#i know its common knowledge around here that its the worst and all the stuff ive seen posted on here confirmed it

[f1owermoon]

lurking the joost fandom on the app that shall not be named was...an experience 😭

[ceilidhtransing]

Having spent pretty much the entire year immersed in studying Nazi Germany, the Holocaust, and genocide more broadly, my heart is bursting with the need to stress how much you should take Project 2025 seriously. This is a long post but please stick with me.

Don't take this post as an attempt to concretely predict anything. We can't ever fully know the future and I think it's silly to say with total certainty “if Trump wins then America will become just like Nazi Germany” - not only because the future isn't written yet, but also because Germany under the Nazis was a very specific regime with its own quirks and peculiarities and I don't think that even a worst-case-scenario Trump regime would look exactly like Hitler's Germany. No two regimes ever look exactly alike: it would use the same colour palette as all far-right dictatorships but be constructed from a different medium, like what a watercolour is to an oil painting.

But just because Trump is a very different person from Hitler, and a worst-case-scenario Trump dictatorship would not literally be “Nazi Germany all over again”, that doesn't mean that what happened in Germany isn't instructive here. Forget the specifics of whether or not Trump as a dictator would organise a state identically to how the Nazis organised Germany or whatever; on a far broader and more relevant level, there is a distressing number of similarities. And too many people are falling into the same thought traps as they did then.

Please don't assume that Trump is “way too incompetent” to achieve what's in Project 2025 or Agenda 47. They said the same thing about Hitler. They said that there was no way this showman could govern effectively - holding big rallies and making speeches that get people riled up isn't the same as being good at running a functioning state and achieving what you want. The New York Times even wrote after he became Chancellor of Germany that this would only “let him expose to the German public his own futility”. And in many ways Hitler was pretty incompetent. But that didn't end up mattering. The greatest crime of the Nazi regime, the Holocaust, was masterminded mostly by a whole load of people besides Hitler, who were delegated the nitty-gritty task of actually orchestrating it. Hitler's personal incompetence didn't prevent war or genocide.

Please don't assume that Trump is “just a wacky nutcase” who “can't possibly be a real risk”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The mainstream media gave constant coverage to all the crazy extreme things Hitler said as if he was merely a bit of a joke and not a massive threat. The Nazis were quite happy with this. To quote Goebbels repeatedly in his diary, “The main thing is they're talking about us.”

Please don't assume that being in power will “moderate” Trump and that “of course he won't be able to do all the crazy stuff once he actually has to govern”. They said the same thing about Hitler. It was a common sentiment in the early 1930s that all the sensible politicians around him would force him to moderate his stances. Fritz von Papen, the last Chancellor of Weimar Germany, persuaded President Hindenburg to make Hitler the Chancellor by assuring him, “In a few months, we will have pushed [Hitler] so far into the corner that he will squeak.” It turns out that power doesn't “moderate” people who are openly talking about a dictatorship.

Please don't assume that there's any truth to the whole “Trump has nothing to do with Project 2025 and trying to link it to him is just liberal hysteria” line. They said the same thing about Hitler. People repeatedly asserted that Nazi street violence wasn't really representative of the party leadership; it wasn't representative of Hitler. He was even subpoenaed by a very brave lawyer in 1931 in a bid to prove that recent violence by Nazi stormtroopers was committed with the knowledge and encouragement of the party leadership, with part of the prosecution's argument hanging on a pamphlet by Goebbels that promised a violent overthrow of the state if the Nazis couldn't come to power legitimately. Surely no legal political party could be publishing that. In a successful attempt to escape criminal charges, Hitler repeatedly lied that the pamphlet was not official Nazi Party material and that he didn't know anything about it. No Trump didn't write it, no it isn't an official GOP manifesto, but the links between Project 2025 and Trump, the previous Trump administration, and Trump allies are extremely well documented. Just the other day, Project 2025 co-author Russell Vought was caught calling Trump's disavowals of the document “graduate-level politics” and saying, “what he's doing is just very, very conscious distancing himself from a brand ... he's in fact not even opposing himself to a particular policy.”

Please don't assume that “there's no way something like that could happen here; we're way too educated and advanced”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The Germany of the 1920s and 1930s was one of the most educated and most scientifically and industrially advanced nations in the world, and its cities were some of the most progressive in the world. People were stunned and horrified that it was in Germany of all places - Germany, land of music and art and science and literature! - that fascism took root. Germany's economic and social advancement didn't stop about 40% of its voters choosing the Nazis. It didn't stop them taking power.

Please don't assume that Project 2025 is “just a wishlist” and “not actually a serious plan”. They said the same thing about Hitler. As is hopefully very clear by now, plenty of people did not think that the Nazis were capable of, or would dare to try, putting into actual practice the horrific ideas about race that undergirded so much of their ideology. “I like Hitler; he talks sense economically and I think all this stuff about Jews is just bluff and bluster.” “Every party has a loony wing, right? You have to understand they're not serious when they talk about this stuff; they're just telling their base what they want to hear.” “God have you heard this crazy race science shit about head shapes and stuff? It's hilarious! I'm sure none of them at the top really believe that; there's no way they'd be that nuts.” When a group of people like this tells you what they believe and tells you what they want to do with power, believe them. No matter how ridiculous they seem, they're not joking.

In the words of Hans Litten, the lawyer who subpoenaed and cross-examined Hitler in that court case in 1931, “Don't listen to him; he's telling the truth.” Litten was arrested on the night of the Reichstag fire in 1933 and spent the rest of his life being tortured in concentration camps before dying in Dachau in 1938 at the age of 34.

A tyrannical dictatorship can often be seen coming a mile away. I don't want to imply for a second that what the Nazis did came as a surprise to everyone and couldn't possibly have been predicted. There were people who saw this coming in the 1920s and 1930s and tried to sound the alarm while they still had a chance. But they were too often in the minority, taking the threat seriously while others had convinced themselves that there was no need for concern because the Nazis wouldn't really do all the things they repeatedly talked about wanting to do. Everyone should have seen this coming, but too many people wanted to believe it couldn't be true.

Don't let this scare you. Let it energise you. Talk to the people in your life about Project 2025 and Agenda 47. Push back against people who assert that “they'd never actually do all that stuff” or “Trump didn't even write Project 2025” or “it's not a real plan, just a list of crazy shit to get the base riled up”. Have conversations with folks you know who are on the fence about voting or about who to vote for and who seem persuadable. Make sure you're registered to vote, and keep making sure, especially if you live in a red state where people keep mysteriously dropping off voter rolls.

Now, again, please don't read this as some confident prediction that Trump will be a Hitler figure. I want to stress that is a worst-case scenario. If a Trump presidency is what happens, I would much prefer the best-case scenario: that he spends four years fumbling around and not really accomplishing anything and then gives up power at the end without much of a fight. But it would also be a folly to be smugly overconfident that the worst-case scenario “won't” or “can't” happen. It could. It has happened before. There is no reason it couldn't happen again.

[rawliverandgoronspice]

This is not me defending Nintendo's shoddy writing when it comes to heavy parts of the Gerudo lore. But I do wonder if some of their really bad missteps are because of their lack of knowledge of Western racial politics. A lot of Japan is still heavily xenophobic, and racial diversity is almost zero, so they might just not actually think about the implications because they just... don't know they exist. It's not an excuse, because Nintendo IS a global company, and there should be some extra research done, since stuff like that is just really fucking iffy. I'm just trying to figure out where that stuff comes from tbh, and why it's still around, instead of being weeded out. So maybe that's a reason, in which case... maybe get some writers who can write depth into their characters.

Hey, thanks for the ask!

So... I feel many things about this, and I completely see where you're coming from, and I think you have hit the nail on the head about why Nintendo do not feel like handling this issue is necessary, or that it doesn't concern them altogether... but I have to be honest, I feel like we give Japan way too much slack on these issues in general, and it's a very common problem (thinking of the controversy on FF16 for just another recent example, or the way queerness is handled in a lot of anime and games). Regardless of, just, the artistic integrity to incorporate the rest of the world as existing alongside you which isn't... mandatory of course, but I believe is important for the sake of honesty: there are japanese people of color, there exists a queer japanese community, and a lot of immigrants living in Japan have to deal with rejection and being considered a second-rate citizen all of the time. Not to mention anything about the new generations of people who were victims of their occupation not so long ago, a subject which is still regularly repressed and ignored by their government (and by the world at large, the US had interests in quieting down some of the worst things they did due to Cold War stuff, and in the West we mostly focused on Germany and collaboration --which makes sense, it's what we knew, but anyway it's complicated and not the topic). This is not a case of mere innocence, it is a case of politically construed ignorance; which is very different, and should not be regarded as equivalent.

But even beyond their own internal socio-political issues, which I am not qualify to speak about beyond what I know from second-hand stories I heard and what I have personally researched, The Legend of Zelda is an IP that is tailored for the West (TM). It is incredibly more popular here than it ever was in Japan. It is a product designed for export. Trying to anticipate what the western market enjoys and fitting right in is part of their responsibilities as a brand if they want to succeed. So, either they did not consider this aspect, which was absolutely something they should be criticized for, as subjects of diversity are hot and trending right now (even without getting into their moral implication) and they did what I consider to be the bare, cynical minimum in this department; or they had an inkling, and considered their choices wouldn't be a dealbreaker. Which... they clearly were not.

Again, I am sorry to be a little cynical here, but while I certainly don't think Nintendo was being consciously malicious here, like making choices to actively play into harmful stereotypes and strict gender roles as some form of active ploy in some sort of culture war, Nintendo is run by conservative japanese men with capitalist interests and a responsibility towards their own government as a major player for japanese soft power. The company will *never* question its own biases, especially if the West just eats up whatever they do and build a human wall of excuses to justify their absence of accountability. This, beyond the game itself which is good and fine and also kind of soulless the more I think about it (in my opinion), is what depresses me and what makes it hard for me to move on: to give them a free pass on these subjects is a choice everyone is collectively making, because it is the Nostalgia and the Childhood and we are desperate for wonder and joy --and it ultimately makes us somewhat toothless as consumers.

And I want to add I am absolutely not immune to this, and it doesn't mean I'm condemning the practice of fandom or the possibility, or even the necessity, of holding several simultaneous truths about a piece of media at the same time and navigating them depending on what is being discussed; but Nintendo is obsessed with controlling its image as a company, curating things as acceptable or unnacceptable as they see fit, approving or disapproving of their consumers' behavior and punishing them accordingly (as well as the rest of the industry *side-eyes the thirty patents on basic gameplay actions*), and it's to say nothing of how employees may be treated beyond the perfectly curated Pikachu yellow walls. This corporate image of being non-controversial is enforced. It doesn't mean I don't admire them for a lot of things, their genuine commitment to game design innovation, their virtuosity when it comes to level design in particular, the way they foster pools of raw talent, their devotion to open up the market to new demographics of gamers, or for the risk they took with the Switch and the wonderful venues it opened for indie devs. I love their games, profoundly, and I owe the company a lot of my joy.

But again, I think it's important to consider several realities simultaneously; and this joy, this goodness, this beauty, while absolutely wonderful and worth preserving, always runs the risk of getting in the way of our discernment in what is getting sidelined.

[kieraelieson]

No Rest for the Deathworlders

Logan had always loved the stars.

Still did, though his love had been dampened by the way in which he was currently seeing them.

He watched out the window, or rather, screen, but it was made to show the outside of the ship, and thinking of it as a window was oddly comforting. A bit of something close to home.

A lump grew in his throat at the thought of home, pressing against the collar. He forced himself back to a neutral, tugging the collar away from the front of his throat as far as it would go. A brief flicker of anger replaced the nostalgia. Anger at the collar, at his own inability to remove it, at the monsters that had forced it onto him, at his own complacency now that it was on.

He didn’t have it as bad as some other humans did, he was well aware. All the collar did was teleport him to the location of the person holding the remote. Granted, it was unpleasant and incredibly disorienting, but nothing like the near-torture he’d heard was the more common method of keeping humans captive.

