p1nkstarsthings

[thedrotter]

Re:Kinder Fun fact time!! Did you know? 😊

Yuuichi's theme song (the one that often accompanies his entrances with "Vamos Cantar!"), 新しい夏のナナ, is not in any latin language such as Spanish or Portuguese, despite its lyrics sounding as such. It's actually in Hanamogera, which to put it simply is nonsense speech based on japanese syllables. So the song's lyrics are essentially gibberish meant to imitate the sound of latin music! 😊

It is listed as such in the source site for the song, oo39.com, where the song can be found as "YS068" in the hanamogera category.

Additional fun fact! The song can also be found in Spotify as Vien Nana by Oo39.com themselves alongside a few other select songs from the site. So you can properly enjoy the song on the platform without having to import it from your local files.

Those are the fun Re:Kinder related fun facts for today... Use them to entertain your friends at parties ! ☺️

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

Monster - Part 2

AO3 Link

Characters: Commander Fox (Main), Commander Wolffe, Commander Cody, Captain Rex, Commander Stone, Corrie Medic Triage (OC).

Summary: Fox deals with the aftermath of his actions, unsure as to whether his brothers can forgive him.

Warnings: 16+, swearing, mentions of death.

Word Count: 3.5k

Part 1 here

Author’s Notes: I've been agonising over this chapter for far longer than necessary so please take it from me. Hopefully it's not complete gibberish. Feedback is appreciated as always, it's my first time writing such prominent clones all as proper characters in a fic so would be great to know what went well and where I can improve! This fic ends with this chapter but the ending leaves it open for imagination, if anyone has any cool thoughts for what may happen my inbox is always open to discuss further! Fic is below the cut, enjoy 😊.

When Fox next came around he was on the cheap sofa in his office. The rigid object making his back stiff, he must’ve been out for a while. He groaned as he attempted to sit up. He felt weak, his entire body sore and sensitive as he shuffled about.

“Welcome back, sunshine.” Stone greeted him while Triage appeared and started poking at him. Stone must’ve relieved Thorn from Fox babysitting duty. The thought made the Commander groan.

“How you feeling, boss?” The medic questioned as he started shining a small light into his eyes.

“Shit” he replied truthfully. “What happened?”

“You had a breakdown, a bad one.” The matter-of-fact bedside manner of the Guard’s chief medical officer was something Fox usually favoured, except when he was on the receiving end of it of course.

“Oh”

“It’s lucky Thorn found you when he did.” Triage chided while tapping away at his Datapad. His clean-shaven face focused as he went about the task. “You’ve got a visitor by the way”

“Hey vod” the gruff voice was followed by an even gruffer Commander strolling into view. What was Wolffe doing here?

“Thorn called.” Hm apparently he’d asked his question aloud.

Fox hadn’t seen Wolffe in months, he was always away on missions and rarely got down time when his Jedi had to return to Coruscant. His scar still stood out prominently against his tanned skin, but it looked better each time he saw him again, like it was slowly settling in to being a part of him. His armour was tattered, the grey paint scratched and chipped while the white plastoid was covered in the dirt of battle.

“Well I’m fi-“

“Don’t try it mir’sheb. I know what happened.” Fox flinched. Wolffe’s tone was flat when he spoke, his face unreadable and despite being one of the eldest of their batch, Fox felt very vulnerable under his little brother’s gaze.

As cadets and during command training, their batch had always been close, but Fox could confidently call Wolffe his best friend out of the lot. Their competitive nature pushed them to always be the best, their dry humour so cutting that only the other could truly understand it for what it was. Both of them were blunt, but over the years, the war had moulded them slightly differently. Where Fox was hardened and distant from his time on Coruscant, surprisingly, some of Wolffe’s ragged edges to his personality had softened. Not really noticeable if you didn’t know him from before, but Fox chalked it up to the friendship and mentoring of his wise Jedi and also his position as a Commander. Wolffe had lost his entire battalion early on in the war and Fox had held his heartbroken vodas he swore he would never let anything come between him and his men ever again. From that point on, Wolffe had gotten to know each member of his squad personally, always ensuring that they knew that despite his hard exterior, he’d always be there for them if they needed it.

Despite all this and how well Fox knew his brother, all that knowledge was doing nothing for him in his current situation. Wolffe knew that he’d killed another clone, yet he hadn’t lashed out yet. Was he just waiting until they were alone? The tension in the air threatening to smother them with each second that passed. Fox wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“We’ll give you two some privacy.” Triage announced before dragging a worried looking Stone out behind him.

Fox didn’t say anything, he just waited for the onslaught from his younger brother. He was sporting his signature frown which could mean a hundred different things.

“Before we even get into this, I just need you to know that we don’t hate you, Fox. We’ll always love you, you di’kut.” Wolffe’s voice finally carried some emotion now that they were alone. It held a mixture of things, brotherly frustration at Fox’s self-loathing, a fear for finding out things he might not want the answer to and the smallest twinge of betrayal for what Fox had done. But among the rest of it, among the words said, there was love. Fox huffed out a humourless laugh.

“Beats me as to why”

“We’re family. We don’t need a reason. We’re stuck with each other, whether you like it or not.”

Silence lingered between them as Fox finally found the courage to speak about the elephant in the room.

“I don’t know why I did it. I didn���t mean to.” His voice was faint, almost like if he said it any louder it’d all be real.

“I know ori’vod”

Fox finally launched into an explanation of what happened. His chest constricting further and further, threatening to rob his body of air as he pushed himself to get the story out. His hands shook in fear of what his closest brother would think of him, of what he’d done. Wolffe hadn’t spoken during the entire story, resigned to just watching him from his perch on his desk. Fox was panicking.

After what felt like the longest silence of Fox’s life, the younger Commander exhaled roughly, his bare hands rubbing at his scar out of habit as he processed the information. “You told Rex this?” Fox was shocked that out of everything to ask, that that was his question. The Guard Commander shook his head.

“Well, we better get him over here” Fox jumped out of his seat and placed a hand over his brother’s comm link.

“Kriff Wolffe, the poor guy has suffered enough. Last thing he needs is me begging for forgiveness for something he can’t forgive. I killed one of our own, one of his last few best friends. He hates me. And I really don’t blame him.”

“Maybe so, but he deserves to hear the truth from you. Whether or not he believes it is up to him.” Reluctantly, he let his arm go and stalked back over to the sofa. “I’ll comm Cody, he’s over there with him now.”

“Didn’t realise you were both planet side.” Fox grunted out, he could really do with some caff, his body was exhausted.

“The 104th were on their way back since Plo had some Jedi stuff to do, we touched down this afternoon. As for the 212th, they finished their last mission and once they heard about everything that’d been going on, General Kenobi requested they come back to help out. Though I have a feeling that was Cody wanting to check in on Rex.”

Fox wanted to ask how Rex was, but the searing guilt that burned in his chest couldn’t bear to ask the question. So he decided to check on some people who potentially hated him a smidge less, only a smidge though.

“Have you heard from the others?”

Wolffe nodded and went on to tell him about what the rest of their batch had been up to. Gree had recently been assigned to General Yoda, who he was absolutely terrified of. Fox didn’t blame him, the Jedi was extremely powerful for someone so pint sized, he’d also heard that he had a wicked sense of humour which would definitely stress Gree out, much to the amusement to the rest of his batch. Ponds was getting on nicely with Mace, they’d recently had a successful campaign near the outer rim and were due back on Coruscant soon. The eldest of their batch, Bly, was doing well too. Apparently Wolffe thought he had the hots for his General as Bly apparently refused to shut up about how amazing and strong and caring she was. Fox wasn’t sure if he was messing with him or not, but the thought brought a small smile to his face nonetheless. Trust Bly to fall in love with his Jedi General.

“What about you? How’s life in the Corrie Guard?” Wolffe asked.

Where could he even begin. Fox never offloaded about his problems onto anyone, except maybe his fellow Commanders in the Guard who he shared the burden with. Wolffe wouldn’t understand. A part of him also wanted to be the dutiful big brother and not place any worries or fears onto his vod’ika.

“Not much to report, same as always” he wasn’t lying at least. It was easier this way, for them not to know. They could keep thinking he was safe away from the battlefield. Their hopes in this war were already pretty low, they didn’t need to know about the horrors that lurked away, hidden among the senate corridors and the low levels of Coruscant.

——————————

Anxiety gripped at Fox’s chest as he paced a hole into his metal office floor. Waiting for Cody and Rex made him feel as if he was waiting for a death sentence. He thought of all the ways he could potentially escape but he knew Wolffe would be all over him. The 104th Commander always was a fan of tough love and things didn’t get tougher than this.

There was a slight commotion outside which pulled the both of them to attention.

Rex came storming in, his face set like stone, an angry frown marring his features and deepening the creases in his forehead. Once he set his sights on Fox nothing could deter him. “Rex, wait!” Wolffe shouted but he couldn’t stop him in time. Rex’s fist slammed into Fox’s nose with a sickening crack, sending the Commander sprawling backwards, catching himself on his desk as his nose started gushing blood.

Cody ran in from nowhere and locked Rex’s arms behind his back, trying to calm their little brother. “Rex, will you just listen to him.” He shouted down his ear while Fox recovered from the blow, cradling his now broken nose as Wolffe came to his side to help him back up.

“Why? Why should I listen? He didn’t listen to Fives!” Rex screamed back as he writhed in Cody’s arms. His words cut into Fox, making him grimace.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Rex.” Fox apologised with a burning sincerity, but it only deepened the frown on Rex’s face.

“I don’t want your apologies.” The Captain shouted back, gone was his usual professional composure. Right now he was a broken man who’d lost one of the last few people he’d let get close to him. There was no rank in this room right now, they were just a group of hurting vod, trying to pick up the pieces.

