, we are back-stabbing bitches or man-haters or crazy or petty or jealous or bigoted or any other convenient brand of evil
so i guess a psa to any dysphoric males out there who think that being more comfortable in female company validates their dysphoria and/or transgender identification: it is a social and existential imperative for us to make you comfortable. regardless of any genuine affection they may hold for you, it is more likely than not that your female friends experience at least a degree of societal coercion that means they will put in an extra effort to help you relax and feel emotionally safe and content around them. this is neither authentic nor natural to us. you do not feel this way because you are a woman. we make sure that you feel this way, because you are a man, and comforting and uplifting men is what we do
in which ⊹ ࣪ ˖ connor doesn't understand why you don't like him, and you can't stand how much you do like him.
.ᐟ.ᐟwarnings/tags.ᐟ.ᐟ idiots in love, slowish burn, gn reader, reader is a little emotionally constipated and an RBF warrior, short fight scene, reader gets punched, slightly ooc connor shhhh, fatherly hank, gavin reed is an asshole, short kiss. not proofread!
"if you don't stop starin', i'm gonna puke."
the words didn't snap connor out of his daze because he wasn't really in one. he couldn't be. he was watching you very purposefully, and he had no real intention of stopping, but he still struggled a little bit with social cues and found himself turning to hank lest he throw up his breakfast all over their desks.
"that seems impractical, and...gross," his lips had a slight downturn to them, a nearly imperceptible tilt to those who didn't know him, but a frown to those who did.
"it's a figure of speech—and i don't want to hear about gross from you. 'ya look like a lovesick puppy over there."
"i just don't quite understand-"
"here we go again," hank scrubbed his hand over his face with all of the exasperation of a father who had heard the same thought fifty times over.
"-why the detective seems to dislike me so much? i don't believe i have done anything to cause any problems between us." connor paused, trying to recall anything that could cause this weird rift between the two of you, but came up short.
"you didn't, connor. that's just...how they act. they dislike everybody."
"hank, you cannot see what i can see," he reminded the lieutenant, and if hank wasn't mistaken, his android companion was...pouting? "their heart rate is always heightened around me. their hands sweat, their cortisol levels skyrocket...it's like i stress them out."
they say ignorance is bliss, but across the bullpen, unaware of the conversation happening between the two, you were fighting your own battles.
it had been six months of this. six whole months of sneaking glances at connor when he wasn't paying attention, of pretending he didn't take up half of your waking brain capacity, of avoiding him so you didn't say something stupid to allude to your unrequited feelings for him.
it had been nearly a year since the android revolution, and six months since you had been put on a case with connor and hank.
the six months prior, you had been watching connor with what you could only begrudgingly describe as admiration. he was a powerhouse of a detective, and a pretty one too. you had watched him come in that first day, asking where to find lieutenant anderson, and you had seen him come back, changed, after he helped secure android rights with markus.
feelings weren't quite your stomping ground, so whatever you felt for him before you were partnered with him had been dismissed as a simple case of respect for the hard work of your new coworker; admiration for his role in the revolution (and reluctant, shoved-down attraction that you conveniently blamed on cyberlife's engineers). then, you had been thrown on a case with him and hank by fowler, and you realized you were royally fucking screwed.
connor had done his homework on you and was impressed by your previous cases; he had read them. he held doors for you and hank like he was programmed for the 2020s, not the 2030s. he talked about his pet fish and hank's dog, sumo, like they were his family members. he spoke a little awkwardly, like he was still learning how to be casual, but hellbent on trying. he seemed excited to talk to you, and while you didn't believe in silly tropes like love at first sight and soulmates, getting to finally speak to connor without the fluorescent lights and case files was starting to feel an awful lot like the universe screwing with you after years of being cynical about romance.
you didn't do romance and feelings, especially not mixed with work. emotions always felt so irrational, and you had been told you were too cold for relationships by your past flings—whatever the hell that means.
not to mention the fact that connor was an android who had a very, very long life ahead of him. you could hardly imagine him wanting to be shackled to a human, forever trapped working at the DPD. he never seemed interested in speaking outside of work anyway, so you did what every rational adult with a silly little crush did, and avoided it.
unfortunately, avoiding it had done a whole load of nothing for you. you just stared at him longingly and sulked about your ridiculous feelings; it was starting to get embarrassing.
and that took you exactly to where you sat now: stealing a glance at connor as you reviewed case notes. you couldn't help but be curious about what the two of them were talking about—connor looked so distraught, so concerned. it was only when connor looked over, still pouting, that you snapped your gaze back to your monitor. you wondered if any of his fancy android capabilities included being able to feel your eyes on him, because it felt like he always looked whenever you tried to sneak a glance.
"they were glaring at me."
"connor, that's just their face."
────୨ৎ────
you were halfway through your shift when you heard what might as well be the dinner bell for your doom.
just as your eyes were beginning to burn from looking at your monitor, you heard your name, followed closely by hank and connors.
it was rare that the three of you had to work together on anything, because most cases didn't need three detectives from the get-go, but it did happen, and at this point, you were beginning to think fowler had it out for you or something. you knew you should feel honored, being on par enough with a seasoned lieutenant and the goddamned poster boy android of the department to be paired with them, but you just wanted to avoid your ridiculous little crush in peace.
you dragged your feet as much as you could, but eventually found yourself standing next to the two of them in front of fowler's desk. you avoided looking anywhere but directly at your captain, but you could feel connor's gaze flicking over to you every few moments.
"there's something new on the streets; something bad," fowler started, turning his monitor around to face the three of you. there were pictures of a blue crystalline substance, so similar to red ice, but so blue. the only thing you could compare it to was the thirium you knew ran through connor's synthetic veins.
"they're calling it blue ice."
a snort, to your left, "creative," hank mumbled. fowler shot him a look, and he cleared his throat.