The captain of the ship was smart in choosing Logan, as far as the welfare of the ship went.

“You’re invested in your own survival,” He’d said through the translators. “If the ship goes down, you’ll go with it. If you sabotage the ship and try to escape on a pod, I can get you back to me immediately, and you’ll meet the same fate as you intended for us. It’s in your best interests to cooperate and to bond with the crew.”

Well, Logan could agree that it was in his best interests to cooperate. But no one could make him get attached to anyone. And no one could stop him from making little problems.

Like ignoring the insistent, “Human, where are you? Human!” that was coming from his communicator.

The window dissolved in front of him, and Logan felt abruptly as if he were on the world’s worst rollercoaster for several seconds. It took him a minute to register the angry captain now in front of him. He was yelling something, but not through the communicator, so Logan couldn’t understand what. And he was far too dizzy and almost nauseous to pay attention even if it was understandable.

He shook his head slowly from side to side and up and down once, hoping to clear the vertigo somewhat.

“You must come when called!” The communicator translated. “Or at least answer!”

Logan stubbornly remained silent, the dizziness gradually clearing.

For an alien that looked more like a slime monster than anything with a real face, the captain still managed to look extremely displeased. Not that Logan cared.

“There are ------ trailing our ship,” the captain said, one of his words not translating properly. “We need to go faster or we’ll get boarded.”

Ok, maybe Logan did care.

“Humans are supposed to be good at making ships go faster, fix it.”

Logan frowned. “I’ve been here three days,” he said into the communicator. “I hardly know how anything in the ship works, much less how to improve any of its functions!”

“I’ve studied humans, I know better than that, fix it.” The captain said shortly.

Logan opened his mouth to protest, but the room around him dissolved, the horrible spinning sensation back. His legs gave out and he dropped onto the floor in a different place.

He swallowed hard, his stomach threatening to upend itself.

“And they call you deathworlders,” someone scoffed. “A transporter has you on your knees.”

Beyond his sick feelings, and the anger at being mocked, he caught onto that plural reference. Was there another human on the ship?

In addition, there were apparently multiple remotes to the teleporter around his throat, which ruined his plan of trying to steal or fight the captain for the one.

He slowly sat up, his head still spinning. He hoped that his body would eventually grow accustomed to the teleportation and the dizziness would stop being so awful.

There was a chittering sound beside him that the translator didn’t attempt to process. He turned to see an alien that would likely be very tall if it wasn’t on all fours. It was very thin, with long arms and legs, which ended in smooth nubs, without hands or feet. The front two, which Logan thought of as arms, though the alien probably would have a different name for them, seemed to be perforated along the last six inches. As Logan watched, one of them was extended towards him slowly, and something softer could be seen on the inside. It was able to be extruded through the holes, and was likely the way in which the alien could grasp things.

He backed away from the limb before it could touch him, and the alien also backed away a step, making a low woody sounding whistle, like air blown over a jug. It’s head looked rather moth-like, with antenna that curled and straightened, and large eyes.

The alien seemed sentient, though Logan was confused that the translator wasn’t picking up on its speech.

Until he saw a very familiar collar, only around their waist. They were also captive then. And possibly, though it disappointed his hopes of meeting another human, they were the other deathworlder, also affected poorly by the teleportation.

The strange attempted touch then, could have potentially been intended as comfort or aid.

“You’ve been sitting long enough, get this ship to move faster,” the other alien in the room grumbled.

Logan glared. “How am I even supposed to do that?” He snapped. “I don’t have training or experience, I don’t know what half this stuff is and I can’t read your labels!”

“You can either fix it now, or we can teleport you between here and the captain until you do.” The alien's tone was disgusting and wet, and Logan was glad he could focus on the robot sound of the translator as his stomach lurched again.

He could try.

If nothing else, he might learn some new things and be able to convince them that he really wasn’t able to just do things he’d never tried before.

The room was smaller than he would’ve expected, presuming he was in a kind of engine room. Around the edges of the room were a number of bins, holding substances ranging from powders to liquids.

In the center of the room was a glass tube that went from floor to ceiling, and seemed to be filled with a glowing crystal stalagmite. From the top of the tube dripped some kind of liquid, and at the bottom it flowed out in small pipes, glowing the same as the crystal and possibly converted into fuel.

He could assume that with all of the powders and liquids that there was a chemical reaction causing the substance to obtain the glowing quality and become fuel. But what that was, and how to know what was safe to change about it, he had no idea.

“Well?” The alien, whom he now assumed to be what served as the ship’s engineer, asked.

He was making so many assumptions, and still was barely anywhere. They could all be wrong.

“Explain to me how it works,” Logan said. “Then I’ll try to ‘fix’ it.”

The alien made an unpleasant sound that the translator interpreted as a sigh. “This is a ——-, the liquid is a mixture of ——, ——, ——-, and ——, but it could be made with any of the ——— family instead of the ———, or you could replace the ———- with ——— for better efficiency at different energy levels. We also have several forms of ———-, which ought to make more potent fuel for higher speeds, but every time we’ve tried the ———- smokes and explodes and there’s residue in the tubing for several rotations which puts us at a standstill.”

Logan grimaced. He had a very small idea of what was being said based on gestures, but he’d much prefer to have names and details. It seemed this was a very large and dangerous version of chemistry experiments, with no textbook, and his only advice coming from someone who hadn’t studied.

Well, there was the other ‘deathworlder’ in the room. He could only hope they knew something about any of this. Though the difficulty in communication might make that knowledge impossible to access.

He turned towards them anyway. “Can you understand me at all?”

They made another low whistling sound, followed by chittering. One arm waved, with… could he call them fingers? gesturing towards Logan.

He hoped desperately that he could consider that to be a yes.

“What would you do in—“

The engineer’s communicator interrupted him. “We thought we’d have a few more rotations but they’re closing in, has the human done anything yet?”

“No,” the engineer said. “It’s just staring at everything.”

“Well get it to hurry!”

The other ‘deathworlder’ made a long series of noises, pointing at one bin in particular and then at a place where it seemed the not-yet-fuel liquid was.

It was a foolish thing. A very foolish thing. But Logan took a scoop from the bin and dumped the powder into the liquid.

It bubbled and fizzed on contact, sending up thick clouds of a dark blue smoke.

An alarm blared.

The ship lurched, knocking them all to the ground.

And then the new ingredient actually hit the crystal, and there was a loud, high pitched ringing.

Logan covered his ears and shut his eyes, feeling like a weight was pressing him to the floor.

Everything was spinning, and loud, and then it was loud in a very different, but no less painful way.

“Protect me!” The captain shrieked.

There was a pained, screeching scream.

Logan was shoved, but he was barely aware of which direction, let alone what he was supposed to do about any of it.

Something grabbed onto his shoulders, and he flailed, hitting and kicking indiscriminately. Something burned on his side, and he kicked into something much more solid, sending a throbbing pain up his leg.

Everything was noise and pain and lights and movement and he didn’t understand any of it!

Logan struck out blindly at anything that came near him.

He thought he’d backed into a wall, but something must’ve been behind him, and it hit him hard over the head. He dropped to the floor, tears swimming in his eyes and blurring everything even further.

Everything dissolved around him and he was falling, spinning, dropping, tossed.

He was grateful more than anything when unconsciousness took him.

•^*^••

He woke slowly, feeling hazy and heavy. It was quiet, and not too bright, nothing was touching him. So he didn’t bother to open his eyes, just laying still.

He wasn’t dead at least.

Probably the pirates had attacked. Definitely he’d ruined the ship he’d been on.

The question was, was being with pirates any better than living on a ruined ship with aliens that considered him to be some kind of hyper-intelligent slave?

Or perhaps the question was, where was he now?

He forced his eyes open.

He was in a relatively large, empty room. The floor and walls seemed bare, though patched, not all of a single material.

He pushed himself up. There was a loud skittering noise away from him, and he yelped, flinging himself away clumsily.

He turned, and saw the other deathworlder, front legs shaking and making a rattling noise. He wasn’t sure if it was a fear response, a method of communication, or even some kind of threat display.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, backing up a little farther.

The other alien didn’t try to come close again, so he figured it was mostly likely not interested in threatening him. There wasn’t an echo of his words in an alien language though, and he patted his shoulder to discover that the translator had been taken. His hand went to his throat, disappointed to find that they’d left the collar.

It was still there on the other alien also. They were both still prisoners then, wherever they were.

Looking around, it seemed that they were in an empty cargo space, rather than a proper holding cell, so there was a slightly greater possibility of escape.

There was that low whistling sound again. Logan was certain it was meant as a form of communication.

He tried whistling back, as low as he was capable of.

The alien chittered and shook its legs again, but Logan couldn’t tell even if it was a positive or negative reaction.

“I… don’t know how to talk with you,” he said, keeping his tone low and calm. He sat in a comfortable, loose position, hoping to get across the calm in his tone and posture. “But I’d like to try. I’m not sure what anything you’re doing means, and it’s possible you’re in the same situation. I’m hoping that you have more knowledge of humans than I do of your kind, and that you’ll be able to make better inferences than I’m currently capable of.”

The alien cocked its head to the side, watching him as he spoke. It took a tentative step forward on its spindly legs, and then propped itself on three, holding the fourth out to him.

Logan eyed the appendage. The softer inside substance was filling the holes, making it appear to have small bumps, rather than holes. He held out a hand to it, but didn’t try to touch.

The alien bumped the end of its leg into Logan’s palm.

That seemed… good? Perhaps this was a greeting similar to a handshake?

Logan very gently grasped the end of the appendage, the softer inside substance feeling cool to the touch, and almost like a stiff putty, whereas the harder outer shell felt very smooth and rigid, similar to metal, but light.

The alien retracted their arm, and then looked between their arm and his hand. The inner substance reformed, pressing out from several holes into a clear attempt at fingers. It seemed to be fully controlled by the alien, and moveable, albeit much more slowly than Logan could move his own fingers.

“That’s very impressive,” Logan said.

The alien chittered back at him.

Perhaps they could get somewhere through a kind of charades.

•^*^••

“I think that’s all we can carry,” Roman said, looking over the wreckage.

“We can hold more, we aren’t full yet,” Remus protested, still sad that some of the ship’s inhabitants had taken the escape pods. Aside from the power crystal, which was far too unstable to take, they were the best value on the little ship.

“The whole 3rd cargo bay is empty for the two deathworlders, we’re full.” Roman insisted.

“Oh. Forgot about them. Well, if we can hold ‘em, they might be enough to make it worth it.”

“If we can refill,” Roman grumbled. “I was expecting usable power from this ship.”

It had really been a not-very-great raid. They’d lost Aide, and Bill, and Rahgezis, and hadn’t even gotten much of anything good out of it.

And the deathworlders were far too grumpy to join the crew. If they’d had enough room they would’ve separated them, but he just took away the translators and hoped they weren’t already pack-bonded, and wouldn’t become so. Two single deathworlders were bad enough, two together? Their ship would be a wreck from the inside out.

They needed to give them a rotation or two to calm down, try and have a talk, and then drop them off at the nearest Embassy and get away before bad things happened.

Maybe the Embassy would even pay them for handing over deathworlders. Or maybe they’d arrest them for being pirates.

But without Rahgezis, Remus didn’t want to attempt anything on the black market with such a high demand as deathworlders.

And the teleportation bands should make it a little easier on them. They were super old, and no one in their right mind would use them, except as a practical joke, or a way of keeping enemies too off balance to attack. The ones on the two of them had been fused closed, rather than the usual buckle, so he felt more safe trying to hold the deathworlders than he would otherwise.

They’d only found one remote, but Inshes was already working on making a second.

“I’m going to see if the Scraascik is on any registries,” Roman said. “And I’ll check for the Human, but that’s less likely.”