Rex spat his words out at Fox with a look that could kill, he probably wanted it to. He looked like he wanted Fox to hurt as much as he was right now. “Maker, I know Palpatine had you wrapped around his finger, I just didn’t realise how much.” Ouch.

“Rex” Cody reprimanded, his Marshall Commander voice coming out as he tried to defuse the situation. The Captain’s face was still masked in hurt and anger, but he did back down slightly after his verbal blow. “The past couple days has been hard for you vod, we know that and we’re here for you. But we wouldn’t be asking you to listen to Fox right now if we didn’t think it was worth it. Please, just give him a chance.” Once he finished, he nodded at Fox to signal him to get started. He took a deep breath and readied himself to try and explain the unexplainable.

“I know it sounds ridiculous but what happened back there, It wasn’t me” he started, and Rex just scoffed, still struggling against Cody’s hold. “Look, I can’t explain it. But I set that gun to stun, I swear to you, Rex. I know you all think I’m some cold, order-following droid but I would’ve brought him… I would’ve brought Fives, in for questioning. You- you have to believe me.” Fox pleaded, blood still trickling down his face from his broken nose. He wasn’t their usual, sarcastic, caffeine deprived big brother. No, Fox was a complete mess as he tried to reason with Rex. He couldn’t bare his brothers thinking that he did this willingly, that he’d turn on his own kind with just a simple order.

“What do you mean it wasn’t you?” Rex’s gaze was still unsure, but he’d never seen Fox like this before. He looked desperate, much like Fives had.

“I- I blacked out. One minute we were moving in and as soon as I saw Fives, and I know this sounds crazy, it’s like something else took over. I was just watching from the sidelines.” Fox gave an exasperated sigh as he tried to explain himself.

“Like something was controlling you?” Rex asked, the cogs in his brain turning as he waited for a reply. Fox just gave an ashamed nod and dreaded realisation dawned on Rex’s face.

“Maybe Fives wasn’t crazy” he said it as barely a whisper but with the silence in the room they all managed to hear it.

“What do you mean?” Cody questioned as he finally let his vod’ika go, content that he wasn’t going to assault the Guard Commander further. Rex used the freedom to go and lock the door to Fox’s office.

“What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room, understand? No one can know, not our vode, not your Jedi, nobody.” The three of them nodded.

“Before he died, Fives was trying to explain what was going on to General Skywalker and me, he said that there’s something in our heads that could make us do whatever someone wanted… Even kill the Jedi.” Wolffe and Cody’s eyes widened at the thought, finding it impossible to even comprehend hurting their Generals who they cared for deeply.

“And if, if, he’s right about that, well, he said the Chancellor is in on the whole thing. That he set him up. And as insane as it sounds, that could explain why he sent Fox, of all people, to hunt him down.” Rex finally spared him a glance that wasn’t filled with complete hate, there was a slight bit of pity in for good measure instead.

“You’re saying that the Chancellor has some sort of control over me?” Fox replied. The colour draining from his face as he considered the option.

“I’m saying… it’s a possibility. After seeing what happened with Tup, what you’re saying happened to you doesn’t seem far off. He had no idea why he killed General Tiplar. Said he didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Okay hold on, so you’re trying to tell us that Fives uncovered a plot by the Chancellor which involves all of the clones having something in their heads which allows them to be controlled, with the likely purpose of it being to kill the Jedi?” Wolffe asked with the hopes that he might wake up from this weird dream he found himself in.

“Pretty much” Rex replied.

“Ozik” Cody cursed. “And you believe him? Fives? You sure he didn’t just lose it?” The Marshal Commander needed this final confirmation from his brother.

“I-” Rex exhaled and dragged a gloved hand down his face “I think I do. I wasn’t sure before but with what Fox is saying, it’s all a bit too much of a coincidence. I believe him enough to at least look into what he was talking about. He wouldn’t have risked everything he did for nothing.”

Fox tried to keep breathing as the conversation went on. Controlled. A plot to kill the Jedi. Maker this was too much. Surely they had to be wrong. But then he remembered his shit show of a life, the things that the chancellor made him do, things he’d never do willingly if he had the choice like a true sentient being. Maybe it wasn’t such a faraway reality. He repressed the shiver that threatened his body.

“You do realise we’ll get executed on the spot if we’re found looking into this. This is treason. If what you’re saying is true, then it sounds like they went to some pretty serious lengths to keep Fives from outing them.” Wolffe added, ever the pessimist. Not that Fox blamed him, they were moving into dangerous territory with this talk.

“You three can walk away, but I owe this to Fives and Tup.” Rex said, conviction written all over his face.

“I’m in” Fox announced as he wiped most of the blood away from his nose and mouth. The ache from his broken nose setting in as the adrenaline from his and Rex’s confrontation started wearing off.

Wolffe and Cody shared a glance, a silent conversation taking place between the two of them. They both shared strong bonds with their Jedi in different ways, they wanted to do everything in their power to protect them, but could they keep this a secret for long enough? Obi-Wan and Plo were very in touch with their Commander’s emotions. There was a chance they’ll figure out something was up sooner than they’d like. They would just have to work fast. Cody nodded at Wolffe, and the decision was made.

“We’re in too” Wolffe confirmed. “I don’t want any more of our brothers to die if we can help it.”

“What about Skywalker? He was with you and Fives, do we at least have him on side?” Cody asked and Rex pulled a disappointed face.

“As soon as Fives mentioned the Chancellor being involved, Anakin wrote the whole thing off… It’s just us.”

“We can work with that” Cody comforted with a hand on his little brother’s shoulder and a small smile. The Commander’s comm link started chirping and he gave them all a sorry look. “It’s the General, I better take this and head back. But we’ll catch up later.”

“79’s?” Wolffe offered. Despite none of them fancying a night out, there was no better place to get privacy than a noisy bar filled with identical faces. Cody nodded and quickly departed.

Eventually they had to call Triage back to deal with Fox’s nose. He’d done well to hide the pain during the chat between the four of them, but it had quickly started to take over his thoughts. Thankfully his CMO came armed with pain stims and for once, Fox didn’t get absolutely ripped into by the medic as this injury wasn’t a result of his own stupidity. Well, to be fair, he was sure that assessment was up for debate, especially from Rex who was talking quietly with Wolffe around Fox’s desk.

Fox poked at the metal brace and bandages on his nose, the Bacta patch under it was a squishy texture. Triage knocked his hand away like a parent would a child who was reaching for the last cookie. “Don’t touch it” he warned, and Fox moved his hands back down to his side. “Given our accelerated cell regen and the Bacta patch, you should be good to wear your helmet again by tomorrow” Fox gave his thanks to the medic by clasping his wrist in a handshake before he was left alone with his vode again.

Wolffe conveniently dipped out to use the fresher, leaving Rex and Fox alone for the first time since the incident. Fox’s heart rate sped up as he thought about it, the scenes of Fives’ death playing over and over again in his head like a horror film on repeat. That look on Rex’s face when their eyes met over Fives’ body, seared into his brain as a constant reminder of what he did.

They stared at each other from across the room, Fox was still sat on his cheap, rock solid couch while Rex was stood by his desk.

Fox couldn’t hold the eye contact; he broke it off and shifted his gaze to his hands.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. It’s not what I’m asking for, you're well within your rights to hate me. But I just want you to know that I wouldn’t hurt you like this willingly. It’s the last thing I’d ever want.” Fox broke the silence. Still not brave enough to meet Rex’s eyes, to see the disappointment and betrayal which would likely be waiting for him.

He heard some shuffling and the couch sink down slightly beside him. He dared a look over and saw Rex’s scratched leg armour.

“I don’t hate you, Fox. I know you were put in a tough situation. I know I like to think I would’ve handled it differently, but truth be told, I don’t know what could’ve happened if Fives didn't put us in that ray shield. And while I don’t want to think about it, I have a feeling someone would’ve got to him eventually. It was inevitable.” He paused and took a shuddering breath. “I just… I just need a bit of time.”

“I appreciate that, take all the time you need.” They both shared a small smile, content that they’d get past this together. There was light on the other side of this dark tunnel.

Rex really did care about Fox; he’d always looked up to him over the years. He remembers the small stuff, the words of encouragement when a training simulator went wrong, the proud look on his face when he got promoted to Captain, the many nights of drinking Thire’s rocket-fuel moonshine in Fox’s office when Rex needed to escape from the war for a few hours.

They’d be fine, time was always the best healer. Fox just hoped that they had enough time left.

Back to Part 1

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[hayleysstark]

Hug

Words: 2405 Warnings: None Summary: Merlin had a tendency to say some strange things, but--

"You," Merlin jutted his chin out obstinately, and jabbed a resolute finger at Arthur, "owe me a hug."

--but this was by far the strangest. 

Notes: I have literally zero explanation for this bit of schmaltz, except that it occurred to me that, if Arthur had lived long enough to hear all of Merlin's magical adventures, Merlin would have 100000000% told him about the Fomorrah incident, and promptly demanded a redo hug once he heard about the one he didn't remember. GIVE MERLIN EMRYS A HUG 2KFOREVER ARTHUR.

Read on Fanfiction or AO3

Merlin had a tendency to say some strange things.

Well, he said stupid things, for a start, things like dollophead or clotpole or, once even goosebrain—words that weren't actually words at all, just a whole bunch of nonsensical gibberish, made-up, a few sounds he'd just smashed together when he felt he'd been using prat too much. He said treasonous things, too, of course, but that bit went without saying—he said things that could get him—should get him, if Arthur was being honest with himself, the things Merlin said should get tossed in the stocks or dungeons or even outright hung for even letting the words pass his lips—things like Arthur, if you get mud on your armor like this again, I'm going to kill you, or Arthur, if you try to go on that dangerous quest, I'll drug your breakfast and lock you in your chambers and I'll tell all the guards you're enchanted so they know not to listen to you, or once, even a Arthur, the next time you say we aren't going to get ambushed by bandits and we get ambushed by bandits, I'm going to cut off your mouth and sew it back on inside out and upside down—that one alone could have earned him about a thousand death sentences, but Arthur had been, much as he hated to admit it, highly entertained by it all the same.

