SI POV I
I woke up mildly expecting the blinking cursor of my laptop screen staring down tauntingly at my slumped form; that folded aching mess of numb skin, quite little muscle and bones that had spent far too much of the night stuck in a truly disagreeable position being shown the holy light of having written a total of four hundred words. It's not commonplace I assure you; only a bad case of writer's block would ever end up with me sleeping at my desk. But it had happened enough times that the piss yellow hue of my laptop's small light bar – an indicator that I had forgotten to plug in that damned charger again – would greet my bad case of deskhead and ravage at my poor, poor eyeballs.
My eyesight being abysmal did not change. In fact, it had somehow gotten worse. Usually, I'd chalk it down to early morning bleariness but the fact everything was now completely black had me on high alert. And the place I was in? Yeah, wet and sticky and straight up nanoscopic, as if I had been shoved into an old unwashed piping bag filled with year old chocolate ganache. Now, my room had never been exactly big or colourful but it was by no means the size of a rice grain or fifty thousand bloody shades of muted grey. As much as I like to joke that I'm blind, even my eyesight was like 20/20 vision compared to the David Aspden painting it had turned into overnight. What was even more disturbing was the fact I was completely and utterly nude and could feel various fluids clinging onto my privates while my poor body tried desperately to crawl out of that confined space. The best I could do was little more than a slippery shove forward before my momentum died. By now, I was a bit more than just concerned; straight up panicking would be apt. Still, us humans do try to rationalise even the most absurd things. So obviously, my brain was just wired from a lot of stuff and this horrible product of either REM or Dream from the Sandman's meddling had decided to give me 'the' wake up call of wake up calls. All I needed to do was just close my eyes and sleep…
Wait a minu-
Why was the weird piping bag contracting, squeezing my poor tushy so tightly!? And why was I feeling very real, very physical pain? That alone should have woken my physical body up by now!
I was starting to regret not watching those breathing exercise videos my therapist had sent me because either:
1. The bacon bits on my cheesy fries hadn't been turkey or beef and God almighty had come down to smite me down for my heresy and had landed me in my own personal Fields of Punishment-type situation; or
2. I had been small-ified and gobbled up by my cat and landed up somewhere in his digestive tract; or
3. Martians. The fucking Martians had gotten me and were using me as a test subject and doing only something ao3 users were capable of writing about.
Whichever way it went, I was screwed. Scratch that, completely and utterly mulcted by life itself. I couldn't breathe or move properly from both anxiety and what I suspected must have been a gargantuan amount of fentanyl, my surroundings were oppressively muggy and had me boxed in and my already shitty eyesight had gotten shittier.
The contracting rings of only God knows what weren't helping me either. I know you're supposed to remain calm and collected in these situations but holy hell was I twisting my body to try and scoot myself out. I was aided heavily by some form of peristalsis in my efforts. After contraction comes relaxation as you biology nerds may know and as a result, I slip 'n slid my way further down the hellhole, my poor forehead bumping onto an opening that was promising me a 'get out of jail free' pass. The light at the end of the proverbial tunnel was somehow not as bright as I expected it to be and the sounds of a completely alien language from the outside, a mix of shrill screams and gentle coaxing, had me wanting to return back to the little nook I had inside.
My fear of blocking the circulation and worms looking out to infiltrate my own guts coupled with the fact I doubted I'd last any longer in there won out however. With much exertion, I twisted my shoulders in an attempt to get my arms out. It took a few tries and a lot of encouragement from my new Martian friends (something I was beginning to suspect wasn't directed at me) but I managed to get my grubby what-had-to-be mutilated hands onto the ever-widening opening and let physics, the weird sphincter like mechanism and a lack of friction do the job.
Just like that, I was catapulted out of whatever they had put me in and landed in the firm yet gentle grip of what had to be a giant. And boy do I mean giant. I was by no means heavy or anything; in fact, I was bordering on underweight. But Holy Ymir whatever was holding me was the size of a fifteen-metre giant based on how easily they were lifting me up. I must've been as light as a feather to them if the way they were carrying me with ease was saying something. The hands felt human-like at first touch and the texture did eerily resemble skin but for all I know, they were camouflaged as humans to try to ease me into a false sense of security à la Mystique. Then BHAM! Eggs are growing inside of me and I'm in a bacta tank, nothing but a naked caged animal regretting ever having gone into the dark side of ao3 and stumbled upon its worst stories. My trepidation only intensified when I felt some sort of restraint tying me to that lab rat's labyrinth they had constructed for me. I could feel a sharp tug as I wiggled in what had to be the Attack Titan's palm, could hear the sharp snip snip of shears and prepared for the worst.