Remus nodded. “I’ll handle getting us moving again. If they’re awake, maybe you could see about dropping some food into the cargo bay.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” Roman sighed.

Remus set a claw on Roman’s back. Roman grumbled, leaning into Remus’s side, and then went off to do his research.

It’d been a hard day for both of them.

•^*^••

They’d managed to exchange names… sort of. The alien’s name was two notes, whistled lower than Logan was capable of, and likewise there was no way of the alien being able to pronounce the word Logan.

But the alien made a deep, almost resonant sound, that was as close as it seemed they could get to anything involving vocal cords. And that was their version of Logan.

Logan considered the two note sound, and came up with a slightly similar-sounding name. Virgil.

Neither of their names for each other were really very similar to their actual names, but they were able to understand each other, and that was what mattered.

As it turned out, Virgil was stronger than he was at pushing things, or hitting, but they couldn’t pull with any strength.

Logan was focusing his attention on the door, and had been so far unsuccessful in prying it open. It was solidly locked, and the lock seemed to only be on the other side of the door. Which likely meant that this room was detachable from the rest of the ship, in case of emergency or danger.

“Virgil.” Logan said, and Virgil turned to look at him from the patch on the wall they’d been inspecting.

Logan hit the door with his palm, his arm straight, in an imitation of the way he’d seen Virgil hit some of the patches, trying to break them. “Hit here.” He pointed at Virgil, and then at a spot where he suspected the lock was.

Virgil made a chittering sound and shambled over.

Logan again mimicked the strike, and then pointed at Virgil.

Virgil got into position. They were able to balance on three legs and rock their whole body weight forward to strike that small point their arm hit with all their strength and weight together.

They tried three times, but the door held firm.

Logan was impressed that they did not seem hurt by the attempt. Their exoskeleton must be very strong indeed. Which was possibly a part of why they were considered a deathworlder.

Logan wondered what their home planet was like.

The door suddenly opened, an alien clearly holding up one of the remotes to the teleporters.

Virgil backed away, turning and running to the other end of the room.

The alien spoke into a small microphone, which translated. “I brought food. Don’t come near me.”

The alien’s body looked almost bear-like, but with longer legs, clearly bipedal. They were only about half the size of a bear though. The fur also was shorter and sparser, and a very reddish kind of brown. The hands looked more useful than a bear’s paws as well. The head though was very unlike a bear’s. Logan didn’t know what to compare it to.

The alien was wearing clothes, which Logan had learned was entirely optional to most aliens, in bright reds and goldish yellows.

Perhaps this meant that this particular alien was more… Logan hesitated to say civilized. He scarcely knew anything about aliens, and could hardly make such judgements about them. Still, he believed he had a bit more chance reasoning with this one.

“Let us out of here,” he said, grateful that the translator picked it up and interpreted it.

“No.”

“We will leave you alone, we will not harm the ship. Let us go,” Logan said calmly but firmly.

The alien again said no, pushing in a tray of what could be food into the room with their foot, already starting to close the door.

“Wait!” Logan said, stepping forward.

The alien jumped, and pushed the button on the remote.

It didn’t seem to affect Logan, but instead Virgil was teleported close to the door. Virgil stumbled, falling against the wall and letting out what could only be described as a scream.

The alien who had delivered food looked even more scared now, and quickly shut the door. Logan pushed through his shock and alarm to try to open the door before it could be locked, but he was too late.

Virgil slumped to the ground, scream fading to a whistling wheeze.

As bad as the teleportation felt to him, Logan was scared that Virgil was being injured by it. Perhaps on the inside, where they were softer. Or perhaps it put too much strain on their rigid exoskeleton.

Was there anything he could do? He didn’t have any idea about what Virgil could need for medical care, and he didn’t want an attempt at comfort to be construed as an attack, especially while Virgil was vulnerable.

He knelt close to Virgil, a bit farther than an arm's length.

“Virgil?”

Virgil’s eyes opened, and from this close Logan could see the differentiation between pupil and iris. Virgil’s eyes were moving back and forth, like Logan had seen before in children who’d been spun in circles. He was likely still extremely disoriented then.

Virgil lifted one arm and waved it around slowly. It knocked into Logan’s shoulder lightly, and Virgil kept tapping it against his shoulders and head. Logan allowed it without complaint, guessing that it was grounding to Virgil, being able to verify that Logan was in one place and not moving, not spinning.

Virgil gradually steadied, taking their arm back.

Logan wished he had a way to ask ‘are you ok?’, but he didn’t. The best he had was, “Virgil?”

The whistle-clack he got in return seemed more positive than negative, though he had no way of accurately judging alien tones.

“Logan.”

Logan nodded, as it seemed the correct response.

Virgil pointed towards the nearly-forgotten tray, and Logan went to get it. Virgil struggled to their feet, looking something like a very large baby deer first trying to stand. If Logan had to guess, Virgil’s kind didn’t frequently sit or lie down.

The tray had a number of small round roll-like things that Logan was now accustomed to seeing. They were similar to banana bread in texture, but the taste was salty and rather bitter. When he’d asked, he’d been told that they were the standard in rations as they kept for a long time, and held an array of nutrients that was sufficient for the basic needs of a majority of species.

He suspected that he would require some greens or fruit if he continued eating these primarily, but he hadn’t seen any anywhere, only these.

Virgil stood over him and leaned down as much as they seemed easily capable of, which still left their head several feet above the ground. Logan was just wondering if they would need assistance to eat when a very long tongue, or perhaps proboscis, unrolled from their mouth and curled around one of the rolls, pulling it up into their mouth.

“What do you eat natively?” Logan wondered aloud. “And do you need water?”

There was a pitcher of water and two small cups. Logan poured one cup full and held it out to Virgil.

Virgil seemed to still be chewing, however, and incapable of drinking while doing so. Or perhaps they didn’t require water. Though, now that Logan was watching, he didn’t believe they were chewing at all. Certainly there was no jaw movement. They could be massaging the food with their tongue, and have particularly effective saliva perhaps.

Logan started eating a roll, setting Virgil’s cup down and filling the other for himself.

A minute later Virgil’s tongue unrolled again and drained the cup, seemingly effective as a massive straw.

“You really are fascinating,” Logan said softly. “Were we not in such a situation I would love to learn more about you.”

Virgil responded with a series of clicks and whistles.

“As it is though, we probably ought to attempt an escape. They haven’t tried to get anything from us, which makes me think they intend on trafficking us further. Most likely they don’t have the power to force us into work like the last ship did, so I think, despite the danger, that this will be our best chance. Of course, the danger is greater for you, the teleportation seems to hurt you much more than it does me.” Logan thought for a while. “I think our best bet would be to try forcing our way out the door the next time it opens. Perhaps one of us could knock the remote away. It is enlightening to know that the remote only works on one of us at a time.”

Logan sighed. “Of course we don’t know when or if they’ll enter again. It’s possible we’ll be held here until we reach wherever we’re going.”

Virgil made a low, soft whistle.

Logan laid on his back. “I can’t even properly ask you for your partnership. It’s infuriating to not be able to succeed at anything I attempt. There’s such a wealth of knowledge that is necessary, and I have no idea of any of it. Nor a way of learning, save through painful experience. I can’t become complacent, I have to effect change, but I never know when my efforts will be simply overturned.”

Virgil nudged his arm with their own.

Logan turned to look at them. Virgil chittered at him, bobbing up and down on their legs.

“What is it?”

“Logan.” Virgil said, still bobbing up and down.

Logan sat up. “I don’t understand.”

Virgil tapped his legs with their arm. “Logan.”

Logan stood up. “Is this what you want? Oh. If you don’t lay down to sleep, you must’ve been concerned when I did. I’ll have to sleep sometime though, and surely you’ve been exposed to aliens that lay down to sleep.”

But rather than relaxing, as Logan would assume Virgil would do if they were concerned, Virgil stepped closer, almost over Logan. Their antenna tilted towards him.

“Oh I see, this would be how you would confirm that I’m healthy, by feeling with your antenna, yes?” Logan remained still, unsurprised when there was a soft touch on his head.

But he was not at all expecting the sudden mental image of himself tackling the alien who’d delivered the food. It was so vivid it was as if he was already doing it, seeing the door open, tackling the alien, smashing the remote, and running forward to climb onto Virgil’s back as Virgil ran them both through the hallway.

Logan jerked back, falling on his butt. “What was that?! You have telepathy??”

Virgil made a movement that could be best described as a shrug.

Logan stood up again, reaching his hand out, battling his speed from excitement in an attempt not to scare Virgil. “Can we do it again?”

Virgil brushed his hand with their antenna, and the same scene flashed before his mind’s eye.

“Yes, yes I’ll do that! Can you understand my answer?”

Virgil made a whistle that Logan was almost certain was affirmative.

Logan paced back and forth excitedly, thinking out loud. “So you can communicate with me even if I can’t communicate with you well. And you very much want my partnership in escaping. We have a plan now. And a form of communication. Virgil, this is amazing!”

Virgil made an almost trilling noise.

•^*^••

“No, it hurt the Scraascik,” Roman said, already changing the ship’s course. “We can’t hold them safely, we have to get to the Embassy.”

“We didn’t even ask them to join us yet!” Remus protested.

“Would you join a strange crew after they hurt you?” Roman retorted, sending a message to the engine room to increase speed.

“Well what about the other one?”

“Remus. It won’t work.” Roman glared at him. “I don’t want to take chances with deathworlders.”

Remus sighed. “Fine. But let me try talking to them before we get there.”

Roman’s face went hard. “You have until we arrive,” he finally conceded.

Remus hurried down to the cargo bay.

He burst the door open, and it slammed shut behind him. Both deathworlders jolted, staring at him.

He then realized that he’d entirely forgotten the remote and the duplicate, and also that he was locked in a room with two deathworlders.

Well, there was a reason people joked he was addicted to adrenaline.

“Hello!” He said, waving. “I’m wondering if you’ll join my crew.��

The human moved first, standing up to a height decently taller than Remus was. And the Scraascik was even larger.

Perhaps he really was in serious danger.

“We just want to leave,” the human said, sounding rather threatening.

Probably telling them about the plan to hand them over to the Embassy then wasn’t a good idea until he was sure that he wasn’t in attack distance anymore. “You can, leave with us. Join our crew and you can adventure with us, raid ships, explore planets!”

“We want to leave alone,” the human said firmly.

“We? So… you bonded then? I guess that rumor is true, deathworlders all really do bond super fast.”

The human bared its teeth at him. “I will not be bonding to your crew based on your desires. I will not remain here, I want to leave. We want to leave.”

The Scraascik agreed in some of the most heavily accented Common Remus had ever heard. No wonder the translators hadn’t picked up any of his yelling when they’d boarded the ship. He’d probably need a translator to touch his antenna, but good luck getting a Scraascik to let anything touch their antenna.

“So you won’t even consider it?” Remus asked, not yet daunted.

“You’ve essentially kidnapped us, and both can and have hurt us! Why would I consider it?”

Yikes, the human sounded angry.

“Well we didn’t mean to hurt you, really, it’s not meant to be that bad. And we only kidnapped you from other kidnappers, and also I can’t hurt you cause I forgot the remote.”

The two deathworlders looked at each other, and Remus knew he really had gone and shoved his whole fist in his mouth. The human shifted position to a much more threatening crouch, as if it was going to pounce on him.

Remus held his arms out, claws at the ready. He might not have a hope of winning against deathworlders, but he could certainly make himself a pain of a target.

“I know I’m a pirate, but this was supposed to be just a talk,” Remus said, wondering if he’d be able to hit the communicator in time and if rescue was possible. Violent deathworlders in an enclosed space was not something he wanted his crew walking into, even for a rescue.

“It’s not much of a talk when we don’t have a say,” the human said, looking more and more threatening every second.

Iaoth , he wanted this human on his crew.

“Of course you have a say!” Remus said. “Name it, what position do you want, what pay, days off, I’ll give you whatever room in the ship you want as your quarters.”