Look, Arthur was trying to make a point here. The point was this. Merlin said things. Stupid things. Treasonous things. Things that would have had Arthur's father rolling in his grave should they ever reach his ears—I'm not going to enchant a flagon of ale that never runs out for you, Gwaine, or how about if I just turn Lord Rodney into a toad and be done with it, come on, Arthur, he's insufferable, or damn dragon's being cryptic again—

But. But Arthur had gotten used to it. Merlin had magic, and Merlin had a dragon—two dragons, sorry—and Merlin was, whatever the idiot's own insistence to the contrary, some kind of—err, royalty to other sorcerers. Ruler. Monarch. Lord, maybe. King, perhaps. Arthur didn't know, and Merlin outright refused to admit to it, even when the druids' ambassadors dropped to their knees at the sight of him, and he turned several different shades of red in quick succession.

Getting off the point. Merlin said strange things, that was the point, things about destiny and magic and spells and dragons and coins and once and future kings. Arthur really didn't want to get into all of it.

But this—

"You," Merlin jutted his chin out obstinately, and jabbed a resolute finger at Arthur, "owe me a hug."

—this was by far the strangest.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?" Of course, prophesized warlock or not, Merlin could be a bit of a girl at times, but this was taking it a bit far, even for him. Maybe he was hearing things?

"You owe me," Merlin repeated, without missing a beat, and he seemed so indignant about the whole thing, Arthur was almost tempted to laugh, "you owe me a hug!"

Arthur blinked. All right, so he wasn't hearing things. "What?"

"You hugged me," Merlin said, the perfect picture of dignified affront, "you hugged me, and I don't even remember it!"

"Merlin," Arthur set the latest report from Sir Tristan facedown on the desk—he had a feeling he wasn't going to be getting to the end of it anytime soon—and leaned across the polished surface to get a better look at the man, "have you been on the cider?" It was a bit of a low blow, and Arthur knew it, what with all the times Merlin had never actually been in the tavern, but it was the only rational conclusion he could draw.

Merlin had a way of looking at people, sometimes, like he was seriously weighing the merits of turning them into a roach. This was one of those times. "No, I haven't," he said, with admirable composure. "And you know that, so stop being an ass, Arthur, it suits you a little too well."

"Merlin—!" Speaking of things that could get the man a thousand death sentences. Arthur decided perhaps the stocks were getting a little lonely as of late.

"Look, Gwaine and I were talking—"

"Oh," Arthur relaxed, and settled back in his seat. "That's it, then." He picked Sir Tristan's report back up. An invisible force plucked the paper from his fingers, and sent it fluttering out of his reach, facedown on the floor at Merlin's feet.

"Merlin!" Arthur glanced around for something to throw. Perhaps the inkwell?

"Listen!" Merlin put his hands on his hips. Had anyone ever thought to tell him how he looked nothing so much as an angry housewife when he did that? "Do you remember that time when we were out on patrol, and we got attacked by bandits—"

"Could you be more specific?"

"—and," Merlin continued, with another should-I-turn-him-into-a-roach look, "you and I got separated from everyone else, and I got hit by a mace, and then there was that big rock fall, and you thought I'd got lost—"

"Vividly," Arthur said flatly. It wasn't a day he liked to think about, to put it lightly.

"—only I didn't actually get lost, remember, I told you, Morgana found me, and she put that snakey thing in my neck that made me try to kill you and—"

"The point, Merlin."

The idiot must have realized he was rambling, because he stopped short. He even had the grace to blush. "Well." He huffed. "Gwaine tells me you hugged me."

Oh. So that's what they were getting at, then. Arthur's face began to burn like fire. "Gwaine," he said, as seriously as he could, and oh, he hoped to the gods Merlin couldn't see the flush crawling up his neck and flooding into his cheeks, "is about the most unreliable source in the entire kingdom, Merlin."

Merlin must have expected the resistance, because he countered at once. "He seemed pretty sure of himself when he told me."

"Yes, and how many had he knocked back by that point?" Arthur sniped. Logic told him he should just swallow his pride and cop to it—fine, all right, so he'd hugged Merlin, but it had been quick and one-armed and decidedly very manly, and also, he'd thought the idiot was dead for the past three days, so that had to count for something, right?—but logic also said that if he did swallow his pride and cop to it, Merlin would never let it go, and. Well. He couldn't have that.

"He was sober!"

"And you're sure it was Gwaine?"

"Arthur!" Merlin's hands were on his hips again. They were back to the angry-housewife stage.

Arthur bit back a sigh. "Look, Merlin, not that I don't love a nice stroll down memory lane every now and then, but I fail to see what this has to do with—"

"You hugged me!"

"That's still up for debate."

"And I don't even remember it!"

"Common occurrence for things that didn't happen." Arthur wondered if it was worth it to get up and get the report off the floor, or if he ought to just start on a new one.

"I don't believe it." Merlin collapsed into the seat opposite Arthur. "The one time you hugged me, and I don't even remember it."

"Merlin," Arthur dragged in a breath, and rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose, "if you're going to insist on spouting nonsense—"

The last dragonlord, the slayer of the High Priestess Nimeuh and the immortal sorcerer Cornelius Sigan and gods knew who else, the ruler-slash-monarch-slash-lord-slash-king to the magical community, the almighty warlock Emrys, gave what Arthur could only describe as a pout. "I deserve a hug that I remember."

Arthur ran out of patience. "I'm not going to hug you!"

The almighty warlock Emrys pouted harder. "I could die tomorrow, and if I did, I would go to my grave without even the memory of—"

"Merlin, you're immortal."

At least that seemed to pull Merlin from his sulk, because he snorted, and sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, I'm immortal if no one, y'know, stabs me, or poisons me, or shoots me, or starves me—"

"Yes, yes, I get the point," Arthur waved a dismissive hand, and tried not to dwell on the image the flippant words had conjured up of a bleeding and poisoned and arrow-ridden Merlin. "Look, I've got quite a lot of work to do, in case you haven't noticed, we can't all sit around practicing spells and riding dragons and getting worshipped by druids—"

Merlin turned red. "I-I'm not—!"

"—so, if you won't leave, why don't you make yourself useful?" Arthur nodded at his favorite pair of boots at the foot of the bed, the leather tops still crusted over with a fair bit of mud from their last patrol.

Merlin slumped from his chair, slumped over to the boots, slumped to the floor at the foot of Arthur's bed, and slumpily picked up the boots.

Slumpily. Arthur stifled a groan. Damn it, Merlin, you've got me using your idiotic made-up words now.

Arthur shook his head and returned to his reports. All thoughts of Merlin's terrible influence aside, maybe now he could actually get some proper work done and—

His thoughts scattered to a million different corners of his mind when the soft, unmistakable swish of coarse bristles on dirty leather met his ears. Oh, for gods' sakes, what on earth was the idiot playing at now—?

"Merlin," Arthur looked up, "what are you doing?"

"Er—?" Merlin lifted his head, his eyes decidedly on the hesitant side. "Polishing your boots? Like—like you said?"

Arthur frowned at the familiar sight—Merlin, sprawled at the foot of the bed, his back to the wooden frame, a polishing brush in one hand and Arthur's left boot balanced on his knee. It wasn't something he'd ever expected to see again, was it, not after—and he'd made it quite clear, hadn't he, he'd made it clear that Merlin could—? Well, perhaps he hadn't, it wasn't like they had really talked about it much, it wasn't like it was high on anyone's list of priorities when the truth had first come out, but—well—never mind, never mind, he'd set it to rights. "I—I don't mind, you know."

Merlin stared back at him blankly. "Mind?"

"The—erm—" Arthur held up a hand, and rather awkwardly wiggled his fingers. It wasn't anything like the baffling, complex, fluid sorts of motions Merlin did when he was casting spells, but the king was fairly confident it got the point across. "The magic. You can use the magic. To—to polish," he added, just to be absolutely clear. "I thought that's what—I thought that's what you'd—you know."

"Oh." Merlin looked down at the brush in his hands like he hadn't even realized it was there. "All right, then." He shrugged, and he went back to polishing the boots. By hand. With the brush.

Arthur ran out of patience. To be fair, it wasn't something he'd ever had in spades. "Really,Merlin?" He pushed his chair back from the desk, stalked over to the idiot—all crouched on the floor with his long legs tucked up to keep them out of the way—and snatched the half-done boot from his grasp. "For all your incessant whining about chores, I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance."

A small smile flicked at the corners of Merlin's lips. "Well." He made a wide grab for the boot, and missed spectacularly. His abysmal aim, his nonexistent coordination, his complete lack of athleticism—the only things about him that hadn't changed. The reminder that somewhere inside the all-powerful sorcerer who spoke six different languages and cast magic more extraordinary than any High Priestess could ever hope to achieve, somewhere inside Emrys, there was still Merlin.

"I like," Merlin said, softly, "to do it by hand. I'm happy to be your servant," he added, sincerely, not a trace of mockery or mirth in his voice. "Until the day I die." The smile bloomed into full, brilliant being across his face. "It's an honor to serve you, Sire."

It wasn't the first time Merlin had said something like this—of course it wasn't the first time Merlin had said something like this, the man was an absolute girl's petticoat at the best of times, always with the talking, and the feelings, and the heart on his sleeve sort of thing—but this was the first time he had said it with such feeling, and over something so simple. The immortal warlock Emrys called it an honor to clean the mud from his boots, and Arthur had to stop, and swallow hard, before he could speak again.

"You—" say stupid things and mad things and treasonous things and you have magic and two dragons and druids worship you even though you cry when you see baby rabbits and you could rule a kingdom but you want to be a servant, you want to be my servant, you think it's an honor to be my servant— "—are such a girl, Merlin."