"from what we know, it's being created with thirium sourced out of the cyberlife warehouses that were abandoned post-revolution. what we don't know is the who, the what, or the why. you three are going to figure that out for me."
"with all due respect sir," you started, shifting a little on your feet, "i believe lieutenant anderson and connor can handle this without me. connor is...skilled, with his detective work, and anderson is well-versed because of his work on the red ice cases, i don't know what i would add-"
fowler cut you off with the same look he gave hank, sharp and silencing, "we don't know who is creating this. we don't know the dangers of the substance itself. we don't know what to expect, and i prefer to be safe over sorry when it comes to my detectives," he raised his eyebrows as if to say, understand? "you will be going with them. as an extra set of eyes, if nothing else."
it was worth a shot. you gave him a simple nod and let him finish his briefing, silently wondering how easy it would be to switch professions.
fowler waved the three of you out with a warehouse address and a look that said he expected answers, and the next thing you knew, you were in the backseat of hank's old car headed straight towards the unknown—or that's what you thought.
when you pulled up outside of a little food truck—the same one hank had stopped at after your last case together—you shot him an incredulous look through the rearview mirror.
"what? i'm hungry. ain't gonna get any good work done on an empty stomach," he gave connor a pointed look, then glanced back at you, "stay here, i'll be quick."
hank had said that nearly ten minutes ago.
the silence in the car wasn't uncomfortable, really, just...awkward. you couldn't stop fidgeting with the cuffs of your jacket, and connor had been flipping his coin over his fingers and clearing his throat every other minute like he actually had a reason to. he waited until it had officially been ten minutes before speaking up.
"so," he started, eyes flicking up to the rearview just in time to see you glance out the window, "how...has your week been?" he asked, awkward enough that you wondered how badly deviation had messed up his social relations programming.
the fact that he was even asking you was enough to make your pulse jump under your skin—he rarely tried to speak to you about anything that wasn't work-related.
"it's only tuesday," you answered, then realized how clipped it sounded and tried to recover, "but, not bad, i guess?"
connor nodded in a way where you could see the little loose strand of hair over his forehead move in the side mirror. "right, that's good."
watching hank chat up the guy at the food truck like he didn't have somewhere else to be, you swallowed your nerves and looked back towards the rearview, where he was still watching you.
"how about you? good, um, week so far?"
"it has been good, thank you." so stoic, it made you feel like a bumbling mess.
you gave a small hum in response and figured that would be the end of it, looking down at a fraying thread on your sleeve, only to snap your eyes back up when he started speaking again.
"i am glad that you are with us for this case, i find you to be a very competent detective, and i am...happy, you are here." he spoke slowly, a small smile on his face as you looked at him.
competent detective. that's all you were to him, a good coworker.
"thank you," you answered anyway, because hurt feelings never got anyone anywhere on the job, "i don't think you guys need me here; you're both very competent yourselves, but i hope i can be of some help."
just as connor opened his mouth to speak again, hank opened the driver's-side door with a little too much umph and cut him off, grumbling about it being too cold outside, damnit and wishing he'd brought coffee, and just like that, the moment was over.
────୨ৎ────
by the time the three of you had made it to the warehouse, dark clouds had started to settle in the sky. it made the place look a little more decrepit than you had anticipated, and even for a well-seasoned detective, it gave you the heebie-jeebies.
"i'll take the outside; the two of you can take a look at the inside?" hank had suggested when you first arrived, giving connor a look you didn't have the key to decipher.
connor had opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by a quick clap on the shoulder, then a great! from a now-retreating hank.
so, the two of you took the inside. it was dark; electricity bills long abandoned by cyberlife, lit only by a flashlight you had been lucky enough to find on a shelf near the door.
connor was sticking close to you, and you wondered if cyberlife had made an oversight by not giving him some sort of night vision addition to his ocular units, but you chose not to ask for the sake of your own heart.
as you pushed up the lid to the third container you'd found labeled temperature-regulated thirium storage, you felt connor press a little closer to see the inside and willed your heartbeat to slow its goddamn roll.
shifting away from him, you peered inside and frowned at what you saw. empty, just like the last two had been. whatever batteries they used for these things were still pumping, so all you got was a rush of cold air and disappointment.
without a word, connor started scanning the outside of the container, his LED shining yellow in the dark warehouse. you shined your flashlight around the floor, searching for even a scrap of a clue at this point, and nearly gasped when you saw it:
a bright blue boot print.
"connor, look," you shook your flashlight in the direction of the print, crouching down to get a better look, only to see more leading behind the container.
he crouched beside you as he tracked the boot prints, eyes following the same path as yours, and did exactly what you expected but did not want to see: dipped his finger in the thirium and tasted it.
"i'll never get used to that," you sighed, shaking your head as you waited for whatever analysis he had.
ignoring your quip, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes snapping up and raking the warehouse, "this is...fresh. it is cold. there might still be someone here." his voice was hushed, gaze bordering on predatory as he stood straight.
you followed his lead, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. you hadn't seen him this serious before, and it had something cold snaking it's way through your stomach.
the two of you followed the boot prints, and you could feel something prickling under your skin as the trail thinned out right next to another container. you shot connor a look, setting the flashlight down on a nearby storage cart and retrieving your service weapon from its holster as you neared the container.
watching him position himself on the other side of the container, you waited for his signal, hand hovering above the loose latch on the box. when he nodded, you started to push the box open, only to be beaten to the punch—literally.
somebody sprang out of the box and barreled out towards you, knocking you straight in the nose with their fist. you stumbled back and knocked into the storage cart, a pained gasp slipping out before you could stop it. you found your footing as quick as you could, free hand pressed to your nose as you focused in on the scene in front of you.
connor had stepped in as quick as he could, dodging hands and attempting to detain a fairly burly man who was coming at him full force. you could feel the blood dripping down your lips, but you weren't going to let connor try to handle this dude alone.