“I fundamentally disagree with joining people that would knowingly traffic other people,” the human growled.

And then it leapt forward.

Remus yelped, swiping at the human and hitting the communicator with his other hand. “Roman!”

He was tackled to the ground, and the Scraascik pinned one arm while the human sat on his middle and held his other arm down.

“Remus?!” Roman’s voice came through the communicator.

“Let us go,” the human growled. “Once we’re out we’ll let them go.”

There was a tremor to the floor that Remus recognized. Roman must have been overloading the engine, they’d arrived and were docking.

“Is Remus ok?” Roman asked, sounding terrified.

“I’m fine, just a little stuck,” Remus said, trying to not sound scared so Roman wouldn’t get even more worried. “Laying under a deathworlder~ not quite as fun as I always imagined.”

Roman made a sound somewhere between a sob and laugh. “I’m coming to let you out. Don’t hurt him. Please.”

Remus was honestly a bit surprised that he was only pinned. The human was leaking blood from its shoulder and across its chest where Remus’s swipe had connected, but it hadn’t retaliated.

“Hurry,” the human said coldly.

The communicator turned off, and Remus had a strong suspicion Roman was calling the Embassy to have guards outside the ship when the cargo hold was opened.

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Remus asked. “I know it won’t look like it from your end, but we don’t traffic, we take from ships we attack, but we’d either let them join us or take them to the authorities, we don’t just continue the traffic. And we could use people like you, you could help us take down so many more ships.”

The Scraascik leaned harder on his arm, and Remus grimaced.

“What would the authorities do?” The human asked.

“Uhhhh… well with the Scraascik, probably drop him back on his own planet, or with a Scraascik colony. Your planet though is still restricted, so they’d probably keep you until it’s opened.”

The human’s face contorted into something that did not look good for Remus.

“We’re on our way there, aren’t we?”

Remus wasn’t sure he dared lie, not when he was pinned to the ground with two very angry-seeming deathworlders over him. “Yeah.”

The human hit the communicator. “Listen.”

“I’m listening,” Roman said warily.

“Don’t open the cargo hold,” the human ordered. “You’re a pirate ship. You have smaller ships for scavenging, yes?”

“…yes.”

“Give us one.”

There was a long pause from Roman.

“Put food and fuel and translators in it,” the human said firmly. “We’re taking this one with us until we’re safely inside.”

This was probably wrecking Roman’s plans. There would be authorities involved and now no deathworlders to give them.

“Alright,” Roman said.

•^*^••

The door to the cargo hold was opened. Logan had the bear-alien in a tight hold, and Virgil was above them, looking like they were ready to strike out at anything that got within range.

They managed to walk along the halls until they reached the smaller ship. Logan had no idea how he was going to fly it, but it was the biggest chance by far that he’d had yet.

He shoved the bear alien away and slammed the door shut.

Virgil went immediately to the pilot’s seat, and Logan was amazed to see that there were places in the ceiling that fit their antenna. Soon there was a fast and loud humming, and the tiny ship lurched into motion.

•^*^••

Patton was being sent, since they didn’t really believe that there could be a Human and a Scraascik on the cobbled-together ship that had docked. So it was just him and Janus.

Janus wrapped his long tail around the back of Patton’s neck for balance as Patton walked back and forth, waiting for the ship to open its cargo bay.

It sure was taking a long time. They’d seemed so rushed when they called, but now they just wouldn’t open.

And then there was an engine powering up.

A teeny little scavenging ship took off from the bigger one, flying off. Patton scanned it, alarmed to see that there was indeed a Scraascik and a Human signature on board.

“Hey! Hey wait!”

He pulled out his radio, quickly setting it to the bigger ship’s frequency. “Let me in and go after them! We can’t let a Human go flying around unattended!”

“If they don’t let us in fast, go take the SC Meteor,” Janus said.

Patton wasn’t too surprised when the ship started undocking without answering him.

“We’ll get them!” He yelled, running for the Meteor.

[watchinglikeafangirl]

Mirror theory

I think it's common sense now that Porsche is a mirror. He gives what he takes.

social

It's obviously a social filter and comes from the deep desire to please people. I myself am a people-pleaser, so whenever someone makes a joke, I usually don't find funny but I know they do, I laugh. This way people either think of you as someone nice or just don't have any opinion about you. Both can't hurt you. Because when people don't like you, it hurts. Porsche hates Kinn for being all cold in Episode 5 for example. He shared himself and Kinn pretends it didn't happen. It's not just cold, it's betrayal. And I think Porsche in some way grieves over the fact its over. Because when you act like a mirror, smile when they do and be all serious when they are, you understand the other - at least you feel like you do. But it hurts when they do something different. You can't make it better by socializing because they don't want to.

Porsche wants everyone around him to be okay and acting like a mirror is a way of keeping people in control. He knows them and immediatly talks it out when things are wrong, because he has to know. He and Porchay have some heart-to-heart talks and not everyone addresses matters that easily. In general, Porsche doesn't hold back but he just goes far enough to not annoy anyone. He knows the line that's not to be crossed.

giving up power

When someone gives you enough power over them, you don't balance stuff out like you always do. We can see this happening once Porsche is more involved and emotionally intimate with Kinn. He can act irrational too and we see him not responding to sentences like "take care" because he enjoys it. It's something Kinn does without question and Porsche doesn't have to reply because it's no give and take between them any more. He willingly gives up his control over things. He doesn't need to keep Kinn in control because he trusts him and if you just reflect what the other already feels, your relationship can't work out. Truth and especially true self is what makes all of this so special and with Kinn, Porsche's social anxiety of never acting out of the usual vanishes. There are no boundaries and if he doesn't want to laugh, then he doesn't.

That doesn't mean Porsche was never a mirror around Kinn. The forest changed them but nearly the whole time it was like "I helped you, you help me" and "I told you my story, you tell me yours".

reflection

The last scene in episode 7 is really symbolic for Porsche because his reflection is only seen up front for once. Most of the time, we see his back. Like he turned his back on his priciples. Because he is damn mad and Kinn acts way out of line. Here, it's not the priority to please Kinn, it's the priority to set some boundaries. And you can see how much Porsche hates to be shouted at because he is very sensitive. He wants to please others but right now his opposite is mad at him. The worst thing that can happen for him. But he stands up to Kinn now, he can't let Kinn treat him with no respect, so he stops being a people-pleaser thus is only seen from behind. He overcomes his principles and Kinn can see his true colors. He can see how hurt Porsche is but also how Porsche responds in time of stress and insecurity. This scene shows a lot more about Porsche than about Kinn. Kinn's reflection is his front because we already know this side of him, Porsche already knew him. But Porsche himself is going through some personal growth here.

When Porsche is pressed against the mirror, he is up close again. This time because Kinn apologizes and it's now Porsche's turn to do the same aka accept it. He has to act like a mirror again in order to be fair.

Then with the knowledg of him letting go and the sex combined, it's a really powerful and meaningful scene. Porsche lets go of control, grants Kinn power over him. His reflection is not seen by him and we can't really see the reflection of Kinn either because he is letting go too. They are not the ones they knew before and show a different side of themselves. It's not the image one can expect to see in the mirror because they change in a way the mirror can't reflect back.

[tl-notes]

Kobayashi’s Maid Dragon S2 Episode 9 Notes

...設立から大分地盤が固まってきており、少しずつだが、業態は改善されている。

One thing to note here is that Kobayashi(‘s narration) isn’t saying the company has already made solid improvements, it’s that the company has finally established itself somewhat (as it was only founded relatively recently, and typically new companies are especially busy while trying to get off the ground) and now is starting to make improvements.

Similarly in the second sentence, it’s not “was” slow going, it’s “is still” slow going, and the working conditions “are” improving, not “have improved.”

This is がんば ganba, short of course for がんばって ganbatte, which I’m sure most of you are familiar with: the (in)famous “do your best.”

I only mention it because I like this shortened version of it. Ganba!

This is a fun little idiom(?)/saying: 鼻で笑う hana de warau (conjugated as hana de warawareta), lit. to laugh using the nose. It’s used to describe laughing at someone you’re looking down on for whatever reason (not necessarily in a super serious way, could just be a friend being dumb etc.; in this case it’s Elma’s being naive).

Typically it refers to like a “heh-but-through-the-nose” kind of “laugh,” but as you can see in this scene (where clearly Kobayashi is laughing with the mouth, even starting with “pff” lips) it works idiomatically even if the laughing isn’t only through the nose.

You may have heard that Japan is/was a “lifetime employment” country, where typically people would get hired right out of school and stay at that company until retirement. While that’s much less true today than it was even a couple of decades ago (and has become kind of controversial in ways), it’s still much more common of a practice than in say the US.

One result of this is that there’s a much bigger distinction placed between hiring people in spring as part of the annual graduation rush (the Japanese school year ends in March), and mid-career hiring. Typically you can’t participate in the fresh grad hiring if you aren’t one, even if you’re new to the field in question. 

For larger employers (i.e. 5k+ employees), roughly two-thirds of all hirings come from fresh grads, and only small employers (<300 employees) hire more mid-careerists than people directly out of school.

Of course, this split tends to apply mostly to “standard” full time jobs, not so much part time, and is not necessarily a thing in every industry/at every company.

Just as a minor point of clarity, this “organized text” in Elma’s document refers to the phrase まとめられた文章 matomerareta bunshou. In a literal sense, matomerareta can mean organized/consolidated etc., and bunshou text/passages, but meaning-wise it’s more like “writing that gets its point across clearly/cleanly.” 

This is a pretty big compliment and a very useful skill to have in organizations like this, as writing such that people can quickly and easily understand exactly what you’re trying to say often saves a ton of time and frustration.

我々はエルマの気迫に押されるがままにその書類を読み始めた。

Another minor point, but where the English could imply that they were overwhelmed by Elma’s intensity through the act of reading her report, the Japanese implies more that they started reading it because of how intense Elma was being. 

It doesn’t really make much of a difference either way, but it stuck out a little for me. 

To justify mentioning it, I guess I’ll explain the grammar point Kobayashi uses: されるがままに sareru ga mama ni. Sareru is a generic verb/verb conjugation for having something done to you (technically here it’s 押される, to be “pushed/pressed/pressured”), and mama refers to a state, condition, or “way” (like “do it this way”).

Put together, the whole phrase is used to indicate “you” do/did something that someone else wants you to, without (meaningful) opposition. (Something similar in raw meaning but with a very different connotation would be “going with the flow.”)

If a friend says “hey let’s go do something,” and next thing you know you’re out bowling despite preferring to stay at home, this is you.

You can stick the mama ni to various other things as well to come up with a similar idea, but without the sareru the nuance may end up different. 

The word for clairvoyance here is 千里眼 senrigan, lit. “eye(s) [that can see] a thousand li”, li being a Chinese unit of measurement for length (shorter than a mile, but for general purposes “eyes that see a thousand miles” is basically the gist).

Despite the perhaps physical-sounding nature of the term, it does actually describe the same power as “clairvoyance” in English: being able to perceive things outside your actual range of vision, including potentially into people’s hearts and minds etc.

Hence why it’s a thousand screen display, when she updates it with tech knowledge:

“Tainted by work” here is 職業病 shokugyou-byou, lit. an occupational disease. The “proper” definition is a disease one gets from working in a particular job, such as black lung for coal miners or even posture-related health issues for desk workers. 

Additionally, it’s used colloquially to refer to noticeable habits or quirks that people in a certain profession pick up, like a baker always waking up super early or a programmer using programming lingo out of context in normal conversation. The latter being especially noticeable in Japanese, as a lot of such terms are English in origin.

“Shocking” here is a fun word: ドン引き don-biki. “Don” here is added just for emphasis; the main meaning revolves around 引き hiki/biki, from the verb 引く hiku, meaning to pull. 