And maybe Arthur was a girl, too, because—

—well, because he maybe pulled Merlin into a hug.

[eleiszon-blog]

The Globe-trotting Garland

The alliteration is necessary. Anyway, this one's about Garland Briggs. As detailed in The Secret History of Twin Peaks, thus I have no attendant pictures, Briggs was tapped from the Air Force to assist M.I.B. Douglas Milford in the establishment of Project Blue Book and, more particularly, Listening Post Alpha. He moved his family to Twin Peaks to remain in proximity to LPA, under the official story that the post was part of a governmental defense program. His time in the town was spent well, a popular enough figure with the townspeople. His personal time was somewhat troubled, his classified work tending to estrange his family while he himself grew frustrated and disillusioned with it.

The remainder of this entry depicts the important marks of Major Briggs' journey - before, during and after his season two abduction. Before continuing, this post about the owl cave 'map' is required reading, as it details the nature of time in the Other Place which figures heavily in Briggs' journey. (Note: The previous sentence is a clickable link.) Done? Good. Here we go: 

The first crucial bit we get ala Briggs is his regaling of a vision he had in which he and Bobby embrace at some vast marble estate. He clearly denotes this was a vision, not a mere dream. I believe this vision was of the White Lodge and that Bobby would one day join him there. I also believe that this vision was not a set future but only one such probability (and this is where the entry linked above comes in handy). Finally, I believe that this state - as of Part 17, anyway - cannot come to pass for reasons discussed further below. However, given the reality-shifting events of Part 18, this point is decidedly less concrete. 

Not long after sharing his vision with the boy, Briggs is approached by the Log Lady. Major Briggs received a message, and the log insists that he deliver it. Recall that per this entry regarding the FWWM meeting of the spirits, I consider the log to function as a sort of interdimensional tunnel for Margaret Lanterman’s Lodge-side husband. The log’s messages are from him.

The message Briggs delivers relates to a transmission he received up at Listening Post Alpha. Messages which hint at malevolent spies in winged form, and some mysterious calling for the wayward FBI man. Note: While Briggs reads ‘Cooper’ off three times, the transmission repeats it at least five. There is no explicit connection to the three-Cooper ordeal present in The Return.

Briggs’ next big moment involves a Lodge spirit -- or, at least, the unwitting anchor of one. I do not believe that Droolcup is inhabited in the same manner as Leland or Phillip Gerard. Rather, he is an ‘anchor. His presence is a locking-on point for the Giant to project himself across the dimensional divide. Thus the seed of an idea is planted in Droolcup’s head - flag down a ride - so that the Giant can appear as needed at the Roadhouse.

Next seen out night-fishing with Cooper, Garland says a few words that turn out to be incredibly relevant to impending events (Cooper entering the Black Lodge). Indeed, I believe that this is no coincidence. Major Briggs has visited the Black Lodge before - and bested it. Such is how he knows these details. More than that, I think during one of his prior trips to the Other Place, he has seen Cooper enter the Black Lodge as one of the probability-states of future time.

It is during this very fishing trip that Major Briggs is ‘abducted’. He calls out to Cooper as a figure appears in blinding light. As the light fades, Briggs is nowhere to be found. The figure is discussed further below.

Briggs returns two days later. His nonchalant reaction suggests that this is not his first such ‘abduction’. Betty - whose reaction is also rather casual - asks if everything is alright. Garland’s response tells that it is not. I believe that Garland spent at least some portion of these two days (less in the Other Place) with the Fireman, and he has seen the possibility of Cooper losing himself in the Black Lodge. He is troubled, so much so that his first request is a strong drink.

Briggs is brought in to recount his ‘abduction’ to Dale and Harry. We see it as he recounts it - a giant owl, fire, a void. We are shown an image of him seated upon a stone chair, surrounded by lush greenery. I believe that this is the White Lodge proper, albeit only a fragment of it given that Briggs’ recollection is shrouded.

The man examining Briggs during this recount takes note of a strange marking behind the ear. This mark is the symbol of Choronzon, a Thelemic (that’s Aleister Crowley’s thing, heavily featured in The Secret History) entity regarded as the “dweller in the abyss” or as Hawk’s people call it, “the Dweller on the Threshold”. I believe that this mark was indeed placed by Choronzon. Aleister Crowley described Choronzon as a ‘meaningless but malignant’ thing which ‘craves to become real’ which certainly seems to describe a doppelganger (’meaningless’ insofar as it is only a reflection of pieces of a true entity) -- Mr. C. Mr. Cooper, sure but Choronzon also begins with a C. Choronzon, the Dweller, each individual’s doppelganger. They are all the same. They are the faceless malice of the Abyss. Briggs’ abduction, absent the direct portal such as Andy and Freddie use, skirted him past that place again and got him marked.

At last, Garland reveals that his superiors are searching for the White Lodge. Though he himself has been there, I believe, he says ‘we’ in a collective sense as of a unit. Military mind. He also suggests that his superiors hold an ill motive. Indeed, they revoke his security clearance and barge in to sweep him away almost as soon as he says the words ‘White Lodge’.

He expresses belief that he was taken to the White Lodge and recalls nothing. Yet, he senses a great trouble ahead. What he senses - what he was shown during his time away, the things that he informs Betty are ‘not exactly’ all right - is the imprisonment which Dale will soon face. Again -- He observed this as only one among many probabilities. Yet he worries for it may become reality in time.

Some time later, the Log Lady presents a marking of her own. Twin peaks. As we learn explicitly in The Secret History, Margaret was ‘abducted’ as a child. Her mark, as his, I believe was placed by the Dweller. The purpose of both marks becomes clear in time: They will bring Dale to the Black Lodge.

And indeed, it doesn’t take long for Dale to merge the marks. Notably, he doubles the triangles of Briggs’ mark to do so. Wordplay about twin peaks (double triangles) aside, I believe it was his unique sort of ‘intuition’ that led him to this. This merged symbol will be recognized by Annie Blackburn. She will direct him to Owl Cave, the petroglyph, and ultimately the Black Lodge.

Briggs sees the petroglyph drawn up on a chalkboard. He states that he has seen it...Or dreamed it. This shot transitions with a silhouette of the figure seen during his abduction. He visited the petroglyph in a manner of vision-dream, ala Cooper’s first visit to the Waiting Room. A thing dreamed but which somehow also actually happened. The dream-reality divide is fuzzy in the Other Place. The figure at Garland’s abduction is explicitly connected to these events.

Our next point comes as Briggs discusses his familiarity with Windom Earle. As I have noted before, I interpret that Windom was at some point in his unseen past inhabited by BOB - or otherwise contacted by him, anyway. BOB displays knowledge of attacks carried out by Windom, while Dale describes a feeling of ‘ancient evil’ during Windom’s attack on him. His use of haliperidol, the very drug Phillip Gerard used to keep MIKE at bay What’s more, Briggs’ description of Windom’s behavior definitely sounds like he was guarding something. His very presence in Twin Peaks speaks to a prior knowledge of the gateway in the woods. His description by Briggs all but confirms it. All he needed was a key.

Later, Briggs wanders in the woods to clear his head. He encounters Windom here - woe to those who behold the pale horse - in his infamous costume, and is tranquilized for capture.

Interrogated at Windom’s cabin, Briggs describes the scene of his abduction. The light, the guardian...He calls it a guardian. Protective connotation. And now we can talk about it: It is my view that, upon besting the Dweller, it transmuted into a guardian figure -- sort of an opposite-doppelganger, benevolent instead of malicious, shrouded and indistinct (cloaked) instead of a reflection. It operates, indeed, as a guardian. It brought Briggs to the Fortress to show him the possible paths in time, it gave him the vision of Bobby and himself, and the ‘dream’ of the petroglyph. It gave, in short, information to serve him well.

Escaped from Windom later, Briggs is interrogated now by Dale and company. Under influence of the drugs, his words seem gibberish yet are merely cryptic in the manner of the Other Place. Notably, he references ‘the king of Romania’. Michael was a king of Romania. He speaks of MIKE. Apparently, MIKE was unable to join him in the Fireman’s company. This is obviously due to MIKE being a Black Lodge entity, though Garland’s reference of him makes it clear that MIKE’s allegiance is at least shifted.

During this same interrogation, Briggs offers up the key that Windom needed - and which he got, thanks to bugging that room. Fear opens the Black Lodge. Annie’s fear -- and for Cooper, his own fear that Annie is lost.

Well after Cooper enters the Lodge, Briggs receives a message from Sarah Palmer. At least, Sarah Palmer’s mouth puppeted by some other entity. It would seem to be an attempt by Windom to lure his former ally into the Lodge. He did not take the bait but, despite this caution, he would meet trouble regardless.

Here is where The Secret History picks up Briggs’ story again. Debriefed by Douglas Milford, Garland came to believe that Dale was his intended new partner in their ‘classified’ work. Upon meeting with Dale after the events of season two, Garland grew distraught - I believe that something in Mr. C’s behavior alerted him that the ‘not all right’ future observed during his abduction had come to pass - and he excused himself. Immediately setting out to launch a MAYDAY signal, Briggs ‘died’ in a fire. While I once opined that Mr. C had torched him, I now believe this death was a ruse. Briggs went into hiding that day -- and here is where we get into The Return. Twenty-five years later in a place called Buckhorn, a body is found decapitated and staged with the severed head of Ruth Davenport. The body is identified as that of Garland Briggs.

Cooper witnesses the head of Garland Briggs drift by in the Void. It says to him ‘Blue Rose’. I believe this is one of those events occurring, as many do via the Other Place, out of linear time. This is the very tail end of Bill Hastings’ own encounter with the Major though Bill did not receive this particular utterance.

Apparently, wherever Briggs snuck off to, his prints have been located around the country (world?) sixteen times in the twenty-five years since he last met with ‘Cooper’. I believe he has been making occasional trips back to Earth for one purpose or another - perhaps even just laying this trail of bread crumbs - in preparation for the worst-case scenario of BOB loose with Mr. C. 