"HANK, IN HERE!" you could only pray he heard the echo from the outside, starting towards the two of them as you tracked them through the dim lighting.
the guy looked over his shoulder when you yelled, giving connor the chance to land a good hit in the stomach, while you kicked him in the back of the leg. the guy groaned at the hit but took the chance to throw himself back at you, elbow flying just past your ribs and giving you an opening to grab his wrist. connor took the chance to grab his other wrist, grip iron-clad, and he was sandwiched between the two of you, eyes flicking back and forth wildly as he tried to find an escape route.
when he pivoted to try and make a run for it, connor pivoted with him; he threw his full weight at the man and knocked him into the container he had hopped out of, the thirium on the ground below them choosing not to take mercy on either of them. they unceremoniously fell to the ground together, with connor on top.
you pulled your cuffs off your belt and tossed them towards connor, choosing to ignore the smooth way he caught them midair, and watched him hold the guy down with his knee to his back and his wrists held in one hand.
connor had just gotten the cuffs on when you heard panting behind you, a winded hank bent at the waist as he got to the two of you.
"heard you yellin- oh, you look like hell," hank's eyes zeroed in on you as you brought a hand up to touch your nose with a wince before flicking over to connor, "you got 'im?"
he didn't wait for an answer, moving to help connor restrain the guy. with your weapon re-holstered and your flashlight retrieved, you lead the two of them out of the warehouse, free hand pressed to your nose.
it only took five minutes for backup to arrive, cop car and all, considering you could not transport this guy in hank's beat-up sedan, and the three of you to pack back into hank's car. for now, the warehouse was taped off, you had somebody to interrogate, and that was enough.
the ride back to the department was spent with you holding some old napkins from the glovebox up to your nose, wincing every time hank hit a bump in the road, and connor insisting you get checked out even if you were sure your nose wasn't broken. the look on his face was something you had never seen before, and you itched to know if it was simple concern or something deeper.
it had started to drizzle outside by the time you reached the station; the sky dark, and the air carrying the familiar aroma of the fall rain in detroit. at this point, you just couldn't wait to get back to your apartment to ice your nose and wallow about getting punched in the face in front of the android you had been pining over.
apparently, though, he had other plans. as hank trudged through the door, connor stopped you, a gentle hand on your shoulder so as not to startle you. when you turned around, you could've scowled at what you saw; his hair was just a little damp from the rain, and his eyes had that familiar look from the car. he was so, so pretty. you'd blame the exhausting day and lowered inhibitions from the adrenaline crash for that thought before you'd admit it, though.
"wait," he started, hand dropping from your shoulder but still hovering, "if you're not going to get your nose looked at by a professional, can i offer my assistance?"
your eyebrows furrowed, eyes flicking between his hovering hand and his eyes. "your assistance?"
he offered a simple nod, shifting on his feet like he was nervous. "i am not a replacement for a doctor, but i have a sufficient amount of programming relating to first aid and medical expertise." he gave a little bit of an awkward shrug, a little mechanical, before sheepishly saying, "and i don't enjoy the idea of you going home without a check-up."
your heart was attempting to escape through your ribcage as you considered him, free hand clenching at your side. maybe it was the idea of having him so close to you, or maybe it was the rationality of having an injury looked at, but either way, you gave him a small nod.
"sure- yeah, alright."
────୨ৎ────
connor wasn't sure he'd ever felt nervous before, but from what he'd learned in the last year about emotions, he was pretty sure that's what was wracking its way through his system.
his hands didn't shake as he ducked under the cover the department entryway offered, and he did not sweat as he carefully moved your hand away from your nose, but as he felt the skin of your wrist against his fingertips, your pulse jumping against his own synthetic skin, he worried he just might short-circuit if he didn't get a move-on.
"i am going to touch it, is that alright?"
you didn't verbally respond, only giving a small jerk of your head in affirmation, eyes flicking around his face. your heart was racing more than it typically did around him, and he frowned just slightly at the idea that he was stressing you out by cornering you into this little check-up.
"it may hurt, but i will be gentle. just tell me where it is tender." he tried to offer a disarming smile, moving a fraction closer and bringing his hands up to cup your face.
his thumbs pressed gently along your under-eyes first, searching your face for a reaction, moving closer to the bridge of your nose when he didn't get one. as soon as he pressed against the outside of your nose, your eyebrows screwed together, and you inhaled sharply through your nose, barely audible as the rain started to come down heavier. he noted it, and though he hated causing you pain, pressed gently against your nose from one side while listening for any misalignment. this time, you winced, and he removed his thumbs from your nose, keeping his hands on your face.
truthfully, he didn't need to assess it with his vision; he had already scanned it a dozen times over in the rearview mirror, but he was learning he was selfish, and he liked feeling the warmth in your cheeks against the palms of his hands, so he made a show of squinting a little as he looked at the forming bruise.
your eyes were focused on him with an intensity that had something in him humming; your face devoid of the usual scowl or glare he was so used to seeing around the office. he cleared his throat as he let his hands drop from your face. he didn't step back, though, and you seemed to notice.
"it is not broken, merely bruised. i suggest icing it when you arrive home, but you should still contact a doctor soon," he spoke just as professionally as he always did, even if he was microanalyzing your every move.
"it's an occupational hazard, i'm sure i'll be fine." your tone was dry, but you caught yourself as he noticed you usually did. "but, thank you, connor. i...appreciate it." you gave him a strained smile, wringing your hands together in front of you.
connor tried to dissect why you seemed so stressed around him, fingers curling up as he watched you shift on your feet.