The idea is that someone does/says something that you recoil from. Maybe it’s gross (“I only shower once a week”), maybe it’s mean (“They didn’t smile enough so I didn’t leave a tip.”), maybe it’s creepy (“I sent like 30 texts yesterday but still no reply.”), just anything that has you feeling like you might want to create some distance because... phew. 

It’s kind of similar to the current use of “cringe” as an adjective/noun, though with less of an internet-slang feel* to it, and generally used more as something the speaker is doing rather than describing whatever/whoever is being cringe. 

(*I think it started being used popularly in this way in the early-to-mid 90s, with the “don”biki variant specifically popping up around 2005.)

A “Premium Friday” is the last Friday of the month, where you get to leave work at 3 pm. It is largely theoretical. 

The idea was created by the Japanese government as a way to reduce working hours and encourage domestic spending (boost demand), but it has not been implemented by all that many employers, and especially not many smaller employers. There isn’t, after all, any mandate or government-provided incentive for doing so.

Evidence from the places that did implement it suggests it is actually good for the economy, but good luck convincing bosses to give extra paid time off.

“Last Friday of the month” was chosen because most people get paid on the 25th each month (Japan tends to pay monthly instead of every two weeks), so it would usually be right after payday, when people are more willing to get spendy.

Kobayashi saying eight hours here reminded me of a “fun” fact: the typical Japanese work day is eight hours plus a one hour break. Plus a one hour break, not with. So a typical work day is actually nine hours. Most commonly 8 to 5 or 9 to 6. Not many “nine-to-fives” here.

The characters for Joui are 上井, which usually read as Kamii or Uwai. It’s “Joui” because that means, when written as 上位, “superior.” As in “a superior life-form.” Like a dragon, say.

でも、ゆっくりやる事業改善案を見せてもらえたじゃない？

This one is actually kind of a critical mistake. In the English it sounds like she’s talking about the improvement proposal that Elma made and that the boss looked at. In the Japanese though, she’s talking about a different plan, one the boss showed them*, that is similar in idea but is going to take longer to be fully implemented**. So we’re being told that while Elma didn’t get what she wanted as fast as she wanted it, it is still basically going through at a slower pace.

*In ”見せてもらえた misete moraeta,” the misete vs mite means they were the ones who got shown something, rather than the ones who got someone to look at their stuff. 

**Which you can tell from the ゆっくりやる yukkuri yaru, where yaru is basically “do” and yukkuri means (in this case) at an unhurried pace.

(Re previous note: Hence why she says “immediately” here.)

“Black (ブラック)” and “white (ホワイト)” in the context of Japanese employers refers to how well employees are treated: a company with good benefits/pay, reasonable levels of overtime, and feels safe to work at is “white,” while a company that has excessive overtime, often pays poorly, breaks labor laws, and allows harassment to fester is “black.” 

While “white company” was created simply in contrast to the term “black company,” the latter finds its origins in front businesses for organized crime, which were called “black” in the sense of “illegal” (similar to “black market” or something being in a “grey area”). Given the international reputation of Japanese work life, you can imagine that “black company” as a term sees much more use.

There’s been some discussion about maybe replacing it due to the racial implications (especially since it uses the English word “black”), but while typically English translations drop the color for that reason (e.g. ブラック企業大賞, an “award” given to Japan’s worst employer each year, is officially “Most Evil Corporation of the Year Award” in English), it hasn’t really penetrated to the mainstream at this point.

The rice there is in a 飯盒 hangou, a metal container that looks… like that, and is the stereotypical item of choice for cooking rice while camping. It has its origins in the mess kits used by the military, but these days they’re primarily marketed as portable rice cookers for camping use. 

You can get round ones too, but the bean shape is very popular.

���Settings” here is 設定 settei, lit. exactly that, “setting(s).” E.g. if you open a computer program and look at the settings menu, it’ll be settei in the Japanese language settings (settei). 

I bring it up here because there’s a bit of a difference in how it gets used colloquially like this. In English, the “setting” for a story typically refers to where and when it’s set. In Japanese, “setting” in that sense is usually 舞台 butai. But settei is still used when talking about fiction, just in a different, more expansive way.

Often in these cases settei is used to refer to the various conceits that provide the context in which the story takes place. In this show, for example, one such “setting” is that dragons are real: another is that magic exists. It comes up especially often in fantasy/sci-fi type stuff where there are major distinctions between that universe and the real world—not that stories in a real-world setting don’t have settei of their own, but they often are lumped into descriptions of the plot in that case (”a dragon comes to live with an office worker in her apartment”).

It also refers to the “settings” of characters, like name or age, and things like “they run a bakery that’s going out of business and are trying to save it.” Basically all the details you’d have in a character profile.

It also gets used in conversation to refer to pretend things or (basically) lies: like here, where Saikawa thinks Shouta is playing pretend with his ley-lines talk, or e.g. if someone is trying to tell you some outlandish story (“my uncle works at Nintendo…” or someone asking for love life advice for “their friend”) and you’re just like “Okay so that’s the settei here, I see.”

Not really a big deal, but Elma’s line here in Japanese implies she won’t let Tohru call her that anymore (see her もう mou). Tohru’s response is also more of a “I haven’t been?”, since of course she wasn’t aware of Elma’s-mental-image-Tohru tormenting Elma in the previous scene:

The word for “full of” in the title here is ざんまい zanmai (a suffix form of 三昧 sanmai), usually meaning that there’s a whole lot of [whatever] to immerse oneself in. I mostly bring it up because there’s a famous restaurant chain called Sushi Zanmai that specializes in, obviously, sushi.

And you know, Elma is a water dragon that looks kinda like an eel… I’m just sayin’…

Not really a translation note, but wild that Elma didn’t even touch her parfait. (Not so wild that Fafnir finished his so quickly.) Serious business ahead...

“Genuinely” here is 素直に sunao ni, where the “ni” is used like “-ly” to make sunao work as an adverb. Sunao itself is an interesting word that falls into that category of “simple concept that is often hellish to translate.”

For some context, the first character, 素, is also used in the word 素顔 sugao, which is a face without makeup and 素材 sozai, basically raw ingredients/materials. The second, 直, is used in words like 直線 chokusen, a straight line, or 正直 shoujiki, honest.

Put them together, and you’ve got a word with connotations of directness and being unadorned. The original definition of the word tends toward “simple, natural” in the sense of e.g. life growing up on a rural farm. 

The more common use for it these days is to describe people and their actions. Positively, it can mean something similar to a person being happy to help, or kind of like the opposite of conniving; open, frank, genuine. Less positively, it can mean someone is too trusting and easy to trick into doing things OR someone who is “too honest” and says hurtful things. 

(If it helps: tsundere characters are often described as explicitly not sunao.)

In this case, the idea is that Tohru accepted the invitation easily as-is, without putting any conditions on it, or doing any “ugh, what a pain, do I have to, jeez” rigamarole—she just accepted. Another way you could put it in this case might be “It’s even more unusual for Tohru to accept an invitation like this without a fuss.”

Just to point out the hand on head thing again.

Also just to point out that this is another example of otsukare, as a reminder of how ubiquitous that word is.

And it makes a good place to end on: thanks for reading!

[castiels-majestic-wings]

Poems in the Dark

Paring: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1,610

Warnings: None

Posted: 20/01/2021

Loki Taglist: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

A/N: I couldn't find a fitting poem for this one shot, so i made my own. I hope its not terrible 🙏

Loki living in the tower was something you never thought you'd get used to. But after a couple of months of him not trying to kill anyone, you trusted him quite quickly. Tony on the other hand wouldn't let him anywhere near you unless supervised. You never got a moment alone with him. But you wanted to. During the time he's been here, you noticed the small things that others wouldn't. The way his eyes would cry silent tears. The way his body moved with his emotions. The way that words from the others affected him. You noticed it all, and developed feelings for the man. Of course, you couldn't let anyone know, well except for Natasha. She could see through any lie. But she promised not to tell anyone.

Luck seemed to be on your side today, everyone was on a mission, and Tony had reluctantly left you and Loki alone in the tower. You were a fighter. The avengers always tried to find time to train you. Tony had no choice but to leave you there alone, with Loki. The God of Mischief himself. He feared the worst when he left. But you had reassured him that you could handle yourself if Loki tried anything. Even though you knew he wouldn't. Having time to yourself was unusual, yet calming. You had sat down by the fireplace reading your favourite book of poems. You hardly had time to read anymore, so you took your chance to do so now. But as you got halfway through your book, the lights went out. You weren't exactly afraid of the dark. But being an Avenger, you knew it was bad news. Placing your book on the table and grabbing your dagger from the holster around your thigh, you headed to the fusebox. Was it tampered with, or was it just a normal blackout? By the time you got there, Loki was nearby unnoticed by you.

Noticing that it was a blackout you put your dagger back in its holster before swiftly turning and taking a step forward into a broad chest, belonging to the only other person in the building, Loki. Taking a step back, you apologized for bumping into him until you heard a low chuckle coming from him. You couldn't see his face in the darkness but you could make out the small features of his face. He looked calm, from what you could tell.

"The power's out, we should probably light the fire for some light" Starting a conversation with the man scared you, but the silence was deafening. Scrambling past him towards the fireplace, you placed the logs before lighting it. The orange glow hit the surface of your face which he studied from afar. You had grabbed your book from the table closeby and sat by the fire. He admired your love for books. It was one of the things you had in common. Yet you had never conversed, except for a friendly hello as you pass by each other, or the small talk when you had talked in groups. He couldn’t exactly read in his room anymore so he hesitantly sat down next to you facing the fire. He thought of how to bring up any conversation with you instead of staying silent. Then he noticed the book you were reading was one he had read a week prior.

“It seems you have great taste in the books you read. I have noticed the titles you read are mostly of the literary type.” Looking up at him you smiled. He never really liked conversing with anyone so the fact that he started one with you made your stomach fill with butterflies.

“Well yes, Tony doesn’t understand my love for reading, but there’s just something about the way they are written.-” You placed your book on your lap and your hands moved as you spoke, expressing your feelings within them. “-The way they take me out of reality, and into a different one, my imagination runs wild trying to see the images the authors are describing. It’s hard to talk about the stuff I enjoy when no one shares the same hobbies” You had realised you were rambling nonsense, looking down at the book in your lap grasping it in your hand as if it would be taken away if you let go.

“I share your admirations. Being centuries, old gives you time to read many more books that Midgardians could. I’m always craving knowledge, so I appreciate the Midgardian books that I have read in my time here.” Being stuck in the dark with the man you liked made you forget his love for books. Facing him once more you shuffled closer holding the book his direction, eyes sparkling with wonder.

“Have you read this one? I don’t read poems that often, but this one just called out to me.-” A soft giggle escaped your lips as you continued “-The poems show someone’s feelings in such few lines. It’s admirable really. Pouring your heart out in such a small amount of time. I wish I was as open as these poems were.” Sadness cascaded your features. Loki had taken the book from your grasp, causing you to glare at him playfully as he searched through the pages. He found the page he wanted and recited the poem to you.

The one person who helps me sleep at night.

“Within my darkness, you are the light,

The thought of you plagues my mind,

Though these feelings may be true,

For your heart is one, that’s so true, and kind.

Its something I can’t undo.

My love for you is something I hesitate,

I feel as though, you’re my soulmate.”

He refused to look at you as he closed the book and placed it down.

“I uh- That is one of my favourites. It kinda hits close to home, as you Midgardians would say.” He knew how smart you were, he figured you would figure out it was a confession quite quickly. But the silence made him more nervous than he was before. He daren’t speak a word. Waiting for your reply. When one didn’t come his eyes looked at your figure slowly, only to notice a single tear rolling down your cheek. His face was full of panic his flustered state not knowing what to do. He wiped the tear away while apologising profusely. You giggled at his actions facing your head down wiping the tears that continued to fall. He stayed silent at your laugh. The laugh that he adored was mixed with the tears he never wanted to see on your face. You looked up at him your voice but a whisper.

