#cachu talks

[cachu302]

Kamen Rider Gotchard is like a bento. There are parts that you love to eat, and there are parts you can’t help but pick around. It’s comfort food, not extravagant, not rich, but just right.

Truly, this show has risen to my top ten Rider shows. Thank you to the cast and crew who made every week something to look forward to.

Let’s all Gotcha & Go!

[elen-benfelen]

welsh remus guide pt.4

Fourth Part

Welcome back, lads. It’s time for slang, swearing, exclamations and terms of endearment. Buckle up, this is a long one.

Just to get it out of the way, I will begin by stating that, whilst a very romantic and poetic language, Welsh is not what I would personally rely on for dirty talk.

I’m sure there’s folks out there using Welsh for such purposes, most of us however will cringe because it just doesn’t land in the same way as English dirty talk.

This might genuinely in part be because a huge part of the language’s preservation came from people learning Welsh at their local chapels and churches because you weren’t allowed to speak it in most schools at that point in time. But this is just me guessing.

On the flip side of this, if the goal is romance or a beautiful proclamation of love, Welsh is absolutely your best friend. It’s a very loving language, and not just platonically.

It is very common for older people to call you “bach” or “cariad”. Anyone can use these for anyone. Especially when comforting someone or being polite.

Bach - Small

Cariad - Love

This is done in both Welsh and English.

“Ti’n iawn, bach?” (Are you alright, bach?)

“Dere ‘mlaen*, cariad.” (C’mon, cariad)

*slang for ymlaen meaning “forward” and in a Carmarthenshire accent sounds like “mlân”

Many folks will also use “cariad” to refer to their partner.

“Fy nghariad.” (My love/My partner/etc)

South Walians (especially south west) might say:

Wajen/Wejen - Girlfriend

Sboner - Boyfriend

Your married partner can be more specifically called:

Priod - Marriage partner

With a wedding being a “priodas”.

Gwraig - Wife

Gŵr - Husband

Conclusion here is: Everyone is “cariad” and your romantic partner is “my cariad”.

The word “calon” meaning “heart” can be used in the same way.

“Shwd i ti, calon?” (How are you, calon?)

Personally, with “fy nghalon” (my heart) I would use that directly with my partner but not when talking about them with others.

So again, everyone is “calon”.

Now we get to the real funky bit of exclamations/swearing.

We don’t have a word for “fuck” we literally just say the English one and then spell it phonetically so that it’s “ffyc”.

It’s my favourite thing ever.

Cachu - Shit

Buwch - Cow

Ceri i grafu - Fuck off / Go to scratch

(Apologies for those who aren’t comfortable with what is considered blasphemy in some communities but these are common exclamations here)

Iesu Grist - Jesus Christ

Iesu Mawredd - Christ Almighty

Both “Iesu”and “Mawredd” can be said by themselves as well and are generally what I personally say when I’m tired, facing a problem or have hit my foor against something.

Alternatively, a little less Jesus focused is:

Bois bach

Mam fach

I uh….don’t know how to explain these ones. I really don’t, lads. Because the literal translations just don’t make sense.

“Little boys” and “Little mother”

We just, say them.

I say them a Lot. Again, same concept of being fed up, tired enough or in enough pain to just exclaim. It’s like saying “gosh” or “dear me” and such. Very common.

Now to return again to the more blasphemous ones. We reach one of my Mamgu’s favourites:

Jiw jiw nefi blw

Again….I don’t know where nefi blw comes from or if this is even the right spelling. My Mamgu (grandma) says it so often but she also doesn’t know what it means.

The “jiw jiw” can be said alone without the second part and sounds a bit like “jew jew” but is just a evolution of the phrase “duw duw” which means “god god”.

The first time I said this in front of a very English friend they were very confused and concerned that it was some kind of antisemitic phrase - fortunately it is not!

Duwedd annwyl - Dear God

On the more positive side of exclamations is the word “lush” which is more popular in the South and is used a lot in the English language within Wales. I believe it’s short for “luscious”.

“That coat’s lush!”

“Ti’n edrych yn lush!” (You look lush!)

This is common amongst non-Welsh speakers as well as Welsh speakers.

Some very common Northern / Gog slang is “champiwn” and “eidial”.

Which are basically “champion” and “ideal” with heavy North Walian accents.

It’s like, a confirmation in a way. For anyone who’s familiar with the word “slay” and how that’s used, it’s similar to that.

Like instead of saying “okay” sometimes someone will just say “champiwn” or “eidial”. With the “ch” being the English “ch” in “change”.

Which brings us to the greatest criminal of the language but also one of my favourite words:

Cwtch

The only official word in the Welsh language that has that “change” ch sound spelt as a “ch”.

Would I go back in time and stop them from spelling it that way if I could? Absolutely.

Cwtsh is how it should phonetically be spelt. Alas. There is no reversing the insane amount of merch across Wales with Cwtch spread across them.

It’s particularly warm hug or cuddle but it can also be like a nook.

In my area we refer to the cupboard under the stairs as the:

“cwtch dan star” - (cwtch under the stairs)

but also:

“Put that in the dog’s cwtch.” Is a perfectly acceptable phrase.

or:

“This is my cwtch, go get your own.”

Like “lush”, this word is used by many non-Welsh speakers in their English and is a very common term (at least it is in the South)

So a cosy reading nook would be Remus’ cwtch and Sirius would be his cariad.

I think that about covers swearing and endearment? Of course there’s probably ones I’ve missed or aren’t familiar with but these are what came to mind for me.

For the next part I’ll go into terms for family members before moving on to culture/history with a focus on events that would influence the marauders era. Which, oh boy, things were a bit rocky in Wales then. Lots of protests for the working class and for the language.