"it is no problem, i'm happy to assist." he paused, bracing himself before he spoke again, a little more playful this time, "i simply can't have my favorite detective walking around with a severe injury." he meant it; he really, really meant it. he just hoped you could tell how much he did, despite the playful tone he was hiding behind.
your eyes shot up to his, your eyes wide and your expression more open than he had ever seen. that weird, buzzing feeling came back, his own internal functions stuttering with nerves. had he messed up? he had learned a lot about human communication, and he was only trying to lighten the mood, but you looked scared. he reached a hand up, ready to apologize, but you were already backing away.
instead of saying anything in response, you cleared your throat and trained your expression back to normal, stepping back as if the proximity had suddenly burned you.
"thank you again for your help," was all you said before you started off towards your car, not looking back at him. you didn't see the way connor deflated, eyebrows furrowing and lips downturned, and you didn't see the way he waited until you had pulled down the street to walk into the department.
────୨ৎ────
somehow, the events of your case from yesterday had not affected you nearly as much as you figured they would.
it was connor who had put a stutter in your usual routine.
even as you iced your nose, digging into whatever leftovers you had and watching some shitty reality show, you thought of his slightly cold hands cupping your face. as you got ready for bed, you felt the ghost of his steady gaze boring into your own eyes as you willed your body to keep calm. when you woke in the morning, you heard the echo of him saying, 'my favorite detective,' and cringed at how you had sped off like he had insulted you.
you were embarrassed, exhausted, and looked a bit like a raccoon from the fully formed bruising now branching off your nose. and now, you had to face him, because work doesn't take days off for trivial injuries and workplace crushes.
you pushed through the front door with your shoulder, scanned your id at the terminal and trudged back to the bullpen. you had zero interest in entertaining anything today, but you especially didn't have the patience for the first person you saw.
"wow, somebody woke up on the wrong side of a fist."
to your left, gavin reed was perched on the edge of his desk, seemingly abandoning whatever conversation he had been holding just to poke at you.
you shot him a lethal glare, hiding your wince when you squinted at him and sighed, "it's too early for this, reed."
he scoffed, pushing off the desk to get closer, "i heard you got hit; didn't think it was bad enough to turn you full gotham knight." he raised his eyebrows in amusement, gesturing vaguely at you. "really matches your cold bitch energy, though; you should get punched more often."
you glared harder, if possible, and shoulder-checked him as you shoved past. you used to be civil with reed, but you had gone to fowler about his interrogation techniques and unfair treatment of connor, months ago, and he decided he was going to make you his worst enemy. that was something you and connor had in common, at least.
"you should probably stop talking, unless you want to match with me." you looked over your shoulder, offered him the fakest smile you could, and moved on.
"good luck with your little wired boy-toy!" you chose to ignore him, knowing you couldn't handle any more reed without some coffee in your system, and kept walking.
when you got to the break room, craving your stale caffeine fix, the last thing you expected was to find connor.
he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and coffee already brewing as he watched you come in. his eyebrows furrowed as he focused in on your face, tapping his fingers rhythmically along his own arm.
"i don't understand why reed has it out for you," he started, head tilted, "and i do not believe you should get punched more often."
a snort escaped before you could halt it as you stopped on the opposite side of the coffee pot. "he's hated me since i tattled about his unethical interrogation practices and- i don't know, some other stuff. he's just an angry man, he'll always find a punching bag," you shrugged, trying to ignore the weird tension humming in the air. you wanted to forget how yesterday ended, but he didn't seem to agree with that sentiment.
connor only hummed, studying your side profile carefully as his LED spun. he didn't wait long before he spoke again.
"i'm truly sorry if i said something to make you uncomfortable-"
"connor, no it's-"
"i've noticed you seem uncomfortable around me often and i do not want to be the cause of workplace tension-"
"what? connor-"
"so please, tell me what i can do to make you feel more comfortable around me." he stopped finally, something a little puppy-dog-like swimming in his eyes as he angled himself towards you.
your eyebrows were furrowed, bruised muscles trying to disagree with your incredulity, and your mouth was dropped open enough to catch flies.
"what are you talking about, connor?"
his face dropped a little, and you figured if he could flush, he just might. his frown was more present now as he looked you straight on. "yesterday, you seemed...taken aback by what i said, and before that, you've always seemed, put off, by me, i suppose." he shifted his weight, looking down at his perfectly shined shoes before he continued.
"i meant what i said—i think you are a very good detective, and i enjoy when you are with hank and i on cases. i enjoy spending time with you. i don't know what i did to make you uncomfortable, but i want to fix it."
you must have looked like an idiot staring at him, eyes wide and hands raised, almost like you didn't know how to hold yourself at his admission.
you picked his words apart in your head, mouth opening and closing a handful of times as you realized he was being dead honest.
"connor," you started with a sigh, trying to find the words to fix the fracture you had caused, "i don't- you don't make me uncomfortable; you- you haven't done anything wrong." you shook your head, hands clenched as you struggled with words. you avoided confrontation like this for a reason; you didn't know how to tell people how you felt, so you opted for a half-truth. "i don't...dislike you, or anything like that."
his frown only deepened, shaking his own head a little bit, "then, why-" he mulled over your words, LED yellow again. you wondered what was going on inside that fancy little brain of his. "you avoid me, you always have raised cortisol levels-"
your eyes widened again. " wait, you can- you can see that?"
he continued like he hadn't heard you: "your heart rate is just—i mean, concerningly high when we speak—and you rarely sound pleased to speak with me." he was running through information like it was an evidence log, and the coffee maker beeped behind him, long forgotten. "every time i try to speak to you, you avoid me-"
he finally stopped when he saw your expression, somewhere between ten shades of embarrassed and just shocked.
