When you're all relaxing after yet another mission together, you like to sit on Warwick's lap. Your back, still cool from the pouring rain and chill wind, presses against his warm, hairy chest. He might grunt discontently, but he won't say more. His snout finds a cozy spot on your shoulder. In response, you playfully cup his nose, your hand curling into a half-circle around it. Your fingers scratch the top of it, causing him to sigh in contentment. The conversation continues as if nothing had happened, Warwick openly dozing, only occasionally offering his own comment.
Despite the routine of your service, you occasionally find time to groom yourself. Some might say it's pointless if tomorrow you'll be covered in blood, dirt, and God knows what else. But it helps you feel at least a little bit of normalcy. You take a good shower with soap, and then comb your hair. Warwick trusts his hair, or rather, his mane, only to you. It's very thick and often gets tangled and matted in clumps. First, you spend a long time untangling this mess, and then you comb it thoroughly. Order lasts less than a day, but it doesn't matter.
Warwick can't see so well because of that damned gas mask. So he relies on his other senses. He sees you by touching your face and body with his hands. He carefully checks to see if anything has changed since the last time. His sharp nose alerts him to your arrival before you enter the room. Or lets him know where you've been recently. His ears recognize your voice among thousands. And they will also notice a change in the timbre of your voice if you're tired or sad.
As much as he'd like to, Warwick has almost nothing to give you. In the army, they feed them, clothe them, and send them back to battle. He considers dealing with smugglers in the ranks beneath him. So instead, he gives you care, stories, and songs. He makes sure you eat every meal, go to bed on time, and are always in proper shape. If he manages to find a new book from a soldier, he always lends it. You read Warwick, and he memorizes it for a long time, so he can later recreate the plot. He sings on dark evenings around the campfires, sometimes with other soldiers. And your voices merge into one.
He keeps your photograph in his cigarette case, where it will be safe from the elements. It was foolish sentimentality that you exchanged photographs. After all, neither of you can die. However, deep down, you fear losing each other, if not to death, then to something else. Besides, preserving the memory of the other person's past is easier than accessing your own. He knows what you once looked like, and you know what he looked like.
The army doesn't really keep records of its soldiers. We were shown squad lists, but nothing more. There aren't even any dossiers, the ones that the nurse could've tried to sift through to help Mophead.
On the other hand, maybe those dossiers do exist. They're lying dusty and forgotten somewhere in a storage room. But what good are they? Even if a soldier is lucky enough to retain their identity after numerous resurrection cycles, they'll still bear little resemblance to the person in the dossier. What category should we use to record soldiers? Photographs? Some soldiers completely lose their original faces in battle. Fingerprints? Hands can lose their shape too. Blood type? Who knows what gets added to bodies during machine processing. Biography? Mophead has been resurrected so many times that he's completely lost his past self. We're reaching the point where maintaining records is becoming physically impossible or too labor-intensive.
What do you think would happen if records were meticulously kept? What if the relatives the nurse mentioned were periodically updated on the condition of their soldiers? It doesn't seem like the army has mail. Soldiers don't write or receive letters from home. Perhaps the command decided it was better that way?
Ersatz pilot shows us how war changes a person beyond recognition. Physically and mentally. Warwick, whose face is a boar's nose crossed with a gas mask. Carrie, whose silhouette is almost human, but whose skin is sickly looking, and whose mouth is sharp like a beast's.
War is endless. But what if they were destined to return home one day? They would never be able to live as before. Their souls will forever remain on that field, the roar of shells and the rows of bullets singing in their heads. Silence will bring no peace if war has become routine. Family and friends, if they have any, will not recognize them. Too much time has passed. They will pretend, but veterans will recognize the deception. They will not see the same love and human warmth, but only cold gratitude for their service and the money they brought.
Ersatz is a project that hasn't even been released yet. We don't really know much about the characters. But the essence of war remains the same. It is cruel, merciless, and destructive. It destroys not only individuals, but entire generations. In a world full of so many languages, we must not choose the language of violence.
Tags. Reader is chubby, fluff, short, slice of life
Part 1/Part 2
The weather had never been as brutal as it was this summer. The scorching sun alternated with torrential rain. Those who were able to watch the weather from a distance were lucky, especially children and teenagers, of course. However, as a responsible adult, it was important for you to work. Getting to and from the office every day became a challenge. Instead of you, your shoes were the first to give in under the pressure. They simply fell apart. You never liked them, but they were your only work pair. Finding new ones would be difficult.