Note: I am not the collective consciousness of every Welsh person. My experience is not universal - especially when it comes to North Walian things. This is just meant to serve as a general guide. Hope this helps and good luck with your writing!

[feveredbcnes]

Contd Thread II @mxldito​

                “Cachu, Coyote! You takin’ stuff without sharin’?” Reynardine commented with a lazy smile, doing well to hide the uneasiness he felt. Death and dying was not on his list of topics today, but they dove straight into that one without any warning. It was way too late - 10pm - for such a heavy conversation. But he suspected that he, too, came out with various weird and wonderful words under the influence. Nonsense was better than awkward silence, though. Tracking their intense gaze, Reynardine followed and attempted to zone into whatever they were currently watching -- but there was nothing there. Nothing of interest, that was. “Wha’ are we lookin’ at? Why do you have tha’ look on your face?” Usually his heightened senses did a brilliant job of picking up on anything unusual, but the only thing he noticed and inhaled was years’ worth of brick dust. It tickled the inside of his nose unpleasantly, forcing him to wipe it against the back of his hoodie sleeve to get rid of it immediately. 

                “Uh...” Tilting his head, the werewolf assessed the photograph Coyote took with their phone. It was dark, but that was definitely a...wall. A sturdy wall that kept this abandoned warehouse standing, providing them with a place to regularly hang out. “...nope. I’m...like, 99.9% positive there is nothin’ but a wall there. A bug the size of a seagull sounds interestin’, though. Kinda like tha’ film-” His accent slipped out stronger on that last word, pronounced ‘fill-em’ instead. “-’Empire of the Ants’. Imagine bein’ crushed by an ant ten times bigger than you? Talk about tables turnin’.” Snorting out an amused laugh, Reynardine realised that he was getting distracted, never mind Coyote. Once he got talking, it was difficult to stop sometimes. It was probably why they got along so well. They were both shortwave radios.

               “Wha’ was I sayin’?...Oh, yeah!” Any unease from before vanished into pure excitement, a large smile gracing his features. “There’s some kinda festival happenin’ downtown, an’ they’re givin’ free stuff away. You wanna stretch your legs an’ come with?” 

[siaradwast]

thinking about when i went on a scout camp jamboree in kent and there was a festival thing for our section of the camp and the thing was "Bring red food". but we hadn't planned for that however we did have like an industrial stock of tan yr castell welsh cakes so we just covered them in strawberry jam and went around offering it to people. the sheer amount of english kids who were like "wtf is a welsh cake". and then we'd start explaining and all the english adults would talk over us like "It's a flat scone". like. cachu bant!!!! we were explaining! dyn ni'n cymry!!!! we know how to tell people what a welsh cake is!!!!

[ingravinoveritas]

So now that I have (semi) recovered from David’s appearance on The Late Late Show earlier this week, I need to share a couple of thoughts on what I observed and enjoyed thoroughly about this interview. In no particular order...

- First (of course) is David holding up the giant cutout Michael Sheen head. He did an imitation of Michael’s voice, which was amazing because it immediately confirmed that David doing a Welsh accent/Michael’s accent wasn’t just a thing for Staged (season 1, “Cachu Hwch”; “The Cookie Jar”), but something he’s done in real life and probably on more than one occasion.

- "I have him everywhere now” and “We’ve been locked together through this very difficult time” - Both have more than a ring of truth to them, and in the case of the former, I’m almost certain the cutout or the accent (or both) have been in the bedroom with him and Georgia.

- “He’s my emotional support pet.” Mentioning this for obvious reasons, but there’s so much to unpack:

After doing Michael’s voice/while answering James, David repeatedly looks and smiles at the Michael cutout with affection and love, the same way he looks and smiles at the real Michael;

When the cardboard cutout of Georgia falls over, David doesn’t turn to pick it up or even look, yet he takes care to set the Michael cutout down gingerly each time he’s done with it;

“Emotional support pet” seemed like David’s joking way of saying that he does actually get emotional support from Michael himself (and vice-versa). I’ve thought this was the case since the filming of GO, but to hear something like this from David (who is so good at saying what he wants to say without actually saying it) was truly revealing;

Saying “he” rather than “it,” which makes one think David is talking about the real Michael, not Giant Cutout Michael. Hell, every time he did anything with the cutout head, it gave off gigantic “missing my boyfriend” energy. And again I need to emphasize that David was fondling and lovingly looking at a giant cutout of Michael’s head WHILE SITTING IN HIS UNDERWEAR.

Speaking of which...

- THE. FUCKING. UNDERWEAR. The fact that David wore it. The fact that he posed in it on national television. The fact that he looked like he was mere inches away from turning Georgia into Pinocchio from being so quietly thrilled at his own naughtiness, I mean...WHAT THE FUCK EVEN WAS THIS INTERVIEW.

- David knew exactly how to angle the camera and how to move the shirt aside to ensure maximum cock region visibility, and he threw in a bonus peek of belly button. (It’s always nice when the “giant slut” part of David balances out the “middle-aged technophobe.”) But the fact that he did all of the above so seamlessly means there’s no way in hell that was the first time he’s been in his underwear on Zoom/probably less.

- "Things that before seemed wrong, now seem right." David showing his underwear on camera would surely fall into this category, especially if it’s meant for a particular audience of one that’s currently in America recovering from Covid. That’s where my mind went to, at any rate, and given the (re)appearance of the cutout Michael head, it doesn’t seem like too far of a leap.

So...yes. In conclusion, this interview was an absolute gift to all the Shennant shippers and David fans in general, and whatever has brought out this brazen exhibitionist streak in him, I hope it continues. Bless you, David Tennant...