"i apologize." it was his turn to look embarrassed, and this time, you could actually see a little bit of blue rushing to his cheeks. "that was- i don't know where that came from; that was very out of character for me."
finally, your lips tilted upwards a little, an expression he rarely got to see on you:
a smile. you were smiling at him.
small, unassuming, but a smile nonetheless. he loved it.
"connor," you started, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes like they owed you something, "i don't dislike you. you don't make me uncomfortable." you took a deep breath, as though you had to steady yourself before you looked up and met his eyes, "i...like you? a lot, actually. embarrassingly, clearly, if i've been that obvious about it- i don't really- the feelings thing, it's not something i'm good at-"
you took another deep breath, looking at the coffee pot, and the sugar and creamer packets, and anything that wasn't connor so you didn't have to face the consequences of spilling your guts, then you just kept going "i didn't want to corner you, or anything, and you heard reed, i'm a cold bitch," you air quoted, "but i really like you, like in the most ridiculous, sappy, crush kind of way, and i didn't know how to be around you with that, or god forbid, tell you, and i'm sorry you thought i...disliked you-"
"no, please don't apologize," connor cut you off, and you were grateful, because it felt like you had opened a can of worms you just didn't know how to shut.
"i'm not good at the feelings thing either. i'm still learning what it means to feel...but i've known what i felt for you was different," he shook his head, the wryest smile you'd ever seen him wear on his lips, "i have all of this programming, all of these resources, and i still managed to take all of the data, and apply it completely wrong." he shook his head again, this time, laughing just a little bit.
the sound shocked you, and you turned to see his smile a little bigger, his eyes still focused on you as he tried to stifle the small laughter threatening to escape. you couldn't help yourself; you huffed out a laugh of your own, shaking your head alongside him.
the two of you were devolving into laughter, and you thought you could spend forever just listening to connor laughing. you pressed your lips together, pointing at him as you grinned.
"for someone so ridiculously smart, that was a little dumb."
"in my defense, all of the data i collected aligns with you being stressed out by me-"
"stressed out? i mean-"
"you already told me you liked me, i have a perfect memory, don't take it back now."
"liking you is stressful-"
instead of cutting you off with words this time, he leaned forward, hands hesitant as they hovered over your cheeks just like they had yesterday. when you showed no signs of running off this time, he closed the little distance, pressing his lips against yours.
they were slightly cold, and it was obvious in small ways that he had never kissed anyone before, like how he didn't move his lips against yours, but you put your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer anyway. you could feel him smiling against you, and for once it felt like whatever part of you so opposed to feeling was cracking open, accepting something warm and happy and real.
connor pulled away first, but didn't let you go, forehead nearly pressed against your own as he smiled, "and reed was wrong—you are not a cold bitch."
you had to bite back your laugh, shaking your head against him, "please, don't talk about reed while we're kissing," and you leaned up, pressing your lips against his once more.
────୨ৎ────
so, it took six months, multiple cases, extensive vital scanning, far too many stolen glances, and a punch to the nose, but the two of you figured it out.
you still struggled with expressing what you were feeling sometimes—old habits die hard—and connor learned that you were the hardest person in the world to read, but he never stopped trying, and you learned to actually communicate with him when he didn't hit the nail on the head.
hank, somehow, knew before either of you did, but still tried to feign surprise when connor told him:
"hank, i will be busy on friday," you had watched connor tell him from your own desk, hiding behind your monitor.
"busy? with what? god, please tell me you're not getting another fish, you're gonna need a bigger tank-"
"i'm going to be accompanying the detective. on a date." he seemed a little proud, and anyone who didn't know him wouldn't realize just how excited he was.
hank's eyes shot open so wide you were surprised they stayed in his head, and he gasped like an old woman clutching her pearls in a drama.
"well, shit," he glanced over at you, stifling a snort as you ducked back down behind your monitor, "good on 'ya, it was a long time comin!" he clapped connor on the shoulder, still peering over at your desk like you were going to willingly involve yourself.
you did speak to hank about it yourself, once again cornered in the break room while you grabbed your coffee, while he squinted at you like you were a puzzle he had mostly figured out.
"you care about him?"
"quite a bit, yes."
"you gonna start tellin' him that so he stops asking me why you don't?"
"wouldn't be goin' on a date if i hadn't, hank."
"okay. you can come to family dinner, next week, then, since you're stealin' him this friday."
and you did. family dinner turned out to be takeout and hockey, and it was just perfectly casual enough for you to not be scared off. you met sumo, you met the fish, and you got the pleasure of seeing connor look embarrassed over hank's dramatic pestering about intentions and the future. connor got the even greater pleasure of seeing you laugh again, your feelings for once worn on your sleeve rather than locked away behind the glares you liked to adorn so easily at work.
by the end of the night, the only thing you could think about was where six more months would lead you. now, you knew wherever you ended up this time, you'd have connor by your side.
────୨ৎ────
bonus ⊹ ࣪ ˖
"connor, did you get lost-" hank turned the corner, half-expecting not to see connor, only to be met with connor and someone else. someone who he was kissing.
if he had his phone on him, he might have taken a picture, but alas. for now, all he did was smirk to himself, give himself a little pat on the back for asking connor to go get coffee for him, and turn back around.
"fuckin' finally."
a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts for a little while, half-made, and it was the easiest thing to finish up for y'all 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 the ending was a little rushed but i hope y'all enjoy it!!
my surgery went well, and i've had a little downtime to start bein creative again so hopefully i'll have more stuff rollin out for y'all soon <3
as always, thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated.
connor taglist ⏻ @adora-but-ginger
taglist open! ask to join ♡
Swati Nakshatra is traditionally known as the exaltation place for Saturn as a planet. However, if present in the big 3 in one's chart, it deals with significant Saturnian themes. In this post, I will explain the Swati process through 2 celebrity charts in movie examples.