Instead…
Nothing. Literally, whatever giant organic appendage tying me to the tunnel was gone and my movement was a bit better, even though I had lost like 99% of motor control. My eyelids worked in overdrive to try to get all that gunk off my eyes not – either voluntarily or not – but this Brobdingnagian monster was already lifting me away, barking orders in what I was beginning to think was a man's voice while more feminine sounding voices seemed to defer to him. His bony fingers were prodding at me, sizing me up and examining me as if I was a prime Picasso about to go to auction. Then, he handed me off to what had to be one of the female aliens attending him. I could feel the slightly rougher texture of fabric wash over my face as I was enveloped in soft cloth.
Fuck me, why are they taking such great care of me?
I didn't know aliens were first class servants to their abducted wards. Then again, this might be some Star Wars-level shit so I might have avoided Earth getting destroyed à la Alderaan. Was I perhaps one of the lucky enough chosen to be kept in the 'invaded planets' zoo? My "I was abducted by Martians" theory seemed a bit more plausible in that case given I was born in March and Mars was my favourite of all planets by default. That of course didn't mean the prospect settled well with my already perturbed stomach. Us Aries' really do always get the short end of the stick.
Just when I thought life was getting better and this happens. I hadn't even gotten to break in my tub of chocolate ice cream swirled with chocolate syrup in time. Fuck it, time to formulate my 'get the hell away or die trying' plan. My vision was now clearing up and I could see sort of. Okay, maybe that was being generous. By 'see' I meant vaguely make out the shapes, or rather, the very blurred grey blobs I supposed were my adultnappers. There seemed to be quite a few from the looks of it and I was clearly the centre of attention. My hearing was surprisingly better than expected although again, that mattered little when I couldn't understand what the hell they were saying. It didn't sound like the Geonosian I was expecting. In fact, it sounded like something that could've been from earth, like an old distant relative of Ye Olde English or one of those other romance languages. Hmm, so maybe us humans were wrong in assuming all alien species were a bunch of reptiles with somewhat humanoid forms. Or maybe we were just being prejudiced against them having fully formed vocal cords. Not that that concerned me at the moment; my attempts to move were just as vain as they had been in the gulag I had woken up in. When I opened my mouth to attempt to get some words out, all that came out was a rather pitiful 'Gah!'.
It wasn't even a scream; it was a whine. Not just any whine….
A baby's whine.
Fuck, did I just get reincarnated- Wait, screw that, double fuck, did I just die midway through writing bad fanfiction?
As you can probably guess, I broke in my new tear ducts shortly after.
Whoever wrote the first 'SI from birth' story has a special place in hell marked for them. Now you may be wondering, "woah dude, isn't that extreme? It's not your fault you actually ended up God knows where in a newborn baby's body!". Rest assured; I don't think some amateur fanfiction author accidentally moved my consciousness between worlds. If that was possible, I'm sure people would've picked up the alarming increase in car accidents and "death quand tu dors" over the years by members of the aSoIaF fandom.
What I was pissed about was the total unrealistic interpretations they had about what being a newborn baby entailed. If it were any other fic, I should've taken notice of my surroundings by now and picked up a few clues of potentially where I was, or at the very least what era I was working with. Instead, my vision remained unchangingly abysmal for the longest time. I'm talking 20/400 vision in black and white; like a toddler artist's first foray into graphite and charcoal. And my dietary needs? Well, they had changed.
As any full-grown adult, my first thought when they'd placed me on what had to be a breast for feeding was "hell no". Yet, my new baby-ly instincts had kicked in soon after and I was searching for the teat before a minute had even passed.
It was deeply humiliating.
I had regained some semblance of control as I adjusted to my new body but the days were quickly blurring into one as I steadily fell into a repetitive Groundhog Day-esque cycle: eat, sleep, shit, eat, sleep, repeat multiple times per day. And I cannot emphasise enough on the sleep; I was sleeping for most of the day it felt like. I couldn't force my body to stay awake and even if I could, I didn't want to. Sleeping was one of the few things that gave me a respite from my new position in life: torn from family, technology, solid food and proper plumbing. My prison, or crib as my new caretakers called it, was even more infuriating but not for the reasons you might suspect. The space was large enough but my newborn muscles were too weak to even give me the movement I was desiring. I was a sluggard back in my first life – and God it was weird calling it that – but I had never spent literal days at a time lying on my back without standing. This new reality had me at my wits' end.