[angiethewitch]

So would malu cachu be like the American phrase like “talking out of your ass” or more like saying something is “bullcrap”

Also i love your blog thats all

yeah pretty much! we say talking out of your arse here but we say bullshit instead of bullcrap

thank you! I love having you here

[arcaneraven]

A good book vs the love of a detective.

M detective x Nate Sewell

Summary: A simple cliché book date.

Word count: 1k

(Please excuse this. My romance writing is cliché, sappy and fluffy. This is 100% a self-indulgence piece for valentines.)

The welcoming aroma of old books perfumed the air. Lines of bookshelves obscured the room’s walls and even floor. It was a bookworm’s paradise. This second-hand bookshop had it all… But despite the numerous titles that called my name, my attention fell onto one I had explored hundreds of times. Nate. For once I found my hands tangled around Nate’s in a need to express my love and companionship, rather than seeking out comfort or for a distraction from the strangulating stress and anxiety the past few months brought. We could finally breathe. We could finally breathe together. We could breathe at a calm and peaceful rate without having to constantly look over our shoulders. The only catalyst for my heart pumping at an exhilarating rate was the man that stood beside me. It was a welcome change, a small moment I will never take for granted.

I must had zoned out lost in admiration for the simple time to not realise how Nate looked down at me with a quizzical look. “Everything all right Detective? I should have known it’s too old-fashioned is it not.” He sighed looking down at his feet, there he went again putting too much pressure on himself to make everything perfect. I sighed and brought my tattooed hand to his cheek, where he immediately sank into its warmth, his own warmth melting my cheeks into darker brown hues.

“It’s perfect, Vampire Shakespeare,” I hummed, my fingers now tracing his stubble line. The odd petname smoothed out his worried pinched eyebrows. His eyes closed against my touch, he lifted his own hand and placed it over my own.

“’My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee. The more I have, for both are infinite.’ Act 2, scene 2, 146.”  Nate’s voice sighed; it was huskier than normal. Whilst I would love to tease him for his cheesiness, I could not help but feel enraptured by his words. Silence had never felt so good, hand in hand, my head resting on his shoulder our heart beats did the talking as we fell victim once again to each other’s presence.

I went to open my grey eyes to continue the romantic affair, but instead of trailing to the face I knew so well, they widened as the book’s calls became unbearable. “No way.” My words fell out before I could stop them. The vampire cocked his head to the side “what is the matter love?”

“Wizard of Earthsea first edition, book one of a classic trilogy written by—“

“Ursula Le Guin, 1968!” Nate chimed in reluctantly untangling himself from my embrace. The pair of us reached out to drag the book from its paper prison surrounded by various mismatched novels; our fingers brushing as we pulled the tomb down with gentle ease. As the book slowly was pulled out the shelf, unbeknownst to ourselves it was holding the rest of the tightly packed books aline.

Nate’s eyes widened as panic overcame him, valuing the books over his supernatural secret. With inhuman reflexes he leapt forwards, gathering all the antique books in his arms before they met their planned demise of colliding with the uneven wooden floor.

By the time he had caught the precious tombs I had only just managed to slip out a pained gasp of shock, the Wizard of Earthsea book clutched safely in my arms.

“Stercore, merda, cachu!” Nate took a ragged breath, the colourful words dripped out his mouth in every language, alive and dead, as he hugged the books with as much care, as he held me moments before. Eventually his breath calmed down. Our eyes met once again, painting the same image of relief and guilt. “For a second time in my life. I am glad to be a Dens Homo Sapien.” (Scientific term for Vampire.)

“The first time being?” I arched a brow, it always seemed Nate wanted to escape his fanged reality. Nate sauntered closer to me and placed his forehead against my own. His dark brown eyes as lush as the dark browns of a mysterious forest lulling me into a trance. “It should be obvious detective.”

“I’m not sure. Increased speed, strength, senses, healing, ability to see in the dark, immortality. They all seem like equal skills to be glad of. “

“I thought you were a detective,” Nate sighed.

“Ah sorry, I missed out on having pointy fangs! I know I very much appreciate them.”

“Not nearly as much as I appreciate you.”

I was about to topple under his words. With my heart hammering at a thousand beats per second; I span around to the back of him, and gently pushed him towards the centre of the shop. Directly towards a welcoming set of beanbags.

 “Alright Vampire Shakespeare at least let me have a comfortable place to perish under your words.” I tutted, speed walking ahead and launching myself into the inviting beanbags. The seat immediately sinking around every limb of mine, the plush fabric framing my form which Nate examined with a warm intimate smile.  

“I would rather you did not joke about your early demise so carefreely detective.” His words were genuine and sincere, earning a well-deserved eyeroll.

I am not sure when it happened, but as I found myself lost within the pages, the seat of choice had been replaced by Nate’s stomach. He casually ran his fingers through my curly dark brown locks, an unusual frown had taken hold of his features gaining my attention.

“Natey?”

“You are too cruel. How can one choose between these stories or making new ones?”

My book closed, and was gently placed beside me, Nate’s book of choice soon joined mine, cover closed…

A new chapter burst to life, a new favourite of ours. The author being our lips eagerly writing new paragraphs of an old romance series I hope never ends.

(Again i’m so sorry my writing is so rough! Romance really isn’t my thing I just was in the mood hahaha.)

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - Megan Gwynn/Pixie:

Something goes wrong during a ritual to contact the guardian spirit of Baltimore and Megan and Clea Lake wind up making an unfortunate discovery.

The marshland was noisy. Frogs singing their mating songs, birds shrieking, the buzz of insects, and the slorp of muddy water against reeds and plant life and trees along the also muddy shore. A twin splash barely disturbed the wildlife.