To understand where Swati is coming from, we first need to look at its zodiacal Nakshatra position. Swati comes directly after two Nakshatras associated with skill building, intellect, and finesse, both of which have a very Mercurial nature - Hasta and Chitra. Chitra especially is ruled by the trickster God Tvastar, the Vedic Loki, known for his creative genius but also for his penchant for creating mischief and chaos. And this is where Swati natives begin their lives - they're skilled and gifted in some specific area, funny, or simply blessed or lucky in the art of imitation, but they're disorganized, without discipline or purpose, not mindful of how their actions wreak havoc on their environment. As a result, consequences of years of their mischief accumulate, and they begin to sustain severe personal losses due to the destructiveness of their irresponsible nature. This forces them to grow up, organize themselves, and put their genuine skills to mature, practical use, in service of people, and causes they genuinely care about but have previously neglected due to immaturity.
A chief example of this karmic alignment is the classic family flick Mrs Doubtfire, starring Swati rising Robin Williams. His character is a happy father of 3, who is a best friend to his children, but he is also irresponsible. While he plays pal to his kids, his wife works hard and always has to clean up his messes. He also can't hold down a job, as despite his significant voice acting skills, he keeps getting fired due to engaging in immature arguments with his superiors. As a result of his years of family neglect, his wife divorces him and legally limits the time he can spend with his children. That shocks him because despite his immature nature, his love for his family is genuine.
This part shows us another typical trope of Swati - governmental involvement. Swati, being the Nakshatra of Rahu, often lacks natural self-discipline and needs external forces, such as legal institutions, to put them back in their place, at least at the start of their journey. In the case of Mrs Doubtfire, he is court ordered to get a secure job and create a safe house space for his children in order to be awarded rights for visitations, and he is regularly monitored by a social worker. He also desires to impress his estranged wife, who he still loves, and so he embraces a more mature parenting role, disciplining his children into cleaning the house and doing homework instead of engaging in irresponsible play. Swati is the Nakshatra, where we first learn the importance of loving discipline and structure, starting from the basic process of child rearing.
Psychologically, Swati is also where we begin to understand that physical chaos causes mental chaos and that it reduces efficiency, even in Mercurcial tasks that are the comfort zone from previous Nakshatra stages. Reality is, creative chaos only goes so far and must be followed by order, since even our fantasies need precision, and that order is found in Swati. Based on that principle, we see Robin Williams' character learn to clean and cook and maintain the household, since his wife is the primary breadwinner working in a very successful company and thus he must chip in in other ways to contribute to the family.
This leads us to another Saturnian theme in Swati - the past of taking other people's help for granted and having to responsibly fight to get it back, this time on your own. Just like Mrs Doubtfire has to work and grow up to be part of the family he loves again, Swati must mature into understanding everything everyone did for them and find their place in a given social order, even if that social group is just their family.
We can observe the same theme in Uptown Girls, starring Swati Moon Brittany Murphy, which really is a female version of the Swati story found in Mrs Doubtfire. Her character is born wealthy due to her coming from a family of skilled musicians, but she is irresponsible, never cleans up after herself, doesn't control her life or finances in any way, and focuses all of her time on immature wasteful money spending, partying and fleeting affairs. One day, sudden tragic losses in her life force her to grow up and take a job for survival. As she is kicked out from the privilege of her inherited wealth, again through the theme of governmental control, she first relies on her close friends, who she alienates also, as she first takes their help for granted and causes trouble through events such as nearly burning down the apartment of a friend who is putting her up. As the movie progresses, she secures her own apartment and schooling to actually work on her creative flair and matures into a responsible adult, regaining her social position both in the eyes of her friends and through gaining work opportunities.
An interesting phenomenon in Uptown Girls is the Swati character contrasted with a Pushya native. Despite being a much younger child, the Pushya native, being Saturn ruled, is organized and tidy to the point of compulsion and keeps criticizing the Swati Native's immature disposition. However, they end up becoming close friends, as the Swati native brings joy to Pushya's life, and Swati, in turn, learns healthy structure from the naturally wise Pushya habits.
It's also funny to observe how the Pushya native, even though younger, gets put in a parental role over the Swati native in their growing up process, further showing Swati's desire for a stabilizing adult force in their life, until they mature into being an adult themselves.
hello dear person on the internet, I need your attention for a minute
in the past months, you might have heard some things about argentina
what you probably didn't hear is what is actually happening in argentina
there's probably a reason for that, but don't think too hard on that right now
what I want you to focus on at the moment is how, while alleged leftist social media accounts from self-identified "first world countries", who heard one tiktok and decided that we're worse and more "dangerous" than any country currently in a state or war or practicing neo colonialism in other nations, we have been fighting the relentless right wing conservative threat that they helped put upon us
you might have heard that we are one of the countries that is currently stuck with a deranged and embarrassingly awful right-wing president that is only one of the many trump allies he's been able to establish in latin america by either economic support, political support, economic threat or by force
the past years of his tenure, people have been doing marches and strikes, campaigns and activism EVERY SINGLE WEEK, in support of all the causes he's been trying to take away from us:
retiree rights and security
the financing of public higher education (which we freely offer to foreigners, by the way, I'm sure you heard that one while we were being trashed for being the worst scum of the earth)
lgbtq+ rights (especially the gender identity law we've had since 2012 and the law that secures a minimum work offer for trans people that we've had since 2021, I'm sure you've heard of that as well with the very objective coverage we've been having)
the laws for protection of books and publications (including those that allow publishers to establish a singular price for books as well as guarantee support from the State for alphabetization and book production and distribution, supporting indie publishers, indie bookstores and authors)
the law that regulates sexual assault claims
and many more I won't even make you read because I need to get to the crucial one right now that I really need you to listen to
our law for land sovereignty protection
in the past years, our current right-wing trump-minion government has been already slowly and steadily selling, giving away and offering out:
our land
our rivers
our sea
the land of native peoples
our resources
our infrastructure
we have had suspicious fires in patagonia
we've had our scientific teams losing finances and space to study land and sea
and on august 6th, congress will again evaluate the law for land protection and people are already planning action and response to prevent it from changing
we are in danger of losing even more sovereignty than we already have but the world won't care because suddenly, after a very well-timed and effective short-form misinformation campaign, everybody thinks we deserve it
nobody asked our afro descendant population what they thought or how they live, nobody asked our native peoples about who's pushing them out of their land, nobody asked the foreigners who come to study here under the law we're all trying to protect, nobody asked us anything
we are all, in some of your minds, a bunch of "colonialists" (of what?) nazi and israeli supporters (at the same time) who were always bad and we deserve to be taken over by a good, nice "first world" nation who can teach us how to be less bad
one would think that, after doing this to so many nations before and with a world more connected, this silly little game of making the "other" a "bad guy" to justify colonialism or genocide would be over, but we keep seeing it and it keeps happening
is argentina devoid of awful people? no, but which one of you lives in a country were there are no awful people in it?