As if to make matters worse, fate decided to separate you from the Duke for several long weeks. One evening before the weekend, strolling down the street where you first met him, you found only an empty alley. As if there had never been anything but trash cans and questionable advertising posters on the walls. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement. You'd hoped to meet your mysterious acquaintance and maybe get to know him better over a delicious dinner. You even prepared cash, figuring it would be more convenient for him. He didn't seem to have any gadgets, much less a payment terminal. With a heavy sigh, you had to return home.
You continued working, but your thoughts kept returning to him. How had he disappeared so quietly? The Duke had promised you would meet again, but you wondered how. You had no means of communication. No phone, not even mail. And the city was so big! Some days, you even wondered if you'd dreamed the Duke. Someone like him was completely out of the modern world. He was the only reason you even remembered traditional mail, even though you only used e-mail. The taste of his dinner, the touch of his lips on your skin—all were nothing more than memories. It only darkened your mood.
Sitting still was unbearable. So you took action.
The search consumed some of your evenings and weekends. You marked suitable streets on a map and wandered them, searching for him. However, this took a lot of time and effort, and yielded no results. So, you began looking for fairs, markets, and other events. Perhaps their atmosphere and the flow of business would attract the Duke's eye, you thought. Again, failure awaited you. You metaphorically hit a wall, wondering how such a joyful giant could disappear so easily. One moment he was there, and then the next he was gone!
Another Friday, you were strolling through the park, a cool evening breeze tickling your face. Everything would have been fine, but those new shoes. They were rubbing your poor feet. You'd taken them without thinking, just to get away from this task and the salespeople with their conversations. You were out of plasters in your purse today, so there was simply no way out. You dragged your feet slightly, your thoughts hazy with fatigue. You weren't aware of anything around you until a pleasant melody pierced the veil. Someone was humming in the distance, clinking bottles of something. The wind hit your face, and breathing became a little heavier as you, forgetting your fatigue, ran.
There he was. Under the shade of a large, old willow tree, its long branches swaying over the water. He was busy arranging jars of spices, but upon noticing you, a pleasant smile broke out, radiating warmth. "We meet again, my dear." He greeted you, offering you a chair near the caravan with a sweeping gesture. "Sit, sit! You must be so tired." It was an offer you couldn't refuse. With a quiet sigh of relief, you sank into the soft chair. The atmosphere, just like last time, seemed ethereal. As if you were in your own cozy corner, a small patch of green in the middle of the concrete jungle. Even though this was only your second meeting, you were already slowly beginning to get used to the strangeness.
"I'm so sorry I kept you waiting." The Duke apologized, pouring tea from the teapot into two porcelain cups. One for himself, one for you. The warm drink smelled pleasantly of cardamom, cinnamon, and ginger, and you happily took the first sip. As you rested, you couldn't help but notice how charmingly the Duke held himself. The cup in his hand felt like a toy. A large caravan, a large horse, large clothes (even though they barely hung on), but not a tea set. Apparently, its beauty mattered more to the Duke than its convenience. "Allow me to offer you some sweets." In the kindly offered box, you recognized baklava and rahat lokum, among others. The Duke seemed to want to give you a new experience. "Thank you." Who were you to refuse?
The sun sank below the horizon, replaced by the light of the lampposts. Soft and slightly humming. You kicked your shoes off into the grass, giving your feet the long-awaited freedom. Noticing this, the Duke hummed thoughtfully and bit into a piece of rahat lokum, the powdered sugar crumbling across his thumbs. "You know, darling, so much has happened since we last saw each other." He licked his fingers and carefully wiped them with a cloth before turning back to his caravan. "I even took a couple of personal orders." Halfway around, his voice was slightly muffled, but you still listened intently. "But here's the problem: my client refused hers in favor of making a new one." The Duke returned with a box and opened it with both hands like a treasure chest. Inside was a pair of shoes. In your favorite color and even looked like the right size. "They were too simple for her, but I think they'll be just right for you for work. Would you like to try them on?"
"It wouldn't hurt." You took the shoes from the box and carefully put them on. They were a perfect fit. It was even suspicious that his client had similar feet. But you didn't really want to think about it when you felt like you were walking on clouds. The size, insole, and heel were perfect! Compared to these, your old shoes seemed like something out of a nightmare. "I like them." You admitted honestly, stopping and looking the Duke in the eyes. "I'd like to buy them. Name a price." Your confident tone made the Duke grin and rub his hands. A familiar gesture of satisfaction. "Price? Hm." He rubbed his chin as if genuinely pondering. "Pay me the same as your current shoes and give them to me. I don't want you to try to wear them anymore." It sounded like a deal. You gave him the money and the shoes. Who knows, maybe he'll remake them and resell them? That's what merchants are like. But that was already his business.