My nappy situation wasn't helping either. Okay, maybe nappy was not an all too accurate description of my medieval swaddling clothes. Yes, diapers weren't a thing yet because of course God needed to fuck me over even more. Instead, my legs were swaddled in long, narrow bands of wool and linen that got routinely changed whenever I gave a cry out for help. Thankfully, we hadn't gone full medieval Europe although the lack of diaper cream and wet wipes was concerning, especially when my nannies were most definitely not using my preferred brand of Johnson's baby powder. Still, the lack of proper diapers gave me a clearer gauge of what type of world I should expect while my eyesight improved. Not even Star-Wars Old Republic era unless I had been taken in by the alien equivalent of Ren Fair cosplayers who were taking their roles way too serious. And, from the few times I'd gotten held, I had managed to get a feel of their clothes and from that deduce their status and proximity in kinship.
For one, those who I guessed were relatives wore serious drip. Luxurious was an understatement: velvets, silks, lace, furs and other fabrics that screamed "MEDIEVAL RICH PEOPLE CRAP" to me as well as serious bling if that egg-sized gem I was pretty sure had gotten my hands on truly was what I thought it was. So, I was definitely firmly entrenched in the upper class which was always a good thing. That meant a life that did not entail an early death so long as I kept the feasting and warring down to a minimum. I hoped we were nearing the end of this world's Long Renaissance. If so, I could at least bet on there being chocolate which was always a good thing in my eyes. But again, moderation was key. If I could also find some Leonardo Da Vinci-type figures, I could regain a lot of my comforts early on; flushable toilets were always nice to have after all.
For that, I'd need my new relatives on my side and boy were there a few of them. Given I was being looked over quite a lot, perhaps I was the heir of something? Maybe a bank, lordship or God forbid a kingship (being a king was gonna way too much for me). Funding would be an issue until I got my new family on my side, even the ones whom I had already completely forgotten about. Nevertheless, I was starting to even recognise some of the visitors based on the frequency of their visits and their distinct voices, excluding the nannies whom I had imprinted on if the amount of cooing was saying something.
There was the most prominent and persistent blood-related visitor of mine, Cymoril as I called her, the woman who fed me at the breast every few hours when I wasn't sleeping. The reason I called her Cymoril rested solely on how pretty her dark hair was and how beautiful she seemed even as a slowly sharpening blob. Her hair looked coal black and lovely (something I had quickly gained an appreciation of with my new monotone way of life) and was as soft as the lightest silk against my cheek. She was also pretty tall as well. My depth perception had taken a hit from my birth (by hit I meant it was fanciful at best) but she towered over my caretakers which I had taken as a sign of a high stature. Cymoril, I had deduced, was my mother based on how my nannies all seemed to kowtow to her. The way I had grown to recognise the feel of her skin against mine during feedings did help too. Say what you want about breastfeeding but the bonding really does work. Her taking the time of the day to do this instead of using a wet nurse spoke volumes of her love for me.
Cymoril was often accompanied by a child I had dubbed Bee, a young toddler-ish girl who would run her tiny yet still massive fingers (I was really small in comparison okay) on my cheeks and sometimes even attempt to hold me. She was definitely fair-haired unlike Cymoril from the way her hair was tittering towards really pale grey to white. Her liking me was a good thing given I was pretty sure she was my sister. If I was in a more gender equal society, I'd need to defer to her. For that reason, I always made an effort to bear with the annoying poking and far too tight hugs. If pretending to lavish in the affection was how I would have to win my bread and butter, it was a small price to pay.
My father, or the man I was assuming was my dad, had the same fair hair as Bee. Given the Cymoril nickname I had attached to my 'mother', I gave in and started calling him Elric. He was taller than Cymoril by a few inches and had a well-kept pale beard on his face. His hands weren't as soft as the others and felt almost leathery against my own skin. Either he regularly spent hours in the sun or he did not know what sunscreen was. I still liked him well enough though given he always lifted me up and 'flew' me around the room. He had the hallmarks of a fun dad.