Bobby, Hawk and company visit Betty Briggs where she delivers a small device which she claims Briggs told her to hand over when they one day came asking about Dale Cooper. She tells Bobby that his father never lost faith in how his life would turn out. I believe Briggs ‘knew’ because like other events, he ‘saw’ this probability in the Other Place and simply trusted it would win out.

When Gordon and Albert finally latch onto the trail that Garland left, they discover that his body is of a fourty-year-old man who died within the last week. This is true. Briggs merely faked his fiery death those years ago and vanished. This is his actual body - ejected back to Earth upon its actual, recent death. 

A ring is found in the corpse’s stomach. A ring belonging to the tulpa Dougie Jones - now a fractured Dale Cooper - from his wife Janey. Major Briggs returned to Earth at some point to abscond with this ring. This was likely one of the previous hits on his prints. Foreseeing the possibility of his own demise, after having already faked it in the fire, he stole and swallowed the ring as yet another ‘bread crumb’ -- to lead the Blue Rose task force to Dougie Jones.

This is the thing Garland left in Betty’s care to be delivered to Bobby. It offers times, dates, instructions...All things I think Briggs gathered while observing future probabilities during his season two abduction. He has been in preparation for the worst case ever since.

Elsewhere, interrogating Bill Hastings, Cole and Preston learn that he met the Major in a place he called ‘the Zone’. Hastings identifies the Major in a photo and recounts the event: How he had been hibernating, needed coordinates, they were attacked. Briggs has been in the Void, ‘hibernating’ - his energies dispersed, yet able to re-coalesce - but now the Void is no longer safe. He needs coordinates to access the Jackrabbit’s Palace portal from within the Void. After Bill and Ruth deliver these coordinates, the three are attacked by Woodsmen. They demand to know about Bill’s wife - Phyllis, who is later pressed into allegiance with Mr. C, likely by aid of these Woodsmen. Ruth is killed. Briggs is decapitated.

While Briggs’ body is ejected to Earth to be found by officers there, his head retains his spirit and accesses the coordinates. He drifts off to the Fortress whispering Cooper’s name, and it is during this point that Cooper sees him speak ‘Blue Rose’ into the Void.

Our last glimpse of Garland Briggs. He floats as a severed head in the Theatre, a witness to Mr. C’s arrival. On account of his fractured state - the decapitation by Woodsmen - he cannot access the White Lodge itself anymore. Like MIKE, his spirit-self has been fragmented but, unlike MIKE, he can at least dwell in the Theatre. His vision of reuniting with Bobby is nothing now - but he can still watch Bobby upon the screen. And, if Cooper’s meddlings ala Part 18 are not too extreme, he may yet salvage that White Lodge reunion with his son. 

[kaitymccoy123]

Upside Down (part 3)

Intro: In the last one I ended with a twist, and you are all worried about Scotty.  Here is that worry in the reader.  

A little bit of angst in this one, a love letter, a lot of worry.  

Pairing: Scotty x reader (and best friend!Jim Kirk)

Word Count: 1,938 

Warnings: totally 100% fake engineering everything, (I was too lazy to actually come up with proper terms so I just made up words), eventual injury, swears.

Summary: The starting point for this fic was Scotty x reader who loves engineering as much as he does.  So that’s where I went with this fic.  You are second-in-command engineer and Scotty one day ends up being in charge, much to your chagrin.  You butt heads.  Scotty gets hurt.  Feelings get hurt (mostly my own).  Welcome to my trashcan.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

-Enjoy!-

On your shift the day after you had stayed up far too late with Scotty, you were informed that he would be going on an away mission to assist in repairing a ship, and you were to stay behind and be the acting chief of engineering. 

"Not that I don't basically run this ship on my own anyway." You snorted to yourself as you snapped your com shut, thinking that if Scotty was here he would have shook his head and gave you one of his teasing smiles.  

Thinking of that put a smile on your face as you began your shift, excited to be in charge.  

The next two days left you less excited to be in charge, as you quickly missed Scotty's witty banter and your heated debates about the details of the ship.  

You were lounging around Scotty's workbench on the third day that he was gone, the ship running smoothly, and you had everyone kept busy making sure it stayed that way.  

Then, out of the corner of your eye, a piece of paper, tucked into the drawer of the very messy workstation.  But that wasn't what caught your attention, it was your name, written in the corner of the paper in Scotty's barely legible script.  You couldn't help your curiosity as you reached for it, quickly glancing around the room, as if Scotty was going to suddenly show up and berate you for snooping.  

The paper itself looked like it had been through the washing machine, crumpled and stained, maybe at on point a page of a note book, torn out.  The words were written in pencil, and you were right, it was your name written in the corner.  

Dear Y/N,

You are one of the most infuriating, stubborn, quick-witted people I have ever met.  I don't know how we made it through the first week of working together.  I thought one of us was going to kill the other. 

But once you got your head out of your ass.  Once we started to get along, we were actually able to work together, and were finally able to put both of our big brains together and get stuff done.  

You snorted as you read on:

And I'm sorry for yelling at you.  I know I already told you that, but I really am.  I am especially sorry for dismissing you that first week.  I know you probably don't care that much but I regret pulling rank and turning on you like that.  I just couldn't stand you looking at me with such hatred and contempt, like I was just some stiff old guy that was getting in your way. It nearly killed me.  

Because if you looked at me like that, I would never stand a chance.  

Because I am enthralled by you.  

You stopped breathing. 

Which is why I am writing all this stuff down rather than saying it to your face. But you'll never read this because I would probably die of embarrassment. Because when I look at you, my brain goes haywire.  I lose all ability to coherently form a sentence.  Maybe that's why I tease you so much, because anything else would come out as gibberish and you would think me a mad old fool.

It scares me, the way I feel about you, it makes me want to turn and run. Because I don't deserve someone as fierce and intelligent and beautiful as you.  But sometimes, the way you smile at me, it gives me hope, like you might harbour feelings for me too, but it's only fleeting, and the next moment you are yelling at me or teasing me or nearly zapping me with a live wire. 

So, if you ever do read this, just know that I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you.  And every moment since.  

Yours, Montgomery

You were an idiot.

The overhead com system sounded: Dr. McCoy to the medbay, immediately.

Your heart dropped in your chest. For some reason you knew exactly what the call was for.  And you were on your feet and dashing down the hallway before you could stop yourself, stuffing the letter into your pocket. 

Skidding into the medbay, you were met with a cacophony of chaos, people running around everywhere, yelling, and machines were beeping and you could see flashes of injuries from the people lying on the biobeds.  Your heart was racing in your chest as you looked for, and dreading finding, the familiar red shirt and whispy brown hair that belonged to Scotty.  

A biobed slammed into your elbow and careened by, being pushed by a group of nurses, the red shirt making you take a second look, but it wasn't Scotty.  

Suddenly, a flash of familiar command gold appeared in the medbay and you stalked right up to him. 

"Jim, what happened?" You demanded almost breathlessly. 

"Away mission gone wrong, the building that they were in was invaded, there were a lot of... casualties." Jim explained, his eyes barely meeting yours and he began to stalk past you but you grabbed his arm. 

"Scotty." You dug your fingers into his arm and he looked back at you, recognizing the look of desperation,  "where's Scotty?"

He looked at you with sympathy, "We'll find him, Y/N.  I promise."

And then he was gone, into the chaos, and you were left frozen in the middle of it, feeling more alone, more helpless, than you had ever felt before.  

When you realized you were more in the way than anything in the medbay, you retreated back to the engineering room, pulling the letter out of your pocket and reading it over and over, your trembling fingers nearly tearing the worn paper.  You fought an internal battle with yourself, forcing yourself not to cry because if you did, you were going to turn into a sniveling mess, no use to anyone, and you were supposed to be in charge.  

But worry made ice flow through your veins and you couldn't focus on anything, even when Keenser came by and tugged on your sleeve.  

When your com beeped, you swear you took a breath for the first time in 20 minutes.  

"Y/N here." You trembled.

"We found him." It was Jim's voice, and though you should be elated at his words, his somber tone made fresh tears prick at your eyes. 

"I'll be right there." 

Snapping the com shut, you forced your stiff limbs to move from their perched position on the stool and you made your way to the medbay for the second time that day.  

"What happened?" You squeaked when you were met with an impenetrable wall of Jim Kirk on your way into the medbay. 

"We don't know 100%.  He lost a lot of blood.  Bones is working on him now." Jim explained. 

"Is he going to be okay?" You stammered, a tear sneaking its way down your cheek and you wiped it away quickly.  

Jim met your gaze firmly, his hand squeezing your forearm once, "They don't know yet." His voice was quiet, and you knew he was worried as well. 

"He has to be okay, Jim." You whispered, pleading with the somber captain.  

And then a change in Jim's expression, barely noticable, a raise in an eyebrow, his mouth falling open a millimeter more, and it was like he knew.  The expression was a mirror and made you realize you cared for Scotty much more than you'd like to admit.  More than you even realized.  

Jim gave you a knowing nod and placed his hand on your shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before he disappeared out the medbay doors.  

And once again you were alone.  And once again you didn't know if your heart was going to be ripped out of your chest. 

Eventually they let you in to see him, after Dr. McCoy had deemed him stable enough. 

It was nearly a week after the accident, and you had been forced back to the engineering room, trying to keep the ship afloat while you felt like you were drowning.  You didn't know if you'd ever felt so worried in your entire life, to the point where you were questioning if you should even be worried, as you had only known Scotty for a few weeks before the accident.  

But it was like a disease, like he had become implanted into your brain, and you heard him and saw him wherever you went.  If you were fixing something, you knew exactly how he would tell you you were doing it wrong.  If you were lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling in an feeble attempt to sleep, you heard his laugh or the lilt of his accent, shooting back a sarcastic comment at something you said.