"Ah, cachu hwch!" Megan swore, or maybe that was just the sound of her spitting out marsh water as she surfaced to waist-high muck. A wave of cold fear rippled through her as she looked around for the others, taking in the unfamiliar landscape. "Clea?" She began wading toward the other woman.

Clea emerged with a gasp and coughed up water. She wasn't expecting to be teleported, much less straight into what appeared to be a marsh of some kind. Wiping away her eyes, she turned to look at the sound of her name, "Megan! Oh thank god that I am not alone." Once she was standing in front of her friend, Clea looked around. "I don't think we are in Druid Park anymore." She pointed to their left, "Looks like land is that way. Did the magic backfire?"

"Something didn't go right," Megan admitted, hiking up her purse. She didn't want her phone getting any more waterlogged as they made their way to more solid ground. While she moved forward, her right shoe stayed firmly in the muddy bottom. After a moment's flailing, she freed it and trudged on. "Why can't magic ever be easy? I'm glad we're together, at least. Is anyone else here... wherever we are?"

"Tell me about it. Though this is the first time being teleported to a swamp." Clea looked around. "AMANDA?! TOPAZ!? NIY?!" She stopped to listen and after a few beats shook her head. "Maybe they were brought somewhere else? We are talking about a Spirit Nature. Just be lucky they didn't send us to another plane. Do you smell that?" Clea put her hand to her nose, even if it smelled like swamp water, it was still better than the sudden decay smell that hit her.

Megan was almost to the slope, pushing her way through some water reeds, when it hit her as well, but she was even more surprised by something else. "Ah! There's someone here. OH NO I don't think they're alive!" she exclaimed, scrambling back and almost falling backwards into the muck.

Clea reached out to steady Megan before peering over to see the body of someone laying face down. "Bloody hell." Covering her hand over her nose and mouth. She walked past Megan and up the slope, her eyes traveled past and saw the legs of a second one. "There are two."

"Two bodies." Of course they were dead. There was no way they could be mistaken for being alive, but panic does weird things to your brain. Megan forced herself to a place of calm and reason and followed Clea up the slope, digging in her purse for her phone. A small frog jumped out and she almost laughed, despite feeling sick. "This has to be related, or why would the Spirit send us here?"

[bean-bean-8]

You may also like 'malu cachu' which means talking nonsense.

It translates to 'grinding shit.

In Welsh the word for something that's curly or something that moves around in circles is 'Chwyrligwgog' and I've always loved that word.

Double lariat.....luka u are chwyrligwgog

W is a vowel in welsh pronounced like “oo” right? Thats very very cool 👀

I absolutely LOVE that the welsh have a word for this. Absolutely love it. Thank you so much 😂

[captivesrp]

Bleary-eyed with lack of sleep and aching in every part of his body, Ainsley stretches his stiff arms and legs in hopes of bringing feeling back into them. He has been curled up in the corner all night, afraid and exhausted; yet despite the terrifying events of the last day, the thoughts that rise most prominently to his mind are thoughts of the present: Where is he? Who are these bandits? Why did they take him?

Rumble.

Will they ever feed him?

All of a sudden, in the darkness and the silence, a small voice groans. “Cachu,” says the voice in a pained and exhausted tone.

If possible, Ainsley shrinks even further back into his corner. Is he not alone?

“Eat up,” calls a ragged voice from above. A piece of bread is thrown down and lands in the center of the shaft of light leaking in through the mouth of the hole. Ainsley eagerly lunges for the bread but his grasping hand is bumped by another: a hand more worn and battered than Ainsley’s own. 

Emerging from the shadows on the opposite side of the pit is a boy, not much older than Ainsley. He is well-built but beat up, with bruises and wounds scattered across his skin.

Ainsley, not about to give up his meal, prepares to look defiantly into the boy’s eyes. When he regards his face, however, Ainsley recoils in horror at the sight. The boy’s face is marred by a horrific scar running through his eye to his jaw. The dead eye reminds Ainsley, horribly, of the long-haired bandit whom Ainsley had seen the night before. Ainsley ducks back into his shadows, and the stranger takes the bread. Ainsley would rather starve than have to view the terror in the other corner again.

Salvation falls from above in the form of a second piece of bread falling from the pit mouth. Ainsley, his hunger overcoming his fear, reaches out and snatches his nourishment before quickly ducking back into his solitude.

After polishing off the bread, Ainsley’s curiosity overcomes his fear but that struggle combined with his poor social skills prompts him to spew a sentence he regrets as soon as it leaves his mouth: “W-what happened to your eye?” Ainsley mentally kicks himself for such an impulsive comment. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and again tries to cloak himself in darkness.

An uncomfortable silence follows; Ainsley can almost feel the anger of the other boy radiating through the pit.

The silence is broken when the scarred boy, perhaps feeling pity for Ainsley’s blunder, says, “My name’s Alaric.”

“Ainsley,” comes Ainsley’s reply and, wishing to lighten the mood, he adds, “It’s a pleasure.” He scoffs under his breath and shakes his head.

Another prolonged silence follows. Ainsley, searching for something to do, grabs his sticks and begins to fiddle with them, imagining, not the impossible worlds he creates in his mind, but his home. The stick he imagines to be himself is safe and confident, much unlike the real thing. As Ainsley sees his own stick, straight and strong, he realizes that this world is just as fictional as the rest; one beyond his reach.

“What are you doing?” asks Alaric.

Ainsley scrambles to his senses, scattering the branches, breaking several in the process. “Uh, nothing.”

Silence falls once again, this time lasting throughout the rest of the day and night.

*     *     *

Several days later, with the bandit called Yldregch currently watching over them, the two boys finish their meal and cover their waste, as their guards have insisted every evening, providing a wooden hand spade to do it. After tossing the shovel back up to Yldregch, Ainsley washes up as much as he can with the leaky bucket of water, while Alaric sits back, content to accept the full force of the uncleanliness of their unfortunate situation.