My new family had seemed decent enough from the get go though they probably couldn't hold a candle to my old one. Even so, until muscle coordination and movement kicked in, I could not actually off myself even if I wanted to. And the initial bitterness had faded into a dull ache with time but it was still there, just hidden under many hours of sleep. God, I slept so much. The only good thing that came from it was the rough period of time I knew a baby slept.
With no clock to rely upon, I had started counting my days through sleep cycles. I was fairly sure a baby slept for about seventeen hours a day. Newborns probably sleep less but I was trying to stay as insentient as possible as a means of coping. That meant four sleeping cycles were around two and a third days if my mathematics was right, give or take another third of a day. My feeding schedule was expertly timed as well, a full twenty minutes per feeding with an average of around eight feedings per sleeping cycle. So about three weeks had passed from my rebirth per my calculations. Not exactly enough time to completely get over my loss but enough time to contemplate my new existence and reach some sort of New Life's resolution.
I was stuck here because I had been raised surrounded by faith adherent first family who would chide me for even contemplating suicide. I was devoted enough to keep myself alive begrudgingly but I had conceded that I would probably turn into a less than ideal version of myself by the end of this new life. My new kinsfolk at least seemed kind enough and not at all murder-y. Then again, plenty of criminals put on a nice front before their dirty laundry got aired out so I couldn't discount that. Hmm… I wish I could've met whatever put me here. The least they could've done was give me the option of where I got sent to. One Piece sounded really nice right now.
The loud footsteps of my new "parents" walking into the room cut me off from my daydream. My on-duty nanny quickly stood up and began to bow in deference to the two of them. My eyes quickly closed as they approached. Pretending to sleep was always a good way of finding out info, even if you didn't understand the majority of it. Even adults feel less inclined to give out the juicy stuff if they see an infant staring up at them.
Cymoril picked me up with a great wide smile, pressing a big smack on my forehead. I feigned a yawn and curled onto her bust, tilting my head to stay in earshot of the conversation while she poked at my cheeks and baby talked to me with a smile. I did little but snuggle up into her arms and fake a yawn while Elric joined her in the middle of the room, a calloused thumb brushing up against my damnably soft and sensitive cheek. I gave out a fake sigh of contentment and pretended to revel in the touching.
They seemed to buy into my act well enough so I laid off the acting and tried to pick up what they were implying. While my grasp of the language was as beginner's level as it comes, I had managed to pick up a few words and had deduced what they meant. I was still too young to get read to however so my efforts were probably in vain in the grand scheme of things. To make things worse, I didn't even know my own name yet! I was sure it was being used but my hours spent snoozing meant I had missed it through a mixture of bad luck, too much introspection and my hearing not being up to par with what I was used to. Still, complaining would get me nowhere. Time to feign being asleep and try to pull off a cutesy act to divine out my name. I hoped it wasn't anything that would guarantee me a life of ridicule. Think Gaylord or X Æ A-Xii. I could suffer with A-a-ron if it meant avoiding something straight from the crack name generator.
Cymoril and Elric were both pretty engrossed in the conversation which seemed either a good thing or a bad thing. A certain word kept being repeated but I could not make it out to save my own life. Virus? Walrus? What the hell were they talking about. Given it was being repeated fairly often, it must have been something of great import. I wiggled my body a little closer, trying to get what it was they were saying.
"#GYG !YG&&?" said Cymoril, voice a tad contemplative.
"GGU!&*&!*G!D&," replied Elric, brushing his fingers through that fine, fine moustache of his.
What the fuck are you two going on about?
I was starting to get mildly annoyed. "SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!" I bellowed, my newly infantile features contorting in what I hoped was a truly fearsome glare. "Spwa!" and a mouthful of spittle came out instead. Instead of the subservience I was expecting, I got my two new parents mildly amused as they stopped mid-walk and seemed to think of this as naught but baby talk. My eyebrows dipped into a scowl.
Three weeks in and the plan to off myself was tittering closely to being back on track. The drop to the floor didn't seem so short from up in Cymoril's arms. Hmm, time to gain some wiggle room. If this one-sided (two-sided?) conversation wasn't going to yield any results, might as well take my chances. If God above was just, I'd wake up back home with my cat trying to slowly suffocate to death by face cuddling. I just needed to get the angle right and let gravity do its thing…
"&($!^#^^!7?"