Dr. McCoy threatened to keep you in the medbay as a patient, commenting on how often you were in there, checking up on Scotty, but you knew he noticed your dark rimmed eyes and the few pounds you'd shed at the lack of appetite.  

Then, one day, he agreed it was time you could go in.  Your breath instantly caught in your chest and you nearly cried at the relief of being able to see Scotty after a week of torture.  

He looked awful.  

He was tucked into the biobed, the white sheets accentuating just how grey his skin looked, how dark the circles were under his eyes.  There was a bandage over a cut on his forehead, and a splint on his left wrist, a machine hovering over it that you recognized as a bone regenerator.  Another, similar machine was working on his right leg, which was wrapped in a thick white bandage.  He had many wires and tubes coming out of him that were connected to several machines, including one that was down his throat, which you recognized as a ventilator.  

"He's getting better, despite what he looks like." Dr. McCoy's gentle voice sounded from behind you, and he stepped into the room.

"He looks like crap." You let out a watery laugh, finally letting the tears that you had held in for so long find their way down your cheeks.  

"Yeah well, he's a fighter." A strong hand came down on your shoulder, making you release a little sob, "He's going to be fine, Y/N." Dr. McCoy's thumb stroked lines into your shoulder.

"Yeah, kid, you worry too much." A new voice sounded and a flash of command gold came into view.  Jim.

When he saw your tear-stained face he offered a weak smile before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you, Dr. McCoy's hand falling away as you nearly fell into Jim's embrace, finally letting yourself feel all the emotions you kept at bay the entire week.

Jim held you for what felt like hours, stroking your back and whispering soft encouragements into your ear.  

"That stupid idiot, coming into my engineering room, turning everything upside down, and then going and nearly getting himself killed." You griped, taking shaky breaths from your spot against Jim's chest.

"I don't think the engineering room is the only thing he's turned upside down." Jim noted as he pushed you away, tucking a few locks of hair behind your ear before tapping your chin with his finger. 

Looking up at Jim, he gave you a soft mischievous smile, and it made you blush, "Shut up." You sniffed and pushed him away playfully, making him laugh softly. 

Then you turned to Scotty, approaching him achingly, but you didn't cry anymore, he was alive.  

You reached out and grabbed Scotty's hand, stroking your thumb over the warm skin, watching the way his chest rose and fell in even breaths thanks to the ventilator.  

Dr. McCoy said he was getting better, it would just take some time.  And you realized, for Montgomery Scott, you had all the time in the world. 

-Thanks for reading!  I hope you liked it!-

I don’t know why I keep writing Scotty writing love letters to people, but I just feel like he wouldn’t be able to vocalize his feelings well (or just spit them out all at once) so he would want to write them down. 

-Permanent tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @feelmyroarrrr @jefferson-in-the-tardis@anyakinamidala@digitalmoonhowell @trekken81@fandomheadrush@kirkaholic123 @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @pinkamour1588 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @starmission @curiosity-killed-the-speedster

Upside Down Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged in the series): @whatif-animagineblog @secondsandstars @youre-on-a-starship @gracieminabox @fanscribbling @zaczytanka-fangirl @phanofmanythings @newhappiness430 @pokeharvest @texasblues @space-jims @rampant-salamander @tangle-of-ivy @webhoard @happylilprompts 

[drink-n-watch]

Genre : Josei, Horror, Mystery, Psychological Thriller

Studio: J.C.Staff

Full disclosure, it’s Friday evening. I started a new visual novel last night and I just can not wait to finish this post so I can slip on my soft onsie, pour myself a glass of wine, and dive right back into it. That shouldn’t affect the quality of this post…no not at all. In case you’re wondering, said visual novel is definitely not Angels of Death

sorry Danny, I still like you but I really can’t say why

I’ve been saying for a while now that for me, the merits of this show will be decided in the final episode. And decided they were… I’ve been playing it close to the vest so you probably have no clue where as stand on the issue right now but read on. I’ll tell you all about it!

Angels of Death decided to start us off on this ultimate episode with this huge exchange between the Doctor and the Priest. They have names but you know what, let’s just go with this. My first thought was “oh no you guys, that’s the characters we don’t want to see”. My second thought was: Boy that’s a lot of exposition this ate in the game…

and WHAT have you done???

This entire scene was just one big mess of nonsense cuckoo exposition and not the fun type. The (see title) type. In fact, instead of going on about how bad this was, I’m going to share with you a completely different and unrelated bit of nonsense prose. I learned this in grade school to learn English and because it rhymes I still remember it:

And is it true? It is not True. And if it were it wouldn’t do, For people such as me and you Who pretty nearly all day long Are doing something rather wrong. Because if things were really so, You would have perished long ago, And I would not have lived to write The noble lines that meet your sight.

There, not only do i honestly believe you just had more fun reading that, than you would have watching that first act, but I also think you learned as much about the plot of Angels of Death.

The last thing I thought about this scene was whelp…they’re dead…again…

no Zack, you’re suppose to make sense

Against my expectations, and all the plot insinuations, Zack and Rachel just waltz out of the building in what appears to be the “real world”. Cops and fire engines all surrounding the place. A whole bunch of bystanders just waiting around. Why is everyone there? Who called the cops…. Ok maybe the noise of the autodestruct attracted a few people but the scene looked like it had been a long drawn out hostage situation r something. I dunno… Nywho, Zack gets arrested and Rachel is sent to a ward. Both reasonable outcomes.

From there, we see a series of interviews with various people catching us up on the events that happen in the aftermath. Nothing we don’t know. The detective on the case tells us that Zack confessed to a series of murders but not to killing Rachel’s parents or kidnapping her. The psychiatrist caring for Rachel calls her inexpressive (oh man, thank goodness someone brought that up. I wouldn’t have noticed…) They still consider Rachel a poor traumatized little girl.

is that your official diagnostic?

Although I liked the structure of these scenes and the interviews was a decent storytelling device, we unfortunately didn’t learn anything at all. Once more it was a lot of exposition but it didn’t even convey information. I did appreciate the outdoor scenes with fluttering autumn leaves. It was a colour palette we hadn’t seen in the series so far. But other than that I was at a loss. Mysteries are fun only if there’s a least a chance to solve them. 

We still have no clue what that place was or why it seemed somewhat impervius to physics. There’s no explanation or even mention of the other characters. Maybe Sackboy and Cathy were just plain old psychos but Danny was definitely some type of Highlander and the Padre secreted hallucinogene gas. That’s not an everyday thing. You should talk about that… I couldn’t help but think (see title).

you couldn’t have told me sooner?

Completely overtop and unexplained absurdist elements are fine in a story that is essentially surreal. Recently I watched Zvezda that also has a lot of unexplained crazy things going on but the narrative structure and basic plot progression works quite well with that. Angels of Death establishes itself as a fairly serious thriller mystery. Figuring out the puzzle is what keeps the audience engaged, if the plot spirals into gibberish, there’s little point to it.

And after all that, we don’t even get the benefit of proper closure. After days/weeks/months(?) in the asylum, Rachel is slowly losing it. I was going to say losing hope but I realized that wasn’t the right word and I couldn’t find one that fit with what I wanted to say. In any case, despite her shrink’s assertions to the contrary, she seems to have regressed back to the Rachel of the first episodes.

When she hears that Zack’s been sentenced to death, she can’t seem to even muster a reaction. If the show had been better written and more consistent with it’s characterization, this would in fact have been a heartbreaking moment as the little bit of (admittedly very twisted) humanity that Rachel had managed to scrape together throughout the season, had now obviously seeped out of her once more. As i is though, I just shrugged along with her.

I know right!

The grand finale showed us – Spoilers(?)- Zack breaking into her room through the window, having escaped jail somehow. They have a little completely barney chat about murdering each other and promises. I was all like (see title), don’t you have bigger issues right now… The police are swarming the hospital/asylum, I don’t even know. The Zack picks up Rachel princess style and the Jump out the window…fade to black. Really…They pulled a Sopranos on us. I don’t know who you think you are, show, but you are definitely NOT the Sopranos. Fun fact…I never saw the Sopranos yet I 100% stand behind this statement.

Since my brain refused to process what had just happened, I waited until the very end, convinced that an after credits tag would give me a something…anything… but nope. We got a still shot of the knife. Goodby Mr. knife, you’re no Ikea lamp…

In conclusion, I leave you with the words of Inspector uy who’s name I don’t remember: “The only answer I have for you is I don’t know…”  and also: dafuq?

just clap if you believe! didn’t that scynth get broken? Why did her nightgown suddenly get so long…it was knee length… I give up

Here’s a little gallery for you. I have snarky comments for almost all of these…

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Angels of Death ep 16 – Dafuq Genre : Josei, Horror, Mystery, Psychological Thriller Studio: J.C.Staff Full disclosure, it's Friday evening. I started a new visual novel last night and I just…

[weikianditsmercuryreveries]