“You- You have feelings for me?” The shyness in your voice surprised him, you were always so outgoing, no one had ever seen you this quiet, or shy. He didn’t hesitate to reply, showing the sincerity in his voice.

“Yes. I know its stupid since we haven’t spoken-” He silenced at your interruption. Eyes fixed at your form, sitting in front of him.

“It’s not stupid, Loki. I get how you feel, because...I- I have feelings for you too” His eyes widened not expecting you to reciprocate his feelings. Neither of you knew what to do at this point. You were inexperienced with relationships. Being with S.H.I.E.L.D since you were 11, you were a trained assassin, much like Natasha, but seduction was one of your weaknesses. Loki might be centuries old, but he never had a genuine love interest. Thor was favoured by the women, as he was the one who always read, and never fought like a man since he used sorcery.

The fact that someone even had an interest in you made your heart flutter, but because it was him. Your heart burst. You took a leap of faith leaning in to kiss him, yet you hesitated. He had noticed, and closed the gap, placing his hand on your cheek, and the other on your knee. Your hand was placed against his chest, the other, you had palm down on the floor, using it for support. It was a kiss filled with passion, and the pure emotions you felt for each other. You didn’t know how long it was before you pulled away breathing in the oxygen your body lacked. He rested his forehead on yours, both breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath.

You both stayed in silence smiling at each other as you pulled away to take in his features in the low orange glow of the fire. It felt like hours that you were in his presence, but it was mere minutes before the power came back on. Letting your eyes adjust to the sudden light you missed the atmosphere the fire gave you. You got up and grabbed a spare blanket from your room and came back wrapping it around yourself and Loki before asking Friday to turn the lights off, so you could continue to enjoy each other's company in the atmosphere you had previously shared.

You had enjoyed his company slowly falling asleep to the peacefulness around you. He wrapped his arm around you as your head fell to his shoulder, falling asleep. Not long after, he did too.

Everyone had returned from their mission early that morning, but there you still slept, in the same position. The fire was out, but the small embers left on the logs showed it was used recently. You had awoken to Tony’s objection about how close you two were, and he was not happy. You had a lot of explaining to do.

[bondsmagii]

Please do info dump about tornados

tornados have been my jam since I was about 4 years old no joke, I would just watch documentary after documentary about them and even now I love bingewatching footage of them on YouTube like yes... that’s the good shit. before I get into the bulk of it thought I want to share my all time favourite footage of a tornado, like. it’s genuinely one of the scariest videos I’ve ever seen.

this footage was filmed by Clem Schultz, showing the approach of the F4 tornado that destroyed his home. how he managed to hold his nerve as that bore down on him I have no idea, but in managing it he got some of the most incredible footage of a tornado in existence. the sound of that storm, the way all you can hear is the wind growing louder and his breathing, those incredible seconds of footage from inside the tornado... we really owe him a lot for this video. headphones are good for really getting an idea of the magnitude of this thing, but beware that it is beyond loud. (Schultz survived; unfortunately his wife Geri, who was downstairs, did not. in the face of a tornado this powerful, who survives and who doesn’t is simply down to luck.) 

anyway I’ll skip straight to the more interesting stuff because the basics re: how they’re formed is pretty common knowledge and we’re here for the juicy stuff.

something I will talk about briefly just while I’m on a tangent is common knowledge to anyone who knows anything about tornados and also anyone who lives with them as a danger, but it’s something I see a lot of other people simply not knowing: the most powerful tornados (known as F5s) are deadass just. unsurvivable outside of pure luck. I’ve seen people get really bitchy about the damage done by these tornados (see what happened in Moore, OK, in 2013), going on about how people should be building things better and stronger and all that stuff, but like. F5 tornados are the strongest winds on earth. they’re stronger than a hurricane and they’re much more concentrated onto a small area. a concrete or brick building with solid foundations will be obliterated by an F5 tornado. the only way to stand a chance of surviving is if you’re in the centre of the building in a windowless room (the survivors of a school hit directly by an F5 tornado were sheltering in the windowless bathrooms in the middle of the school; even then the roof was still ripped off above them) or you’re in a deep basement with a very sturdy hatch (a door leading into the house will simply be ripped off and probably the floor with it, so it’s still very likely you will literally just be sucked out of the basement). F5s are absolutely terrifying, and no amount of structural integrity will stand up to them. build a little house out of whipped cream and then push a hand blender through it. that’s a building in an F5.

ALSO air pressure changes drastically in a tornado. as it passes over you things get really crazy, and it can and will suck you out of places you’re sheltering if it’s powerful enough. the pressure will make it feel like you’re being pressed tightly against the ground, almost like you’re being crushed; then it will make you feel weightless, and that’s when it’s trying to suck you out. if you’re in the path of a strong tornado, try to hold on to something sturdy, like a pipe that goes deep into the ground. it might not help if it’s sustained exposure, but don’t let yourself be caught out by what’s essentially a giant vacuum cleaner!! I know I’m speaking like this is an impending problem but you can never be too safe!!

and dear god never shelter under one of those road overpasses. I know it looks better than being out in the open but those things are wind tunnels. the force of the tornado will be squeezed down into a much smaller space and the windspeed will increase exponentially, so it’s all around a bad time. if you’re stuck in the path of a tornado and there’s nothing around but an overpass and your car, take your chances in any dip in the ground -- a ditch, something like that. cars and overpasses are absolute death traps. here’s footage of the aftermath of an overpass hit, showing extensive damage to cars which could have easily been thrown through the air like missiles if the tornado had been strong enough:

(timestamped, footage is at 2:52 if for some reason it doesn’t work.)

here’s a video of what happens to the windspeeds of a much smaller tornado in an overpass:

this video is probably responsible for a lot of people making this mistake. the film crew got away with it because the tornado did not pass directly overhead like they claimed. it went just behind them (to the left of the camera when they’re under the bridge) and the wind coming through was the outer funnel. had it been a direct hit, and certainly if it had been a bigger tornado, these guys would have been thrown around like stuffed toys in a washing machine.

speaking of which: did you know tornados can have arms? this is actually a relatively new piece of information, and it unfortunately came at a terrible cost. I’m sure everyone is aware of the fact that stormchasers exist, but contrary to popular belief they’re not actually a bunch of reckless adrenaline junkies. proper stormchasers are usually trained meteorologists, and until the incident I’m referring to, no stormchasers had ever lost their lives while stormchasing. not bad, when you remember that these guys are driving towards the tornado when everyone else is running away. stormchasers are equipped with a lot of high-tech radar equipment, though, so they can trace the tornado’s exact movements even in heavy rain, so they’re able to stay out of the way. this is obviously not something you should try and do as an amateur. 

anyway, this is to establish the fact that stormchasing is surprisingly safe, and tornados were believed to be pretty well understood when this incident went down. we know how they’re formed, we know their general behaviour, we can track them easily and tell people to get out of the way with decent warning. they’re still dangerous and they can still occur suddenly, but up until this incident nobody thought they had any new tricks up their sleeves. and then one tornado in particular did something that nobody had ever seen before, and it cost several stormchasers their lives.

tornados can change size and speed pretty rapidly, and the 2013 El Reno tornado was doing this a fair bit. however, it also had what’s known as subvortexes, which is basically like smaller vortexes coming off of the main vortex (what we would call the “funnel”). the vortex that you can see with the naked eye is actually only a small part of the whole thing -- we only see it because it’s sucking up dust and dirt, making it visible. all around it, though, is a wider rotating vortex of air, and we can see this by the effect it as on structures, rain, etc. out in the open, though, like with the El Reno tornado? it’s much more difficult to see. it can also get really, really big. within this area, subvortexes were forming, which are essentially like mini tornados that you might not necessarily be able to see. the stormchasers in question -- Tim Samaras, his son Paul, and his colleague Carl Young -- should have been far enough away from the main vortex to be able to make a successful escape, but one of these subvortexes just... reached out and threw the car off the road, essentially. I mean, the odds of this were astronomical, and this had never happened before. and like, look at this:

that’s the path of the tornado’s “arm”. TWISTEX is the name of the stormchaser team -- as you can see, they should have been safely out of the way. the subvortex literally just flicked itself out and landed a direct hit, and then carried on its way in less than a minute. this is just... unprecedented. this is one of those tragic situations where there was nothing these people could have done, at all. it’s such a terrible loss, particularly to the field of stormchasing -- Tim Samaras was an accomplished engineer who pioneered many different tactics and pieces of tech for stormchasing, and he was a genius in the field. his work on the Discovery Channel’s show Storm Chasers got countless people interested in the field, and in fact during a eulogy to him somebody even mentioned the fact that most of the young people in the room at that moment were probably there because of him. it was just awful, but there was absolutely no way they could have predicted this. a tornado changing size, speed, and direction all in one go, and then whipping out subvortexes? this is like, the absolute worst case scenario here.

finally, to lighten things up a little: absolutely obsessed with the team of stormchasers who keep trying to modify their vehicle so it can withstand a direct hit, and then driving it around on the job to test out the mods with often disastrous consequences. yes, I said that stormchasers are all professionals, and they are, but they are also all scientists, which means they’re approximately as stupid as they are smart. this is one of their inventions:

like? I’m losing my mind here. the car is called Tiv. on the way to the storm in question they stopped at a gas station to weld more iron to it. as they drove it out they referred to it as “letting loose the dogs of war”. it has hooks that can be deployed to dig into the ground. when the tornado passed close to them one of them yelled “DEPLOY CLAWS!! DEPLOY CLAWS!!” claws were deployed and the tornado absolutely annihilated them. yote them right off the road and rolled the car. everyone was fine and they brought the car in for repairs and then out to try again. God Bless Our Troops.

anyway if you’re still here congratulations I am honestly impressed.

[poliel]

hey so you know how when beffica brings up the chewed on bones and says there's something out there PRESENT TENSE that has teeth and chews on grumpus bones and triffany's like "she's not wrong"? what if, while some of those bones had been chewed on long ago (there's snakmatter that wasn't part of a bugsnak preserved in the stomach area of some of those skeletons - had to be snakified body parts), the culprit for the others was a sleepwalking gramble? he's asleep he doesnt know thats people bones

It's been a long while since I got this ask that give me the idea for this fic. I don't know if it was worth the wait and it was definitely funnier in my head, though that's par for the course when it comes to funny stuff, but here it finally is.

A Different Kind of Midnight Snack

The sight of Gramble sleep walking was a common one at this time of night. Most often he patrolled around Snaxburg but occasionally he did wonder off his usual path and out of town. It was probably a bit morally questionable to stalk him on such occasions, instead they should wake him and send him back to bed, but Buddy didn’t care enough to do so. The curiosity of where he might be going was too much ignore. So instead of going to the closest vacant bed to sleep in as would’ve been wise given the time of night and how long they’d been awake for, they set off to follow Gramble into the Scorched Gorge.

While they’d caught him wondering out of the desert a few times, they’d never caught him going in. So this ought to be interesting given this was a place he went fairly often. Though it could just be a coincidence; he might not go anywhere in particular and might instead just wonder around and just randomly happened to end going into the desert more than other places. If that was the case it’d be disappointing but in the end wouldn’t matter much. At least Buddy would know that and not have to wonder about it anymore.

At the fork in the path he turned right, towards Triffany’s dig site. Not wanting to risk waking him, Buddy hung back. But stayed close enough that if he wondered into any kind of danger like an angry spuddy or something, they could hop in to save him or yell loud enough to wake him and warn him hopefully before he got hurt.

The dig site did indeed seem to be his destination as upon reaching it, he clambered down into the excavation itself and out of Buddy’s line of sight. They paused, waiting to see if he’d come up out the other side. But no, several seconds went by and…

A cracking sound broke the night’s silence. Not particularly loud but still sudden enough to make Budden flinch a little. Shaking it off, they crept closer to the excavation because that’s where it had originated.