My poor body grew taut at the sudden exclamation. God damn it, Elric! Can you not shut up for one measly second! My already thinned out patience was wearing even thinner now, bordering on anorexic. Could I not contemplate suicide without one of these two meat-mecha figures interrupting my internal monologue?! We all knew I would chicken out last minute anyway! Go talk about Walrus and his virus somewhere else. Just let little ole me be depressed (and mildly colic if the way my stomach was churning) alone! Where is the "shaking my head" emote when you bloody need it!?
My annoyance in regards to my truly shit circumstances must have been rather obvious this time given Cymoril smiled tiredly at me and walked me back to my not-so-secret oubliette. I relaxed slightly at her smile. I had a weakness for tall, beautiful women. I cast Elric a glance. Men too, I mused as I admired his potential silver fox features.
In a couple of years when they stopped being unknown, blurry blobs, I would probably cringe at my past self and maybe spit out some sick. But right now? Well, they weren't my parents just yet.
I gave a bit of show as I slowly curled into my crib. Nothing too flashy, just a tummy roll and a closed-eye smile. People fell for it every time. Cymoril gave a proud cheer while Elric patted me on my head. A shame I was going to break in tears soon. Well, the gas needed to come out somehow and I wanted it out before it got too bad. During my early days, I had attempted to act indignant after one particular bad day by acting dead and refusing to cry out for help. After hours of crying trying to get a burp out while fighting off an atrocious stomach ache, I was not looking to repeat that mistake again.
One of my nannies would come. Hopefully Felicia as I called her, a rather curvaceous nanny of mine with pale hair just like my dad's. She was always gentle with the back rubs. God forbit it was Alvida. She was a middle-aged, matronly woman with a kind heart but her superior weight and strong hands always ended up with me lightheaded and feeling a bit sore. The only reason I never complained was because I didn't want her to get fired just because I was cognisant enough to call her out on it. So far, my little shrieks had been met with cooing. Apparently, even my wails of pain were cute. Sigh, I deserved an Academy Award for this. This patterned blanket that I had had since birth would have to do in the meanwhile unfortunately. My shit eyesight meant it was black and white but the design sewn onto it was vaguely mermaid-like. No matter, it was soft and warm and an easy victim to take out my frustrations on through weak punches and endless teethless gnawing.
"&%^^ &?" Cymoril seemed to ask as she gave my belly a little rub. I faux-yawned in reply. I did love catching them off guard. Truly, I was a snivelling little shit sometimes. Some things never change no matter what life you're on. Show time in 3-2-1. I was sucking in breath to get my wails just right. One good way I had learned to pass the time was by trying to hit various notes with my new vocal cords. One of my upgrades if you could call it that had been a surprisingly dulcet voice. Well, as dulcet as a baby's voice could get. Hey, beggars can't be choosers.
Cymoril and Elric both peered at me, probably not even suspecting they would be getting their eardrums assaulted in a minute. I was barely swallowing down my smile. This might even give me enough dopamine to last until the next day. Cymoril did not have the slightest idea as she bent down to caress my cheek.
"&^#&$&* * Laenor," she finished in a damnably soft voice, cutting me off mid-breath. I choked on my spit, my brain short circuiting from a combination of shock and complete denial.
Laenor…. Laenor Targ- no Velaryon… Gurm… GoT… GoT equals aSoIaF which equals F&B. In F&B, presence of a Velaryon Snake... Salsa of Snakes… No, Velaryon and Salsa don't mix. Tango? Ballet? What was the word they used? You know what, fuck it. Other clues… Mermaid? No, Seahorse… Male seahorses can get pre- No, off topic and totally not related to what my frazzled mind was trying to get to. Forget about that, who was Virus? Walrus? Wirus? Valrus? Varys is a mermaid? No, not that. Or maybe- Nope, I'm not that tinfoil-y. Virus? Visus? Viserys-
Seahorse. Sea Snake. Fire and Blood equals fiery and bloody death.
Dance. Dragons.
DANCE OF DRAGONS!
Oh no… Oh God no! No! No! No! No!
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?
For the second time in my new life, I didn't need to rely on colic to coax some tears out of me. They were just coming out in freefall as I hit the highest high note I had ever hammered out in my entire humiliating second life.
That mildly rhymed, heh. Well, when life gives you lemons, use them as ammo to kill a fucking Daemon or two.