Saint Mary

Mary had a little lamb. She lived in the village that is far, far away from the city. One day, she saw a flyer in her mailbox. It was the annual holiday parade. It happened at a random day of November every year since the year 2000, thousands of people gather in downtown to watch this grand event. Mary got a cousin in her house, who cried when facing even the smallest difficulties. It was annoying to say the very least. It got to a point where she could hear her cousin's sobs in her dream. So this flyer was like the saving grace that flooded upon her by the almighty god. She immediately ran to her mother's room to ask for permission to go to the parade. Her mother shrugged it off, told her not to go because "horrible things will happen to you and you may never ever want to leave the village again". Of course, Mary disagreed, and she insisted. Her mother couldn't stop her from going, so she told her that she was allowed to go to the parade, so long as she will bring her lamb with her. She nods and made a scream of joy in her brain. But, bringing a lamb to the city is easier said than done. She went to the city hall, which located right at the edge of the village right outside of the city, but something more important is the fact that it was far, far away from Mary's house. Mary couldn't get her parents to drive her, so she got there by taking a three hours long bus drive with no seats available since almost all the people in the village want to leave the village and head to the city. But she still managed to get to the city hall. "You can't bring a lamb to the city's parade. " said the mayor, an old white man sat behind an enormous desk which had at least dozens of renaissance art miniatures on it. "Why? " Mary desperately asked, "My lamb is my friend! He is one of the most important people to me!" "Well. Here are the reasons. You are not 18 yet, so right off the bat, you shouldn't be allowed to go to the city by yourself anyway. Second, we don't know if the lamb healthy or not. Bringing a farm animal to a crowded place is an extremely dangerous move, due to the fact that it may carry decease. It will cause a public health crisis if the goat you bring is not healthy. " "He is a lamb! Not a goat!" Mary yelled in anger, "He is healthy! He ate grass every day, lives a happy life, smiles all the time, and is extremely cute! How dare you tell me that he may carry decease!" "Well, I wouldn't consider it healthy... or cute... it is crying." "Silently. I like that. " Mary said. After a long awkward pause, the mayor finally broke the silence: "Fine, you get to bring your lamb to the city." "Huh-ray!" "But... I don't think you should celebrate yet... we need you to get your lamb fully immune. So you need to get it to take some immunization shot... and a TB test to make sure it doesn't carry... and even you took the shot and pass the test, you still can't enter the city any earlier than four weeks before the parade... "Ok! Ok! Ok! " Mary cut him off before he finished his sentences, "the parade is like one month or so from now! So if I deal with all of this now! I can still do it! I will get on that right now! Where shall I go? Where can I get all those shot?" "Uh... the health center located at the center of the city..." "Ok! I will go right away." Then, she rushed right out the door. The entrance of the city located at the bottom of a mountain, for some unknown reason. It is a giant black metallic doorway, which reminds Mary of those old monster movies she watched when she was still in the crib. There was a long line in front of the doorway, like a long, long line. Mary stood at the end of this line, feeling like her soul is leaving her body. She looked down, her lamb stood beside her, slowly chewing the grasses he discovered in the crack of the concrete floor in front of the city hall, with that innocent cut smile of his on his face. She lowered her body, kissed the lamb on the forehead. After exactly one eternity, she finally reached the end of the line. There was exactly one inspector sitting in a cage like a cubicle, it was a fifty-something years old white women who had a head of blond hair that looked so dirty, they make every person that has the luck of witnessing it wanted to puke their guts out. "Paper please." "Here." She handed in her passport or whatever the heck those adults called them. "Okay... female... paid taxes... about to go to college... a failed college... questionable mental state... okay, where is your goat's paper?" "I don't have any." Mary answered, "I am going to the city health center to get all the documents required for my lamb to get into the city." "Well... I can't let you in, because, without documents, I can't let you go into the city with your so-called lamb... it is a goat, an ugly, pathetic goat." "He is not a goat! Ms! He is a lamb!" "God forbid him! " she said the word "him" with an extremely exaggerated tone, "to get a haircut or something... well trimming its fur... it looks awful! And it is crying!" "Just let me get into the city! I will get him the document needed!" "Yeah I know... but you need documents for your lamb to enter the city." "I am getting those documents! But I have to get my lamb to the city to get immunization shot!" "Yeah, I know." "Then let me in!" "I can't, you need proper papers for your lamb." "Okay then, how can I get my lamb into the city." "Getting the proper paper and the immunization shots." "Where can I get those." "Health center located in the center city." "Okay then, let me through." "You need proper paper." City hall, the mayor's office. "You god darn liar!" Mary barge into his office, pointing right at mayor's nose, "I can't get into the city to get my lamb shot! Because I can't get in the city!" "Yeah, I know." Mayor said nonchalantly, "I know." "I waited for like ten thousand to get to the inspector and now I am here!" "Yeah, I know, you need a proper paper that is signed by me to get into the city without proper immunization shot." "Okay then, make that proper paper then. Sign it." "I can sign it... but the document also needs one of your parents to sign it." "My parent is back in the village." "Get them here." "It was like a three hour of bus drives." "Okay. So?" When she got back home, she told her parent about it. Her mother handed her a stamper which had her name on it. "Can't you just come with me?" She begged. "No, you have to solve your own problem. You are becoming an adult, you have to be independent from now on." "But I don't want to get on that bus anymore... they are scaring my lamb." "Well... your lamb is crying." The next day. She stepped on that bus again, with her lamb. Not surprisingly, the bus is full. There were barely spaces for people to stand around let along a seat. She also saw a naked man smoking weed at the back of the bus, but that is nothing compared to a fat guy watching some weird Asian music video at the front of the bus. That man was so enormous, that half of the bus was filled by his flesh and greasy skins. City hall. "Well did you get your parent to come here?" Mayor asked. "No! But I got their stamper! Now I have their signature now! Give me the document! Where should my parent sign?" Mayor put out a sheet of paper full of gibberish, "here... here... and here... Nah uh... here... yeah uh... here... yeah that is it. You just need to hand this document to the inspector, then you can get your lamb into the city." The doorway was smiling upon the long line of people waiting to get into the city. After two eternity, Mary reached the end of the line again. "Hi, where is your proper paper." It was a different inspector. It was a little Asian boy who just got into college recently judging by the fact that the acnes on his face could drown a mosquito. "Hi..." Mary raised her eyebrows, "I need to get into the city to get my lamb shots." "Okay, can I see your lamb?" "Here." She pointed at her lamb who was standing right beside her, chewing dirt this time. "Okay... you can go now." "What?" "Yeah. You can go to the health center now." "But I have this document from the mayor..." "For what?" "For me to get into the city..." "Well, go ahead. What the document for?" I want to strangle myself. Mary thought. Health center. It was white, and grey, and drab, and silvery. Tons of people sitting in front of one room, all the benches were filled, even the floor was full of people with their animal. Mary was about to walk in but immediately stopped by an unbearable scream. "Get a number and wait in the line!" An old white woman shouted at the tour of her lungs. "Okay... where can I get a number?" Mary asked. "Over there at the slotted machine." Mary walked to the slotted machine, after a huge noise, a paper popped out with a number on it. "027." Mary read it out loud, "what number are they calling now?" "656." The old woman answered. "What?" Mary shouted this time, she couldn't keep her cool anymore, "how the heck can I wait so god darn long of a line? I will be too old to walk before I get to my turn!" "Well, you can ask for an emergency meeting, which can help you save some time." "Okay then, I am asking for an emergency meeting." "What is your emergency." "I have to get my lamb shot so he can go to the city parade." "That doesn't sound like an emergency." "Well, can you just give me the emergency meeting?" "Okay then, you need to get a number." "A number of what?" "Number of the line that wanting to ask for an emergency meeting." "Okay, give me the number." "Go to the slotted machine yourself." "What is the number right now? That emergency meeting line?" "001." "Okay, so not much people right?" "Your number will be like 691 or something." "SO HOW CAN YOU CALL THAT A EMERGENCY MEETING?” There was a boy sitting right in front of the room, with two head. He was playing a guitar, a broken one. Mary walked to him with her lamb, watching him with her curious eyes. "You are good at it." Mary made a compliment. "I love a happy ending. But I never get one." The boy replied, "I always look at my friends with a lustful eye. I want to hug every one of them to death, with their stupid face, I could hose them down with my fire and fury..." "I am so sorry!"A women come near, "I am so sorry miss, I should have kept him close to me, I hope he didn't cause any trouble for you." "No, not at all." Mary answered, "he played some good guitar... well for a broken guitar at least." "He should have played the piano." The women whispered, "what a disgraceful bastard." "Are you coming here to get your pet immunization shot?" A man came near Mary and asked. "Yeah, my lamb." She smiled and replied, her lamb made a smooth relaxed noise. "Oh, that is good. Me and Mr. Robinson waited here for like four hours already." He referred to the rabbit that was sitting in front of his chest. "Oh, the rabbit's name is Mr. Robinson?" "Yeah. I have to go get him a psychosis prevention shot. He killed my sister with a trumpet last month." The rabbit turned its gaze at Mary. After a long pause, it made a slight but visible smirk. Looking straight at Mary. "Well, are you coming here to get your lamb immunization shot?" The Doctor in the room asked. Mary had waited for her entire life, and now finally he got to walk into this room. "Yeah." She answered. "Okay, we just need your parent to sign here... here... and here... Nah uh... here... yeah uh... here... yeah that is it." "Why do I need my parent to sign?" "You are not adults yet." "Well yeah... but they are still in the village! That like a three hours and more bus drive!" "Well.... too bad... you just have to get your parent here. We can't give you your immunization shot until your parents are here." "But... I need to get to the parade... there is like one month left for me!" "Well! You can still do your TB screening first." "Yeah yeah yeah! Do that! I will call my parent to come tomorrow! Just finish the TB screening first!" "Okay, but you need to answer some question for me." "No problem." "Okay... have you been to places with elevated TB risk?" "Which is?" "Including any place besides the city." "Well then... yeah... I live in the village." "Okay then. Do you know that even you and your lamb take the shot, you still can't enter the city four weeks before the parade." "Yeah, I know." "I have to inform you that, you can't take a TB test right now." "What? Why?" "Because they might be a false pass.. you should take the test eight weeks after you left any place with elevated TB risk." "Don't you think there is.... a little bit of... wrong?" "What does that mean?" "I can't enter the city four weeks before the parade... I have to take the test before the parade starts... I have to enter the city to take the test but I can't take the test before eight weeks I left a place with elevated TB risk which includes every place beside the city..." "That sounds good to me." "It is numerically impossible for me to take a test before the parade start! Where do I get the extra four weeks? Pulling it out of my ass? It is impossible! Eight weeks against four weeks!" "Well, so?" Midnight, the village. "Didn't I told you those horrible things will happen?" Her mom sat at the edge of the bed, sewing a sweater while talking, "I did tell you that right?" Mary stood in front of the door, looking like a homeless man. Her shirt was broken apart, dirt all over her body, with the looks on her face that can only be seen on a depressed angsty teenager's fade. The lamb stood beside her, looking just as nice as ever. "You lamb is crying... and you don't look too well." "Just... just stop..." "Tell me what happened." After she led her lamb back into its own room, its room located at the attic of their house, then she sat at the dinner table, while her mother was making a delicious classic British fish pie. She told her everything that happened. "I mean! This is absolutely insane! I have no chance to get into the city!" Her face turned red, facial expressions compressed into a pile of anger's physical form, "I can't get my lamb into the city to see the parade. If you would come with me at the first time none of this will happen!" "Don't you find something... funny?" Her mom replied. "What?" "If you got that document... which allowed you to go into the city without proper immunization shot... why not just... you know... go to the parade?" "Well... because! You need immunization shot and TB test to get into the city! The mayor signs me that document so I can get into the city without taking those test or shots so that I can go into the city and take the immunization..." she stopped. "Yeah." Her mom looked at her, "Chew on that for a second." Silence. "Wuwaaaah!" The sound of a crying child started is her cousin, it grows more and more desperate, "my toy! My Thomas the engine! Give me back! GIVE ME BACK! WUWAHHHHHHHHH." "He...hahahahahaha..." a laughter came out, it became more and more hysterical and more and more intense within seconds. "Are you okay?" Her mom asked. "Yeah! Of course, I am! Why would I be not okay?" Mary said with a smile. "I don't know." "I am gonna get my lamb shots now." "I thought the health center does not open during midnight." She went off without making a sound. She went to her father's bedroom, then his drawer dragged out a giant wooden box. Laid in it, was a double barrel shotgun. She pulled it out, then went straight to her lamb's room. Her lamb was still eating grasses. It saw Mary came in, happiness can be seen right on its face with that big innocent smile of its. "WAHWAAAAAAAAH!" Her cousin's hysterical sobbing can still be heard even in the attic. "Stop crying." She looked at her lamb, "Go right to damn hell, you piece of degenerate fuck." She pointed her shotgun right at its head.