Gramble sat in the middle of it, his eyes fluttering, indicating he was still asleep. He held a fossilized thigh bone in his paws. Which wouldn’t have been all that strange if one end of it wasn’t also in his mouth! He was chewing on it! Not hard but enough that it had visibly cracked which explained the sound but… what the fuck?

Buddy took a breath to yell him to stop but bit back on it, even clapping their paws over their mouth to make sure no sound came out. While chewing on/eating fossilized grumpuses was not something any sane grumpus would want to be doing as long as Gramble was asleep he didn’t know. Burdening him with that knowledge would only upset him and thus was not necessary.

Instead they carefully crept down to his level and grabbed the bone. As they pulled it away, he resisted but thankfully not enough to make it a real struggle which likely would’ve ended with him waking up. Once it was no longer in his grasp, they carefully lay it on the ground and took him by the paw to pull him gently to his feet.

He mumbled and whimpered but didn’t wake as they started guiding him back towards Snaxburg and his barn. This at least explained why so many of the fossils had teeth marks and occasionally went missing or showed up broken or splintered. So at least Buddy had solved that mystery. Too bad they couldn’t tell anyone though.

~

Over the next few days they thought about Gramble chewing on and eating fossils a lot. It was a still a rather uncomfortable thought and probably technically cannibalism but also… what did they taste like? While not meant to be eaten, Gramble had to have taken to doing so anyway out of partial starvation, right? Did they help with that any? He certainly didn’t seem quite as unhealthy as one would’ve thought after how long he’d been living off mostly just sauce. But what did Buddy really know about that kind of thing?

At the same time though, the fossils were solid. After how long Buddy had been living off sauce the thought of eating something solid even if it was only partially edible was tempting. And while it was a grumpus skeleton, whoever it had once belonged to was long dead, as was anyone who’d known them. So… trying it just once couldn’t hurt, could it? It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing Buddy had ever done in their life and thus also not the first thing they’d done that they’d need to keep secret for forever.

***

The worst thing about insomnia was that getting any real work done was harder when it was dark. Back on the mainland, there’d been electricity to help with that. Out here though all Floofty had to light their workspace in the middle of the night were candles. Which they were starting to get close to running out of. Making more was difficult due to the lack of real bees on the island and thus no beeswax to make them from. Floofty would have to figure something out an alternative soon. It certainly wasn’t going to happen tonight though.

With an annoyed sigh they turned away. Instead of working they would just go stand by the unlit campfire until they were bored enough to try sleep again or until the sun rose, allowing them to see their work properly again. Whichever came first would be fine with them.

Before they could step out of the research tent, they paused to watch Buddy go by. Not unusual to see them up and about at this time. What was odd though was their lack of backpack; typically they were only without it when staying in town which they certainly weren’t doing right now as they headed in the direction of the desert. Still not really strange enough to be anything more than mildly noteworthy. At the same time though Floofty had nothing better to do so why not investigate and see if anything strange was up?

They didn’t bother trying to be all that sneaky. If Buddy caught them, they caught them, no big deal. But as they followed them into the Scorched Gorge, Buddy didn’t seem at all inclined to look back for potential followers. They beelined for Triffany’s dig site.

At its edge they crouched down to pull out of the dirt; a fossil. They glanced around as if nervous but not far enough to spot Floofty. Then after a few seconds of obvious hesitation, they lifted the bone to their mouth and… bit it with a loud crunch. Which they swallowed?! Another bite and it was gone. They’d eaten it! Next they bent down for another. Without even hesitating this time, they took bite.

“What are you doing?”

Floofty hadn’t spoken all that loud but Buddy still visibly flinched and made a startled squeaking noise as they snapped around to face Floofty. They quickly swallowed the bite they’d already taken and hid the remaining fossil behind their back. “Uh… it’s not what it looks like?”

Floofty strode closer. “It looked like you were eating fossils.” Which was odd even by Floofty’s standards.

“Uh… um….” Buddy glanced all around, their guilt so plain on their face even Floofty could read it with ease. “I’m just… really hungry, okay? Please don’t tell anyone.” They spoke so fast they garbled the words into near incomprehensibility as they bent down to grab one more bone before turning and sprinting off into the darkness.

Even if Floofty had been inclined to try to follow there was no way they’d be able to keep up; speed was not their strong suit. So instead, they watched as Buddy quickly disappeared into the darkness.

Floofty would’ve liked to ask why Buddy was eating fossils – they were just ‘really hungry’ wasn’t a very good explanation – but oh well. It wasn’t really that important and they’d undoubtedly get a chance to ask later because there was no way they wouldn’t be seeing Buddy again, the island was too small. They wouldn’t tell anyone though, as Buddy had requested, not that there was anyone they could’ve told anyway.

[blissfulalchemist]

A Chance for Faith Ch.10

Hello there all! I have another chapter! This is a direct follow up to chapter 7 “Finding You”. This piece was intended to be a few prompts that just all started to fit together into what we have now. So @unleashed111​ and @jedi-mabari​ thank you for your patience and I hope that I could deliver on the prompt requests. 

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: There is a nsfw(ish?) bit near the end of the piece. Alcohol use and minor drug use.

Ao3

The tears that welled up in her jade green eyes cause his heart rate to increase, while the hand that reaches out to him sends him stumbling back a few steps. His back hits the counter, fingers gripping tight to the edge of it, giving a small shake of his head. She frowns, taking another step closer to him. He panics and slaps the money on the counter, it should be enough, mumbling for the attendant to keep the change. Chance’s knuckles burn white gripping the crate as he pushes past the woman, head leaning downward focusing on the bottles. She’s lying, there was no way that was his mom. She’s dead. Long gone.

The slam of the truck door, crate tossed next to him, nails digging into his palm as his hands wrap around the wheel. He’s gasping, chest burning, aching, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. She’s wrong, I’m not her son. I’m not her son, he repeats. His jaw tightens as his hands start to relax enough to grab the first bottle, its cap twisting off with ease. There’s no burn from the vodka as he makes his way through almost a quarter of the bottle. His eyes land on the woman as she works her way through the store, even from this distance he can see that the clothing identifies her as a member that lives on the compound. They are some of the most loyal, the ones that had the most faith, and were guaranteed a spot in New Eden so Joseph wanted to keep them close. Many of those people were from the days at the warehouse in Georgia and the lack of glassy eyes….She’s one of the originals, the ones that had joined somewhere along the road to Hope County. 

Those eyes….something about those eyes….

She says his eyes remind her of her grandmother’s eyes. A good woman and someone she’d have loved to have met Chance had she’d not passed just the year before. I think the jade will darken as he gets older, taking after the man Andi thinks is his father. 

“January twenty-fifth, nineteen ninety-four,” he mumbled, watching as the door opened and the woman moved to the standardized beige truck of the peggies. Chance took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “Worst case is that she’s just confused,” Wrong! Worst case is a trap that’ll get you killed. As if it really mattered anymore. There really wasn’t anything more that could make his life worse. “Fuck it,” Chance stepped out of the car, jogging up to catch the woman before she drove off. Her eyes lit up, a smile crossing her features as she met his eyes again. He kept his distance, arms crossed with his back straight, “Look, for all I know you have me confused with someone else.”

She shook her head, “I’m positive that I don’t.”

He suppressed the eye roll, choosing to narrow them, “Either way, I guess it doesn’t hurt to talk to you at the very least.” 

“Really?” She gasped, eyes going wide, “You’re willing to talk to me?”

Chance gave a shrug, “Yeah. Why not.” 

She straightened out her smile only growing, “Well we should talk in a more private setting, so I’ll follow you.”

Chance gave a slow nod, “Right….you follow me,” To some destination I haven’t even thought of. He made it back into the truck, pulling out of the gas station watching through the mirror as she pulled out behind him. Home was out of the question, some random field wasn’t a good idea with how exposed it was, most buildings near here were boarded up and contained who knew what. Leave it to me to not have a plan, he thought as he scanned the road and area ahead of him. Finally a little farther up ahead on his left the baseball field with old fashioned dugouts, There were worse places to have potentially life changing conversations. 

He slowed to a stop the dust billowing around him and the truck pulling up next to him. His hands shook, stomach turning once the car stopped, how he wished this was an after effect of the alcohol. It was now or never though, and he wanted to pick never. The bottle came to his lips once again, he just needed enough to get himself out of the car. This felt like the stupidest idea he had had since coming back here, hell it probably had to be the worst one in his life. If she was his mom, did she really deserve the time of day? Was she going to just make everything right again? She left him behind….

May 29, 1997

Andi Greene has no more chances. She will never see Chance as long as I can help it.

Twice. Maybe more that his father never found necessary to record, either way that was the last time his dad ever spoke of her. 

Glancing over he caught sight of the woman staring straight ahead, Is she feeling the same as I am?, she was going to find out if this was her child and whether it was him or not in the end, there still had to be some kind of guilt there on her end….right? If it was him though….if she was right….

It couldn’t be, Andi Greene was long dead and gone.

Chance took another deep breath and made his way out to the dugouts, the slamming of a car door following him. The shuffling of the rocks beneath them grating his ear drums as Chance picked the home team. He pointed to the seat further in, “You can have that one,” she gave a nod settling herself, Chance grabbing another. He straddled the foldable metal chair, resting his chin on the back of it, mouth going dry. She stared at him, shifting, hands clasping and unclasping, Chance’s leg bouncing. He cleared his throat, readying to-. 

“So I assume you have a lot of questions for me,” she said rapidly, “Just ask anything you want.”

He tilted his head cocking a brow, “Not really other than what your name is,” Probably should have asked that first, could have saved a bit of trouble.

“Oh. Yes. My name is Andrea Greene, but most everyone used to call me Andi,” Okay maybe it was possible, “And you’re still Chance I see.”

He frowned, “Why would I be going by any other name?”

“Dr. Ruicknar,” her jaw clenched, her eyes closing a moment while taking a deep breath, “well he believed that you should have been named Jason. So I just assumed….”

“Don’t think he ever really tried to change it. Knew that Chance was my name, always has been and always will be.”

She gave a thin smile, “Figures.”

He sat up straighter, thumbs tapping on the back of the metal, “Well a name doesn’t prove much of anything. The kind of stuff you just said is almost common knowledge around here.” Okay maybe the whole potential different name thing isn’t.

“You’re right,” she nodded, “Then ask me something that you think only your mom would know.”

I don’t have too. I can just leave. I never needed her before, “When did you leave me?”

She blinked slowly, looking down to her lap, “Of course, there would be no other question that you’d ask first,” her voice softer. “I always hate to admit this, I mean you’d think,” she gave a weak laugh, her smile thin, “that admitting it in one’s confession and getting it marked on your body would make it easier.” His eyes followed her hand as she rubbed the left side of her chest, she swallowed, “I was selfish, the first time I left, and well I’m sure you know of the second time.” She cleared her throat, sitting straighter, “So, forgive me, you’ll have to be a little more specific I’m afraid.” Chance’s palms began to sweat, words catching in his throat, “Unless you want to know about both,” she paused, looking him up and down. She gave curt nod inhaling, “Probably best you know of both of them. Make life easier for you. When you were three months old I left you with Dr. Ruicknar, back in ninety-four. I really wasn’t ready to be a mom and I-,” her voice cracked, taking a moment to right herself, “I wasn’t ready yet to pick you over my bad habits.”

It lined up with the story Chance had known, but it was hard to tell how much of the truth she was telling. She wouldn’t be trying to hold back her emotions like this if she was lying though….?, “What about the second time,” he asked in a whisper.

She sniffed, clearing her throat, nodding her head, “Right, well I didn’t want to leave you, my son.” A pride came to her eyes as she said those words, the smile falling as she looked away, “The second time I was forced to be away from you.” Andi’s eyes glimmered in the light, stray tears escaping them, the pride gone, “You were only three and we were finally starting to connect. Starting to become a family, you and me.”

Ding, Ding! We have a winner ladies and gentlemen, Chance tried his best to mask the shallowness of his breathing, she was right. She was, is, his mom. “So what happened?”