“Finish up down there,” says Yldregch, oddly tense.

A few hundred breaths later, a woman approaches the mouth of the pit. She has reddish hair and is tall and imposing---not only to Ainsley, but also, apparently, to Yldregch, as he makes an awkward bow.

Ainsley and Alaric share a puzzled glance; over the course of their imprisonment, they have noticed the utmost disrespect and contempt that Yldregch shows for everyone else.

“How is it in there?” asks the woman, in a smooth voice.

“Quiet, Symbre,” reports Yldrecgh. “Barely a peep.”

“Hmm,” mutters Symbre, peering down at the two inmates.

*     *     *

"Mornin’, Ungant. Rough night?”

Ainsley looks up in apprehension as a new guard takes his place at the edge of their pit. Something about his voice and manner puts Ainsley off.

“Oh, goody,” exclaims the brigand sarcastically as he takes a seat at the edge of the hole, “I get to guard Ugly and Sticks now! I’ve heard about you---the little Logain and his infant brother. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends.”

The two, as is custom by this point, say nothing.

“Aw, come now,” the brigand persists, “respect your Uncle Tyree.” He picks up some rocks from the ground and begins flinging them with casual force at Ainsley. Many of them painfully strike their mark. Tyree laughs. “Need some more rocks to play with?”

Ainsley raises his arms in ineffective defense. His arms and face are soon bruised and bloody.

Suddenly, Alaric grabs a stone from Ainsley’s collection and whips it directly back at the attacker. It strikes Tyree straight in an old bandage on his arm, and the brigand immediately recoils in pain. Fresh blood drips out from between his fingers as he holds his arm.

“Duwiau,” mutters Tyree darkly. “You’ll pay for that, Ugly.” He looks ready to leap into the pit at Alaric when his arm is caught in a solid grip. Tyree looks to his side to see a stout brigand standing firmly to his right.

“Come on, Dwp. You’d better go see Ceurdre about that,” says the woman. Tyree, with a sullen glance back at Ainsley and Alaric, walks away sulkily, holding his arm.

“Sorry about him,” apologizes the woman, “he has quite the temper.”

The captives simply nod in agreement.

“You boys don’t talk much, do you?”

Again, no answer.

Their new guard shrugs and begins to softly sing a song in a dialect Ainsley does not understand.

Ainsley looks over at the person who seems to be his only ally in the universe.

“Thanks.”

Alaric nods in reply.

[cachu302]

Gavv so far has been adequate. It’s a very Junko Komura show, if that makes sense. Looking back at her main works makes me consider her a “safety net” writer.

Zyuohger and LuPat both came after different approaches to the Sentai formula (Ninninger being a hot mess and Kyuranger overloading the budget), and were used to get “back on track”, though those two were hampered by their reliance on filler and refusal to progress the story. Zenkaiger similarly played it safe by reusing different MOTW plotlines for each episode with their own spin on the story, which was boosted by the script being very open to ad-libbing.

That’s what Gavv feels like—a safe Rider show to give everyone a breather after the experimental insanity of Gotchard and whatever the fuck is going on with Outsiders. So far, Gavv feels like it needs time to take off, but that’s because the show is taking its time doing all the safety checks.

That being said, I do think introducing the secondary rider at episode 6 is too fast, but what do I know?

[cachu302]

The ToQger crossover was leagues better than the Go-Onger crossover. Genba’s obsession to defeat Disrace paralleled Akira’s desire to find his place to die so damn well! And getting Right actually fighting alongside the Boonboomgers was the best, especially the line-changing into Mio and Hikari’s colors! Why we couldn’t have that with Sosuke will be something I will nitpick forever.

Speaking of Akira, Boonboomger is doing a very poor job of convincing me Sakito and Byun D are trying to be a separate group from the core Boonboomger team. It’s an issue that I feel Sentai does seldomly very well in recent years, in establishing the extra heroes as separate entities from the core team. Either they immediately become a member of the team (Shinken Gold, Gokai Silver, Zyuoh the World), or they spend two or three episodes beefing with the core team before joining for real, then a later episode (around the 38 to 42 mark) actually has them join for real for real. In the case of Akira, he established himself as a separate party from the ToQgers and maintained that distance from them very easily, even coming into conflict with them due to a promise he made with Schwartz. And when he returned, it really felt like he joined for real.

Comparing that to Sakito, who unfortunately falls into the group of sixths who kinda… exist, a la Kiramai Silver, LuPat X, Don Dragoku/Torabolt. They all have really interesting backstories that are either not explored much, or they don’t matter in the long run. We haven’t really had many scenes where Sakito gets to be a cleaner, and he’s just there as the Boonboomger’s sixth. He’s beefing with Genba because… they’re both technically extraterrestrials(?).

Some examples of this kind of dynamic that Sentai has done well are with Shurikenger, Twokaiser, and Starninger. Zox and his family never identified themselves as Zenkaigers, despite being on friendly terms with them, and Kinji was introduced explicitly as a separate party from the Igasaki clan before being induced as an apprentice. Shurikenger especially worked well, due to his gimmick of borrowing faces and appearances. He was more of a shadow mentor to both the Hurricanegers and Gouraigers, and didn’t consider himself a member of the team until Lady Gozen was killed.

Sakito feels like missed potential, similar to Noel from LuPat. The show couldn’t really keep X from staying neutral, and ended up making him a permanent member of the thieves despite his main selling point. Hell, he even took the Siren Striker away from the Patrangers.

If you’re enjoying Boonboomger, all the power to you.