You didn't notice how the night passed while you were enjoying the pleasant conversation. The Duke shared countless stories from his travels. Through dense forests and distant villages, on the outskirts of ghost towns and along the highways of metropolises. He'd been everywhere. In return, you shared your small moments of joy over the past few weeks, whether it was a dog running past or a rainbow after a heavy rain. You didn't get to know each other any better. To you, he was the Duke. To him, you were any pet name he could come up with. And something about that felt right. As if it was meant to be. This meeting and pleasant conversation were enough for you. If you both agreed, then what difference did it make how it "should be"?
"Will we see each other again?" You asked, feeling it was almost time to leave. You still had to get home and sleep after such a productive evening. "Honestly, I wish I could contact you."
"I have a solution, though it may be an old-fashioned one." The Duke replied with a chuckle, placing an envelope he pulled from his bosom in your hands. It was addressed in ornate handwriting. "Send me your letters in this envelope by mail. My old friend will ensure they arrive on time both ways." Just like that, the Duke had built a bridge between you. What a relief. You couldn't help but smile. Taking advantage of your close proximity, the Duke playfully cupped your cheek and kissed you on the forehead goodbye. "Until we meet again, my sweet. Be safe on your way home."
"Wait for a letter, Duke." And so you parted again. You walked away with a light laugh and rosy cheeks into the waking city. His caravan drifted further and further until it was completely lost among the trees. If this was a dream, it was the sweetest.~
Grace had the ability to change Rocky's voice in the film. However, at an early stage it was impossible to do the opposite, since he did not yet know the Eridian language well enough. Now imagine how annoying it was for Rocky to hear his own voice, but it was so mercilessly stupid. It was as if he was arguing with himself for most of the film.
Considering that Victor is a snake, I don't think he enjoys cold weather very much. I saw this picture and immediately thought of him. I just find it funny to imagine him in a giant fluffy coat.
I know Tofu has been mentioned a couple of times already, but...
Imagine that after Grace and Simon meet, they settle into their new home on Erid.
Stratt sends a ship with frozen species and seeds (like in the book "The butterfly of the stars"). So they can grow crops, raise meat, and so on. Just so they have a good variable diet. It's the least they can do for the savior of the stars.
At the same time, the ship contains species that can be used not only for food but also as pets. Among them is a white snake. And for some unknown reason, it hates Simon.
Like the immortal snail Tofu reached Mark Simon through time and space.
Aight @whirlwind0fdisappointm3nt ya got me lol😂 Between leaving my job, doctors n health, AND wrapping up projects/drafting for art business?? This was a fun, decompressing doodle :) Many thank yous for your 'bait' of an idea🤣 click to see detail, tumblrs blurring it to hell
Taking care of terrariums. With snakes, bugs, etc. He is a scientist, even if he is crazy.
I'm thinking welding and sculpting. Victor does something abstract and scary in his free time. He has big fingers, which are not exactly suited for this kind of work. He gets angry, he loses his temper, but he continues until he succeeds. Playing the creator is always a delight for him.
I also think that he had to suffer through medical textbooks when he was younger. Doctors of any specialization have a difficult and time-consuming process of studying.
Taking care of terrariums. With snakes, bugs, etc. He is a scientist, even if he is crazy.
I'm thinking welding and sculpting. Victor does something abstract and scary in his free time. He has big fingers, which are not exactly suited for this kind of work. He gets angry, he loses his temper, but he continues until he succeeds. Playing the creator is always a delight for him.
I was thinking one of his hobbies would be making his own jewelry!
He'd probably have to have the tools custom made for his larger hands, but I can still see him sitting at his desk that's covered in all sorts of chains and gothic/snake charms as he fastens the jump rings juuuuuust right
With his visor on, of course. It's better than a normal pair of glasses, after all.
Taking care of terrariums. With snakes, bugs, etc. He is a scientist, even if he is crazy.
I'm thinking welding and sculpting. Victor does something abstract and scary in his free time. He has big fingers, which are not exactly suited for this kind of work. He gets angry, he loses his temper, but he continues until he succeeds. Playing the creator is always a delight for him.