[onewithoutcontext-blog]

Let’s loqui code-switching

“Excuse me Mr Blogger person but . . . What?”

You there! my Dearest Reader.  Welcome to our little discussion about Code-Switching. Now you might be a little confused with the title of this post. If not, I want to congratulate you on being a smart cookie. But if you didn’t understand you might be asking yourself questions like:

What does the phrase “Code-switching” mean?

Loqui? Is that even a word?!

Your perspective huh? So you’re basically going to be telling me how you feel about something and how you experience it compared to the perspective of others?

And the answers to those questions would be:

Code-switching is when a speaker switches between two or more languages within the same conversation or sentence. Inserting sentences or words into proper context and making sure that what they say still makes sense.

Loqui means “talk about” in Latin and yes. That was me trying to be clever, but it’s also a good way to explain what code-switching (or code-mixing) is.

Correct! Couldn’t have explained it better myself.

“Oh, now I get it!”

Good to hear it! let’s movere(move on) shall we? – I promise I’m done.

We’ll be talking about code-switching from the perspective of an up and coming blogging youthster(Me) who lives in a country(Iceland) where most people, including me, are very proud of the native language(Icelandic) and where the matters of its future in the global age(Now) have been in local discussion a fair bit in the recent years.

Let me tell you a little bit about code-switching Dearest Reader

Code-switching is probably something you’ve experienced or participated in doing before in your life. It’s more common in countries that don’t have one of those widespread global mega languages such as English or Russian. This is especially common nowadays where things like:

The world-wide broadcasting of media.

Immigration & international commuting.

Improved quality of education resulting in more language study.

And especially The Internet

Have never been more apparent. It’s hard to talk about things relevant to current, modern day life without using English words you know. This message goes directly to all you English as a first language whipper snappers out there who don’t know what convenience you’re living in. But then again it’s much more of a rarity for you to get to exercise code-switching.

It’s a beautiful thing really, and people think it can be quite tasteful to insert the occasional French or Latin word etc. into their dialogue like avant-garde or Hola!

SIDE NOTE: Hi! It’s me the Side Note man here, wanting to tell you that code-switching is not the same thing as using something like the words kindergarten or homo-sapiens in an English sentence because although the word kindergarten is German, it is also in a cultural sense, and a practical sense, in the English language and will be found in most English dictionaries. And in the case of the word Homo-sapiens. Latin yes, but just as English in the sense that it’s derived from Latin. The same goes for using singular terms. Not code-switching. Have a nice read!

“How do people feel about code-switching?”

Well, something I’ve come across is that if you do this excessively. Code-switch “too much” that is. Some people won’t appreciate it.

Another big thing people fret about when it comes to this subject is that it might make people worse at traditional and “standard” speech and grammar. They’ll forget the classic terms and idioms of yore and they’ll be lost to the coming generations. And yes. Ok, fine! that might be an actual possible problem but do you know what I think? That’s perfectly acceptable. It’s OK. It’s good actually. A little spring cleaning for languages to make them a bit more connected. But that might be just pro-world government side of me talking.

“So what’s your take on it?”

Like I said, it’s fine. Words and grammar rules dying out because of irrelevance and inefficiency, being replaced by new ones is nothing new. The words we use the most are a reflection of the world we live in. That’s why we’ve got to record and preserve records of our languages as they change. It’s a big part of human history that would be a shame losing. Keep in mind that I don’t want people going around forcing themselves into code-switching. But people shouldn’t go superimposing their subjective opinions about the beauty of language on other people either.

I’m fascinated by the variety and diversity of languages but keeping that alive and in use is more of a nation-wide hobby really. Like how poetry is a cool & amazing way to utilise words but not a mandatory thing. To me, the practical use of code-switching is reason enough to do it.

I personally code-switch quite a bit in my daily talk. Between my native language Icelandic, and English. I do this mostly whenever I can’t find the right words in either language or when a phrase just works better in one or the other. There are also a lot of things that do not have a relatively accurate corresponding word or phrase in Icelandic in a lot of the subjects I like to talk about.

I’ve been flat-out asked “why are you speaking so weirdly” and “can you stop doing that” on several occasions. And what has stood out to me about these comments and what I find quite interesting is that they’ve never come from the people I’m speaking directly to. It’s always a third-party.  And I think that’s because the people I choose to speak with by code-switching are very particular people. People I know will understand what I’m talking about. Understand the phrases and the words I swap out and therefore benefit from the larger sample pool of terms and idioms, and will return the favour by doing the same speaking back to me.

I wouldn’t code-switch when speaking to my grandmother for example. I know that when she was growing up, she didn’t have the same English media and education I was blessed with so I don’t do it.The same goes for using a language that the recipient of the message doesn’t speak like talking in Norwegian to a native Egyptian. It would be both difficult and inappropriate. Remember Dearest Reader, that the proper well-mannered gentleman or lady only code-switches when it is appropriate.

I have a bone to pick with people opposed to heavy code-switching

Now you might be someone who doesn’t appreciate code-switching. If so I want to persuade you to change your opinion. Here’s how I see it. Let’s start with an example:

So one day I was playing the card game Yu-Gi-Oh! with a friend. There are many elements to this game and it’s very very complicated so we need to be active in telling each other what we’re doing. Here is something we might typically say whilst playing out our turn.

SIDE NOTE: What you’ve got to understand here is that all of the cards and rules are in English so we are almost obligated to code-switch a lot. To highlight this: (English is bolded)

“Ok, ég dreg. Main phase eitt, ég setta eitt spil og summona Nova summoner í attack position og læt Herald í defence. Battle phase. Attacka þig directly með Nova. Og ég enda turnið mitt.”

This probably is just gibberish to someone who doesn’t meet all the criteria of understanding Icelandic, Understanding English, knowing how to play the game and being aware of the context in when it is said. Something both I and my friend fulfilled. Unlike his mother who was also in the room and told us we should stop speaking like that and instead communicate completely in Icelandic. I asked why and the answer I got was: “because it is easier to understand.” But that’s not what I think. We’re were doing the opposite of being unclear.

SIDE NOTE: The opposite of unclear would really – probably – most definitely be the word clear but in this particular case what the author is trying to say is that he and his friend were being more clear. This is something me, the Side Note Person thought you should know. Now, are we clear? Positively crystal! Then by all means on to the next paragraph.

I think you shouldn’t abstain from it. Embrace it instead

From my perspective, if both parties are in fact comfortable with it, it is both a waste of time and just counter-productive not to allow yourself the luxury of code-switching. Language’s most basic function is, at its core, a tool to relay information between two or more individuals. We are doing just that. And in the quickest – most efficient way possible when we allow ourselves to code-switch.

Only the intended recipients of the message actually need to understand the message and, as you should only code-switch appropriately, they always do.

You’re getting your message across, to one another, in disregard to other people. And isn’t that all that matters? Like speaking a secret made-up language except you’re only cryptic as a side effect. We can be such klutzes like that can’t we Dear Reader? It’s not intentional. Nor is it a problem as long as both parties are benefiting from it.

Sometimes words, even though they technically mean the same thing can have vastly different meaning and context between languages to the point that they hardly mean the same thing anymore. People aren’t going to swear at you by calling you a flaming pile of faeces anytime soon. (We all know what they’d say instead.) What you say only gets more accurate as you allow yourself an expanded vocabulary from multiple languages.

In conclusion

Now Dearest Reader, after reading this post. Don’t go speaking French to your Spanish teacher just because you can. Code-switching is something to be done in appropriate situations when it’s beneficial to both the one trying to get his message across and the one receiving it.

However when possible, I fully encourage that you to do so. If you are fully comfortable with it and find that it benefits you. I think that it adds a lot more flavour to your communication and makes it more accurate & concise, it can also be a lot quicker and more efficient.