[cachu302]

Gavv’s first episode was good. Without subs, I’d give it a 7.6 out of ten.

Watching the first fight, though… I guess this is what people wanted out of a first fight? Incredible set pieces and dynamic action. If you think about it…

Zero-One: dynamic slow-mo and camera work that was refined from the new filming techniques Toei began using with LuPat and Zi-O (an excellent start to the Reiwa era of Rider)

Saber: main characters transported to another dimension and a cg dragon (which tokutwitter got butthurt about because the cg wasn’t as advanced for Toei as it is post-King-Ohger)

Revice: very dynamic fighting choreography (I can’t think of anything else to comment on)

Geats: Ace destroys a flying castle with a motorcycle (I can’t think of anything else to comment on)

Gotchard: …the fight happens outside of the school in universe, and footage was taken with a drone, playing to the simplicity of the show, as well as an homage to Showa-style Rider fights (which tokutwitter got butthurt about because bleh)

Gavv: very refined and polished action with excellent editing, use of CGI that was tested during Zenkaiger, Donbrothers, and especially King-Ohger, and is concurrently being utilized for Boonboomger, and the constant changes in filming location for one fight alone

If we were to categorize what kind of Rider fan I am, I’d say… I’m kinda a Beroba? I love fight scenes and choreography out of everything shown in tokusatau, but I still stick with each show as it comes. I will be watching again with subs before I judge it. *cough cough don’t judge a book by its cover cough cough*

So… yeah? Gavv has potential!

[captivesrp]

The black haze of unconsciousness begins to recede from Alaric’s eyes only to be once again replaced by a thunderous headache. Any solace to be found in wakefulness seems to Alaric out of reach behind this familiar agony. 

The young boy finds himself huddled over in exhaustion and pain at the bottom of a dugout pit, with no idea as to the cause of his predicament. His world is dim, the blue-grey hue of a morning before sunrise visible through the pit mouth. It seems he has been here for the past two days---though, perhaps just one; every movement of the sun seems to take the time of two to pass. 

A stream of thoughts and questions flow through Alaric’s mind, but he knows it is futile to make sense of his current state. For now, all he can do is try to survive whatever hell awaits him. He has done it before and is ready to do it again.

“Cachu,” Alaric groans, giving in to his pain and distress.

“Eat up,” comes a voice from above as a piece of crumbly bread falls to the ground. Alaric’s head whips up from his knees and his sight falls on the bread in front of him.

It is barely a second before Alaric lurches for the morsel of food, desperate to satiate his hunger. As his his hand reaches out, Alaric is startled as another hand bursts forth from the dark on the other side of the pit, colliding with his own directly above the piece of bread.

The pale and thin hand stays in place, refusing to surrender the bread. Alaric’s eyes follow the wrist to its source and watch as the face of another boy appears from the shadows. The boy seems slightly younger than Alaric---thinner as well.

The horror in the other boy’s eyes is evident as he scans Alaric’s face, and as fast as the boy had appeared he disappears back into his side of the pit. Alaric, confused and startled himself, grabs the untouched bread and moves back to rest against the pit wall. 

Luckily for Alaric’s conscience and, ultimately, his settling stomach, the guard sends another portion flying to the ground to be snatched up immediately by the other boy.

Alaric sits alert in complete silence, fully aware of the boy sitting across from him shrouded in darkness. 

The boy speaks, to Alaric’s disdain, “W-what happened to your eye?”

Alaric can think of no better reply than silence to such a painful question.

The boy, apparently realizing his mistake, blurts, “Sorry,” and all falls back to silence.

Not long after, Alaric begins to feel pity for the younger boy. He can understand the fear that must be haunting him, so he decides to do what he can to ease the tension. “My name’s Alaric,” he says with hidden effort, not truly expecting a reply.

“Ainsley. It’s a pleasure,” replies the other boy. His sarcasm somehow agitates Alaric.

The pit once again fills with a dark silence, allowing Alaric to attempt to make sense of his mess of thoughts and memories. Before he can make any headway, the silence is broken by a click-clacking noise coming from Ainsley’s side of the pit. Alaric peers into the gloom and sees him playing with a few sticks.

Alaric clenches his jaw in irritation and blurts out, “What are you doing?” in an attempt to silence Ainsley’s ill-timed games. 

Alaric once again feels the burden of guilt when the other boy replies anxiously, “Uh, nothing,” as he scrambles to throw away his playthings.

Despite the sting of regret, Alaric cannot help but be frustrated by Ainsley’s innocence, something Alaric feels he never had. He never had any of what other children his age possess: family, home, imagination, a place to belong. He feels a rage build against Ainsley, making him avatar of the world’s injustice against Alaric. Why him? Why not anyone else? Why is Ainsley allowed what is denied him?

Alaric shakes his head, scolding himself for wishing such injustice upon anyone else.

*     *     *

Several days and nights pass in almost complete silence. The fifth day of his capture---or the fourth, who can say---finds Alaric once again sitting against the pit wall. 

The sounds of water sloshing around in a bucket as Ainsley washes himself awakens Alaric from a trance-like state. He has not bothered to do the same during his captivity; to Alaric, there is no real point to staying clean in such a filthy cage.

“Finish up down there,” calls down Yldregch, a brigand who had been assigned to watch their pit a few days ago and again today. From what Alaric has learned, there is nothing redeeming about the loud and filthy bandit, who constantly enjoys taunting him and Ainsley. Oddly, Alaric can hear a distinct edge of anxiety in Yledregch’s voice, and he soon understands why.

A woman appears in view, stopping just by the edge of the pit. Her red hair shines brilliantly in the sun, and her presence seems to demand respect, which Yldregch immediately obliges her, rising to his feet and bowing awkwardly. 