if you choose to look at the right wing asshole on twitter instead of the activist who goes to the march every wednesday to help save us from this so that you can justify these things being done to us, that one's on you
if we don't judge you all for your right wing fanatics on social media or your president, why are we any different?
there is a certain type of superiority complex some "first world" people have in which they think they can judge your entire culture through their lens and opinion and dictate if you deserve to be assimilated or not and, sadly, this whole thing has shown me that no matter how "leftist" some of the us and european activists think they are, they still think they're better than all of us and can judge our history, culture and curate which voices should be heard over others just because they speak english and have a social media following
latin america is been taken over day after day and we're made to fight each other because of fútbol instead of seeing that if one of us goes, we all go
on august 6th argentina is going to, once again, be fighting for our sovereignty and survival
you weren't there when the us supported the military dictatorship that disappeared 30 thousand innocent people, you weren't there when the malvinas war happened, we don't expect you to be there now
but, just so you know, conveniently while this anti-argentina campaign was going and it overnight became a matter of shame to be argentinian online, even if we haven't shot a single gun outside our borders and don't have a single colony in our name, unlike others, what was happening in here was that our land and resources have started to be taken from us
it was never about the world cup, just so you know
The ultimate cookie, gingerbrave, and dark enchantress cookie (full breakdown theory and rant)
Omg, finally it’s out!!!!! Enjoy!!!!
So the ultimate cookie has been hyped since day one to be gingerbraves other half yes? Yes! Well what does that mean exactly? Gingerbrave and the ultimate cookie against all my judgement might be instead of hope and despair, bravery and seclusion, in terms of gingerbrave being courage and determination while the ultimate cookie is cowardly and a recluse, together they will be brave but restrained, the brave recipe kind of pissed me off but when I slowly think about it, that’s basically like a chosen one recipe, and I believe that depending on what witch snatched ultimate we might see tuc become a major or side antagonist in the future, I hope though tuc will stalk gingerbrave before then
now to talk about what gingerbrave actually was gonna be the final piece for the ultimate cookie, his bravery, now why wouldn’t any other cookie work? Well I think there’s many qualifications, remember the ultimate cookie was created to kill off all the witches
what better candidate to put into the ultimate cookie then a cookie that not only was face to face with the witches but also in one case killed one, that courage to face them, yeah, and then the hatred to stand up against them
Because the ultimate cookie when we first met it was a blank slate, only knowing gingerbrave and most likely a bit more from his memories
plus if gingerbrave wouldn’t have had that near death experience of seeing bravery hill then we would’ve saw gingerbrave get assimilated into the ultimate cookie and then who knows what would’ve happened!? We will probably never know
look at how dark enchantress talked to gingerbrave to try to lure him into a false sense of security using his insecurities, the need to become stronger, I have a feeling that he was the prototype ultimate cookie she was desiring and I have a feeling she knew that gingerbrave was made to be consumed by putting two and two together and trying to use that to lure him more and I don’t think that he’s told the ancients about this or his self conflict about his hatred with the witches
The question of why cookies were consumed keeps coming up and sooner or later gingerbrave will have to stop lying to himself and address the fact that they’re originally made to be consumed, just like dark enchantress cookie said
What sucks is that even though gingerbrave and dark enchantress cookie are near perfect parallels of each other they never had major 1 to 1 conversations with each other, I was hoping that dark enchantress/dark enchantress cookie would use his plain ness and very little strength to manipulate him into merging into the ultimate cookie “you either go into that oven or all your friends and allies crumble” would’ve been so good! Especially if dark enchantress cookie teleported him into the castle but they have a fight before hand, ugh such a missed opportunity
Still I can’t be disappointed at what we got, gingerbrave trying to stop dark enchantress and failing miserably, that’s solid, that’s good! I like that! However after dark enchantress cookie was constantly hyping him and wanting him alive her reaction to him just giving himself away really pissed me off because in old dialogue she really wanted him for something
I have to first bring up this, what is this??? Is this gingerbraves dark corruption we’re seeing? Because if it was dark enchantress cookies magic it would’ve shown in the other sprites, also this happened by him seeing cookies that were friends with him crumble around him, also it happened in the oven aswell, (IM PISSED BECAUSE THE WIKI DOESNT HAVE THE SPRITE YET, LOCK IN GUYS!!!)