Ainsley seems to share Alaric’s bewilderment at the sight as the two of them exchange a brief glance. Yldregch is one of the last people Alaric expects to show respect---or, even further, obedience---to anyone, aside from the scarred man who had been involved in Alaric’s capture. Alaric does not like to think about him; the nightmares he already has are enough.

“How is it in there?” questions the woman, her accent clear and fluid.

“Quiet, Symbre,” responds Yldregch, his voice calm and cautious. “Barely a peep.”

“Hmm.” Symbre considers the two boys a while before walking away without uttering another word.

*     *     *

Symbre visits the pit several times over the course of the next few days but never speaks, only watching as the two boys stare back at her.

Alaric and Ainsley continue their silent repartee through the days, yet the silence is not driven by the anxiety and fear that once thickened the air of the pit; rather, they both just respect each other’s space and quiet nature.

“Oh, goody, I get to guard Ugly and Sticks now!” The cruel smile of the boys’ newest pit guard glints in the afternoon light. “I’ve heard about you---the little Logain and his infant brother. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends.”

Alaric clenches his jaw tightly. He keeps his head down towards the ground, trying not to give any reason for the brigand to continue his ‘friendly’ banter. Alaric notices from the corner of his eye that Ainsley has followed suit.

“Aw, come now, respect your Uncle Tyree.” The man grins evilly and begins tossing stones at Ainsley. Having nowhere to hide in the pit, Ainsley attempts to shield his body with his arms, but it is a futile effort; it does not take long for his arms to turn red and raw. Alaric notices blood seeping from a few cuts. As he throws the rocks, Tyree taunts his helpless victim, “Need some more rocks to play with?”

Alaric finds himself racing for a sharp rock along the pit wall. Once in hand, he whips around and, with all the force he can muster, throws the stone at a bandage loosely wrapped around Tyree’s arm. The man cries out and clutches at his arm, from where Alaric can see blood seep.

“Duwiau,” snarls Tyree. “You’ll pay for that, Ugly!” He growls and stands, eyes fixated on Alaric. A hand claps onto Tyree’s bicep. Asgell, a brigand who had seemed amiable on her guard shift two nights back, firmly holds Tyree back as he chomps at the bit to get at Alaric.

“Come on, Dwp, you’d better see Ceurdre about that,” she says, nodding at the blood seeping between Tyree’s fingers. 

Tyree glares darkly at both boys. “Uffern gyda chi,” he mutters under his breath to Alaric as he stalks away, still clutching his arm.

“Sorry about him.” Asgell half smiles, seemingly unworried about Tyree. “He has quite the temper.” 

Alaric nods slightly, taking in a deep breath. Ainsley, quite clearly in pain, nods as well.

“You boys don’t talk much, do you?” Asgell asks. 

Their silence gives her a clear answer.

She turns away and begins to sing a melody Alaric has never heard before. He finds it slightly soothing.

“Thanks,” Ainsley says, making eye contact with Alaric for the first time since recoiling at the sight of his face.

Alaric appreciates the gesture. He nods in return, and hopes it gives enough assurance to his new and only companion.

[captivesrp]

“Ainsley! This armour smells like cachu ceffyl!”

The great tales of maple, cedar, and yew are cut short as the sticks fall from the storyteller’s grasp and onto the damp, mossy earth. Ainsley rises from his universe into the horrible reality of Fin Skepna.

“Are you sure it’s the armour and not the one who wears it?” he fires back at his master.

Skepna’s companions, at first shocked by this act of rebelliousness, burst out laughing after a moment. Skepna’s face goes scarlet. “Insolent boy,” he screams, “I have half a mind to slit your throat right now and find a new armour-bearer!”

“You should’ve stopped talking after ‘half a mind’,” mumbles Ainsley.

“Eh? What’s that?” Skepna squints his eyes . . . as if that will make him hear any better, thinks Ainsley.

“I said you could never find a better bearer than me,” Ainsley replies off the top of his head.

“Bah!” Skepna laughs. “There are dozens of grubby little boys like you who would clean the whole militia’s clothes just to get food for the day! None, however,” he adds menacingly, “would be so arrogant as you!” Skepna gives Ainsley a slap to the right cheek to emphasize this. 

Ainsley stumbles backwards a few paces and, as Skepna and his goons ridicule him relentlessly, he makes a decision: a decision based on hatred, embarrassment, bitterness, and fear---

One of the brutes picks up a stone---

Ainsley decides to run.

Driven by the raucous laughter of his ex-master and company, Ainsley bolts into his refuge; his home. The forest welcomes him with open arms, then the branches enclose him in a green embrace. Ainsley has left the ridiculing behind, but the fresh memory pounds in his brain at every step, raw like a newly inflicted wound. 

Or perhaps that pounding is a result of a stone’s impact on his head.

Ainsley collapses on the forest floor.

*     *     *

“Oi, should I bag this one?”

“What, you found one in the middle of these blasted woods?”

“Yeah, look at ’im, ’e’s just lying ’ere!”

“Mus’ be awfully dumb then. Who takes a nap in the forest?”

It is not Ainsley’s wish to wake to another insult, but wake he does.

“’E’s awake!” says the first speaker, a large man with almost no neck and a lot of muscle.

“You think he’s heard anything?” asks his companion, a well-built woman with striking red hair and an unsettling amount of knives and daggers at her hips.

“Doesn’t matter. Now we don’ have to go all the way to the village. Let’s take ’im to Logain.”

Ainsley, realizing he is about to be the victim of a kidnapping, scrambles to his feet and is about to attempt escape when hot pain erupts in his head like a blacksmith striking red hot metal again and again. Ainsley doubles over and the man-mountain grabs him by the neck of his shirt and throws him over his shoulder. Ainsley cannot do anything to resist as the smithy in his head continues to forge what seems like an entire arsenal of weaponry. His two captors begin to march off into the woods.