Now, finally back to the ultimate cookie and gingerbrave,
I talked about how tuc is social damage and it could also if the light of despair doesn’t work for them, then they can have the light of isolation, cool, right? Anyways, gingerbraves self conflict STILL wasn’t fully addressed and I hope they don’t fumble it like I know they will because we still have gingerbrave being charitable so much he’s getting nothing in return and he might feel guilt for Willy crumbling too by him not being strong enough to defeat dark enchantress on his own, *cough* already made this concept
Tuc could definitely use that and it would so work, Jesus, after saying he’s been giving rather than taking too
also please do not kill off the ultimate cookie they’re the first major threat to gingerbrave that aren’t like over 1000 years old
Now to finally, finally talk about harmony image, I think this isn’t to correlate to gb and Dec but it might correlate to how tuc can be saved but dark enchantress was not (as we know of, she could come back), tuc will get a redemption but dark enchantress didn’t, with tuc being her legacy but in a good way
ok now back to ranting, ahem
WHAT THE FUCK WAS ALL THIS ABOUT IF IT WASN’T DIRECTED AT GINGERBRAVE- LOOK AT ALL THIS AND TELL ME THAT SOME SOUND OFFLY CLOSE TO BE DIRECTED AT HIM AND YET THEY DID NOTHING WITH IT! I THOUGHT WE WERE FINALLY GONNA SEE CANON EVIL GINGERBRAVE AFTER 16 YEARS OF NOTHING!!!!!!!!
ok screaming rant over, time to get serious
I actually cannot with this new cannon because dark enchantress and Willy are dead, most of the beasts are dead and SHADOW MILK IS STILL FUCKING ALIVE-
I should’ve let go when I had the fucking chance because they had the potential of making him the main focus for not one but two episodes-
anyways that’s all I have to say and this took probably 2 days to coordinate so yeah, byeeee
Good morning! It’s been a while since my last post. I’m still alive, just busy.
One of the few creative things that I have been able to do is a collaborative OC creation project, inspired by the video “10 Artists Create a Cast of Characters Without Communicating!” by Stormyth.
After getting permission from the original creator, we selected 8 tropes between 4 people, and decided on our theme. The eight tropes were The Protagonist, The Protagonist’s Ally, The Mentor, The Love Interest, The Villain, The Villain’s Ally, The One Who Haunts the Narrative, and The Creature/Monster.
The theme my friends and I chose was a world where several alien factions had crash-landed on medieval Earth in the Mediterranean region.
Character 1: The Protagonist.
Willkin is a mercenary knight who has become renowned as a hero as he has traveled through various nations. However, Wilkin hides his face from everyone he knows because he’s not a noble. He’s not even human.
Originally an alien engineer on one of his faction’s ships. His dress, name, gender presentation, and behavior were adopted after landing on Earth, and he began to adapt to his new world.
The concept I had in mind was that he came from a shape-shifting species with the ability to adapt to different environments over several years. I chose to make a humanoid alien, but I tried to take inspiration from many sea-based organisms, especially cuttlefish, which can be alien when compared to human biology. Another source of inspiration was slime mold, which moves and changes shape according to its environment.
Wilkin’s story on Earth started after the spacefaring ship he worked on was attacked, and he ended up landing in some thick woods in the anglosphere. The low-level engineer crawled into the armor of a deceased knight nearby, using it as protection while he gradually explored and studied his new environment.
Although born into a non-gonochoric species, after his body started to mimic that of humans, he began to resemble a man and adopt the social behaviors of one. While no one group’s life was especially easy in the Medieval era, men did have it slightly better than women, so his adaptability assumed that of a male human.
His armor components are mismatched from different cultures and time periods, being a mixture of different pieces he’s scavenged through his adventures. The gray bands in his skin are implants forced on him by his old life’s engineering position. They allow him some control of nearby metal, allowing him additional security to keep his armor on almost at all times.
I see one of Wilkin’s main struggles not only as the fights that he wins or battles that he overcomes but also as the fact that he’s running from his past. He would be challenged by a need to care less about the glory and fun of his experience—landing on Earth ended up being the best thing that happened to him, going from a cog in a machine to a champion figure in his adopted culture—and more about the people he’s grown to care about.
There will come a time when he will need to embrace and share both his past in the stars and the human he has become to protect people he cares about, and I imagine more ideas will come to mind as I see the characters my friends made!
Character 2: Villainous Henchman
In contrast with the video inspiring this project, everyone was given two characters to design. In this case, I wanted to give my second assignment some foiling characteristics with Wilkin. I imagine the two’s relationship would be distant. She is more in opposition to what he is than to who he is.
Ruthanne is the Villainous Henchman. She is a human from a merchant-class background who has become an alien technology expert and dealer.
Her first outfit is based on some contemporary artwork I liked, including some triangle iconography as a reference to her engineering implants. They are the same Wilkin’s, implanted after she reconstructed the appropriate surgical technology. Her second outfit was inspired by various pieces of vintage sci-fi art.
I also like to put a bit of myself in all of my villains an often find my villains reflect me more so than my protagonists. I’m giving her my hair, and perhaps my more reserved nature.
The arrival of the alien factions would have been the worst thing that ever happened to Ruthanne, but also the most defining aspect of the person she is now. Her neighborhood and household were destroyed by a crashed ship, killing her family and destroying much of her family’s onsite contracts and possessions.
From the wreckage, she uncovered a series of artefacts, including several computers. Ruthanne was well-educated by tutors and teachers in a skillset she would have never been able to publicly use as a woman, but the world has turned upside down. She uses her intelligence to sell information as well as reconstructed technology.
Ruthanne is self-interested to the extent of not taking any unplanned risks, hence why she’s allied with the primary villain after recognizing them as a source of security. She is driven to do whatever it takes to make herself feel safe and secure. However, after learning which faction’s crash destroyed her family, she does have a vendetta against members of that faction.
Ruthanne’s role allows for potential human or alien alliances, as she can see both as venues for her own advancement. If she’s working for an alien villain, she can be the human face of the operation. If she’s working for a human villain, she can help them get whatever they need.
I’m looking forward to seeing my friends’ creations. The next artist is @geist19