“Where . . . where are you taking me?” is all Ainsley can muster the strength to ask.

“That’s need to know information, that is,” says the woman, “and I don’t believe you need to know.”

“But . . . why me?” Ainsley wonders aloud, because he truly cannot conceive any reason why anyone would want to kidnap him.

“Oh, come now,” says the man, “you’ve got strength, and with that big head of yours---” he pats Ainsley’s head, pumping his pain-forge bellows, “---you must have big brains. We could use someone like you,” the man finishes, with a menacing grin.

“And you were easy to snatch . . .” mumbles the woman.

Although this is the first time anyone has ever called Ainsley useful, he cannot help but shiver at the thought of being held captive by this group of obviously criminal bandits. He feels like an unwanted piece of armour: being passed around from master to master and never quite finding the right fit. 

Ainsley falls asleep on the huge shoulder of the man, whose rhythmic footsteps are surprisingly calming, on his journey to yet another unfortunate situation.

*     *     *

The next day, Ainsley wakes up to the smell of fish and the crackling of a fire.

“Morning, boy,” says the big man. “How was your sleep?”

“Terri---” Ainsley begins to say.

“That’s nice,” says the man, and he tosses Ainsley the bare remains of a tiny fish. “Eat up. We’ve got another few days’ walk to go, and you’ll need your energy.”

The woman suppresses a cruel laugh.

*     *     *

After three days of continual trekking---his head pounding---and almost no nourishment, Ainsley wakes as he is lifted from the shoulder of the man-mountain to find himself being passed to a completely new host: a tall man with ripped muscles and long, dirty blonde hair that splays on shoulders covered in untreated furs.

“Found this one lying on the forest floor a few days’-travel away,” says Ainsley’s first transport. “How does he look?”

The new stranger brushes his hair out of his face and takes a look at Ainsley, and when Ainsley gazes back he sees a horrific sight: the man’s face is completely mangled on the left side, scars crisscrossing the entire side, and instead of an eye, an empty socket that seems to stare directly into Ainsley’s heart. The man’s single eye looks Ainsley up and down.

“You have done well,” he says. “Throw him into pit five.”

The big man grins. “Right, Logain.” He hefts Ainsley once again and takes him past a line of tents to a series of deeply dug holes. He drops him to his feet a pace from a hole near the edge of the camp. “Enjoy your new home,” snickers the man, and shoves Ainsley.

After landing unsteadily on his feet at the bottom, Ainsley stumbles in the darkness, surprised at how spacious the hole has been dug, although he cannot see much due to the evening that has fallen quicker here than above ground. He feels his way along the wall until he reaches a corner. He promptly collapses into it, clutching his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth as he nervously awaits his fate. His hands feel around for something, anything to hold on to. He finds it: a friend has followed him here.

Ainsley picks up the stick and enters a world where bandits are easily overtaken by the mighty power of Ainsley the famous Druid. In this world, the powerful Druid defeats the bandits with ease, throwing them into a deep, dark pit, and never letting them out.

[cachu302]

@ahmoeba

“Experimental” in the sense of the technology and CG effects. The blogs that were posted during Gotchard’s run mentioned that the show used newly created computer models for some of the Chemies. For instance, the models used during the winter movie for the Level 10 group, or even during the show proper, such as in episode 39 after Nijigon revives the three deceased Chemies. Not to mention all of the animated Chemy cards.

A lot of the graphics and models are a lot smoother animation wise, in comparison to some of the other Reiwa shows. Compare Hopper1 and Gotchard’s cameo in the Geats summer movie or the Wonder World fights in Saber to the first ten or so episodes of Gotchard, maybe even more so when Dread debuts. The show’s team learned a lot from King-Ohger’s experimental approach and improved upon it, and Gavv does it even more so, for scenes such as in the Granute world and the Stomach mansion/building or during fight scenes. See Fuwamallow Gavv or the Vrocan buggy chase scene from episode 1. (Maybe you can count the Marumallow hulk-out bit of the fight an outlier?) A really good example I think of is Platinum Gotchard fighting the Fox Malgam in episode 29, or even Valvarad Kurgane’s debut fight.

Even before that, compare shows like Zenkaiger and Donbrothers, which began the use of CG for the mecha battles and especially the InuBrother and KijiBrother models, to the CG in Kyuranger and LuPat, both of which were heavily criticized for overusing the CG shots of things like Kyutamajin and Super Kyuren-Oh or Good Feelin’ Kaiser VSX, Victory/Siren LupinKaiser, or any of the finishing moves used in LuPat. There’s a large difference there.

This kind of ran away from my original point, but that is kind of why I see Gavv as a breather show. It’s using its resources in a way that’s not extravagant, but also not subdued. Does that make sense?

Gavv so far has been adequate. It’s a very Junko Komura show, if that makes sense. Looking back at her main works makes me consider her a “safety net” writer.

Zyuohger and LuPat both came after different approaches to the Sentai formula (Ninninger being a hot mess and Kyuranger overloading the budget), and were used to get “back on track”, though those two were hampered by their reliance on filler and refusal to progress the story. Zenkaiger similarly played it safe by reusing different MOTW plotlines for each episode with their own spin on the story, which was boosted by the script being very open to ad-libbing.

That’s what Gavv feels like—a safe Rider show to give everyone a breather after the experimental insanity of Gotchard and whatever the fuck is going on with Outsiders. So far, Gavv feels like it needs time to take off, but that’s because the show is taking its time doing all the safety checks.

That being said, I do think introducing the secondary rider at episode 6 is too fast, but what do I know?