Andi looked out to the field, jaw tight, her breathing long and purposeful before turning back to Chance, “Dr. Ruicknar happened.” He flinched slightly at the venom in her voice, “He decided that I shouldn’t have you,” she rubbed her chest once again, eyes growing darker, “That I shouldn’t be your mother anymore.” That….doesn’t-. It doesn’t feel right, she crossed her arms, “He had no right to do that, just up and moving taking you with him while I was out of the house.”

Chance shook his head, laughing, “No. No. That’s-that’s not what happened.” The world spun a moment Chance standing too quickly from the chair, “Dad-He’d-. No. He was a good man, he’d never do something like that.”

Andi stood, slowly making her way towards him, “He did though,” her face softened, fingers gently pulling his face to meet hers, “Chance, he just wanted you all for himself. Was so desperate to be a father he spun lie after lie.” He wouldn’t, he always saw the best in people, he desperately wanted to cover his ears, tune out her voice, “To the courts, his friends, father, neighbors, everyone. All so he could make sure that I was out of the picture.”

The scar on the back of his neck burned, god he needed another drink, “If he wanted you out of the picture it was for good reason,” It’s all bullshit. Dad wouldn’t have lied, he always went for the truth.

“It’s the truth, Chance,” she looked evenly into his eyes, “Think about the Jessop girl. He planned to take her in, despite the fact that she already had a family.”

“Rachel has nothing to do with this,” Chance growled, stepping back shaking his head, “And even if she did-. No.” He turned away from her, “No, I’m not gonna get wrapped up in your little game or whatever it is you’re doing.” I just need to get out of here, It was stupid to give a woman that abandoned him twice the time of day.

“I’m not playing any games with you, Chance,” she followed after him, “I’m telling you the truth! You deserve to know the kind of man Dr. Ruicknar was.”

“Oh, fuck off! I promise you dad had his reasons,” Andi Greene has no more chances, “He was a good man and you’re lying to me!”

“I’m not,” he jumped inside the truck, as her hand reached into her pocket, “Look!” Andi held up a photo, gripping onto the door, another in her other hand. Chance stopped taking in the weathered photo a thin white line down the center from years of folding and unfolding, the picture showcasing a young woman and small boy. “This is you and me,” her voice cracking, “the day before he took you away from me.” She evened out her breathing as she made sure the photo was always at eye level, “We were happy, Chance. I was only staying with him to get back on my feet so I could give you the life you deserved.” 

His hands shook, snatching the photo from her hand, focusing solely on the people within it. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, her smile big as her arms encircled the young boy. His hair looked to be a mess, curls unable to stay in place, he held out a stuffed dinosaur, the one from the museum not too far from the university campus, the smile lopsided but green eyes lit up with excitement. Chance suppressed the urge to rub the back of his neck, the tingling from the scar getting worse. He can’t recall any sort of memory looking at the picture, just that he remembered sleeping with that dinosaur every night, clinging to it becoming upset when he couldn’t sleep with it one night. Chance can recall the vague memories of trying to sleep, waking in a scare, running to his father still up grading tests, and falling asleep at the table in his lap. 

“Did he ever talk about me, Chance?” Her words brought a lump to his throat, “Or even your grandfather? Either of them?”

“No,” he ground out, hanging his head.

Andi placed a hand on his shoulder, “Now you see why. They shouldn’t have done what they did, separating us like that.” She handed over the second picture, this one more weathered than the last, the color starting to fade, “But we’re together now. We can make up for the lost time.”

This picture was a baby picture one that he fuzzily recalled seeing once before, I can’t-. I can’t think properly, “This-. You have to know that this is a lot to take in.”

She placed a hand on his cheek, wiping away at the few tears falling without his knowledge or permission, “I know. I know it is, but I’ve missed you, my boy. My son.” Her smile….it's hard for him to find anything insincere about it. Her words….truth, mostly, possibly all of it. She takes a deep breath, “My Chance, I’ve missed you so much.” He doesn’t respond, how can he? It’s all too much at once. Chance turns away from her shaking his head, she swallows, nodding away the tears, “I’ve waited this long for you to return to me and I can wait a little longer for you to get your mind wrapped around this.”

This all had to be a lie, a hallucination like the ones Faith’s put me in, Her warm hands against his skin speak otherwise. There’s a comfort in her touch, one he fears, and if he lets himself feel it, embrace it even a little, he’ll just fall right into that comfort never wanting to leave. Maybe I’m already too far gone, all of this too reminiscent of those first encounters with Faith. He kept thinking it was just the drugs, Just like how it has to be the alcohol now, only to soon realize that it was something real. Those shadows of memories of a life he loved and wanted to go back to, back when things still made sense in the world. 

That ache, that never ending ache in his chest seemed to be disappearing now as he stayed letting her hold his hand. Calling him, calling him to seek out that baser comfort of being embraced by one’s caregiver. His chemistry begging, begging, begging for those chemicals tattooed on his hand to be activated within Andi so that he may in turn gain the serotonin lost over the years. That scar burns. Family, some kind of family, some kind of real family. The last of it right here before him.

The story she told, truth to it, yes, something just feeling….off. He rubbed the back of his neck, nails digging into that damn scar, he just needed to tear it off. The familiarity of how she told it….

He needed to go. Too much. Terrible idea. Nothing has been gained from it. Nothing….lies. So many of them still wrapped in some kind of truth. The only other people to bring any kind of perspective on them long gone. 

“I’ve-. I gotta go,” Chance mumbled, pictures in hand, throwing the truck into drive, dust kicking up. Home, just go home, he repeated, the clinking of the bottles keeping time. Liar, liar, liar! She had to be lying. He was a good man, that’s what he remembered. He was a good man that didn’t just do things without good reason. Right? No, that was correct, it's his truth, the one he knows, the one he has to believe….it's the one he’s known his whole life. 

There’s a blare of a horn, Chance swerving to the other side of the road, slamming the brakes. He looks up to the cars passing by, all of them belong to locals, Chance’s teeth grind, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He needs to get home, needs to clear his head, get back to that state of….

One more stop. 

If he’s right about this being a hallucination or his brain playing tricks on him then having some of it won’t do anything to him. It won’t affect him. Hell it probably would help him with making the world, his world, as it should have been. Shouldn’t be too hard to find, just need to go to one of those shrines, they’ll be doing their duty of converting all that they can. Two miles. I’m pretty sure there’s one two miles from here.

He takes a long drink from the vodka, grabbing the handgun from under the passenger seat. The door slams and the two, Wait there’s one in the water, the three peggies look up at him, guns aimed. Come at me, His gun already out, the first shots shaky in their aim but effective to bring the two down, Civilian injured, but just in the arm. The one in the water rushes at him, fumbling for the gun on her back, Lucky me, one shot and a splash. Not even a second look at those he’s just rescued, picking up one of the member’s canteen filling it from the open barrel. Back on the road and home before he knew it….could even process it.

Crate placed on the counter, the bottle from the car halfway filled, Chance pouring in some of the Bliss, the liquid taking on a faint green tint. He gives it a good shake before drinking once more. In a near instant the shaking finally stops, breathing slowed, warmth flooding to his limbs once more. He lets his eyes open, finding the world around him….

clear….

peaceful….

Beautiful.

This is what he needed. This is what was going to help him. He just needed to think and why not just think in a place that was out of reality. “Rest.” He needed that too, Should do that first, he thought as more of the bottle disappeared letting himself fall onto the sofa. Never had it felt softer, more inviting. Singing, distant, clear, words he knew all from her voice. “Where are you,” the whisper echoing in the open expanse of….well where he was. “Faith,” he breathed out, “I need you,” his eyes closed with the feeling of her fingers brushing against his skin. Her voice closer now, lulling him to sleep, “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded.

“We won’t,” she whispered, lips cold as they pressed to his cheek….

“Just rest.”

As quickly as Chance landed in a dreamless sleep the world moved suddenly. Sharply. His head groggy as his eyes struggled to focus, stomach starting to roll. One more drink, he can wake up with another drink. The bottle felt lighter than when he laid down, the sky darker, Didn’t mean to rest that long. A hand stopped the bottle from reaching his lips, his eyes turning slowly to meet her blue-green eyes, a smile spreading on his face. “You’re still here,” he whispered, reaching out for her.

Faith nodded, placing his hand back on the sofa, “I told you I’d come back to check on you.” Her eyes looked to the bottle in his hand solemnly taking it in, her frown only growing, “How are you feeling today?” She swept a hand over his forehead, the curls clinging to the sweat on his brow, “It looks like you spent most of it sleeping.”

He shook his head, “I didn’t sleep,” she didn’t stop him as he moved to take another drink, “I was thinking.”

Faith tilted her head, “Oh? What were you thinking about,” her voice soft, softer than the last time she spoke to him. They fought? Yeah we did. We did and she came back?, “Chance?” 

“Hmm, oh,” his eyes focused back on the room around her, “Her.”

Dark blonde eyebrows knitted together as she stared, “Her, who?”

“Mom.”

She flinched, opening her mouth a second before closing it again. She bit her lower lip, thinking for a moment, looking at her hands folded in her lap. “Your….mom,” he nodded, “Why? Are you wanting to find her?”

Chance shook his head, sitting up, “Don’t need too. She found me.” The world spun slightly, taking another drink to steady it.

“She….found you,” Faith moved to sit on the coffee table.

Chance nodded, “Yep. ya’know I’m sure you’ve met her. She’s been with you all for a long time.” He looked around the room, tints of green pressing through the darkness outside his windows, “Wait.” Faith looked up, fingers still holding her chin, “You think she’ll show up here?”

“At your house?” She asked, raising a brow.

“No, in the Bliss. In that big field you showed me,” he walked to the window by the door, “This house has to be there right? She could come and end up finding me again.”

“That’s-.” She shook her head, moving to stand next to him, “There’s no possibility of that happening,” Faith assured, her hand gently touching his shoulder.

“Your hands,” he placed a hand over hers, “Your touch,” Chance rubbed circles on the top of her wrist, “it’s so warm.” He stared down at it a moment more before he dropped it, walking to the canteen on the counter, testing the weight, “I didn’t take too much did I?”

Faith took the container from him, setting it back down, “No, you didn’t Chance.”

“Then why do you feel so warm? So….,” his fingertips ran down her cheek, neck, and collar bone, the lace scratchy against them, “Real.”

Her eyes searched his face, brow knitting together, “Because I am, Chance. You didn’t take enough to last more than a few hours.” 

He frowned looking at the ground shifting, “Is that why my chest is starting to feel empty again?” Chance rubbed his chest, feeling the raised letters beneath his shirt, looking at Faith through his lashes.

The frown she wore, eyes sympathetic, answered enough for him. “You said you met your mom,” she started, “Is that why you-?”

“Started drinking again,” he finished, scoffing, shaking his head, “No. It all happened just a few hours ago.”

Her eyes widened, “And how did it go?”

“Why are you asking so many questions?” The ache, the edges of the hole he could never close started to burn. That damn scar, all of them, but mostly the one on his neck and spread across his chest itched and burned.

“I-,” her eyes flicked to the hands at his side, one gripping the glass bottle the other balled into a fist, both sporting white knuckles. “I- Well I was just making conversation,” she smiled, her voice lighter, teasing with laughter, “Seems like we never just talk anymore, my White Knight.”

He blinked, locking his gaze with hers for a moment. He gave a quick shrug, “Huh. Guess you’re right.” Chance took another sip, rocking back on his heels, words starting to slur, “Never had much to talk about after a while.”

“Oh,” her smile fell for a fraction of a second, shaking her body out, “Well, there’s been some new developments it seems.” Easy, always easy to talk to, Chance’s smile returns, I can tell her anything.

“Sure,” he finished off the last of the bottle, Faith’s soft smile ever present as she watched him move, eyes turning sad. He grabbed another bottle, opening it quickly, “But she could be….well hmm I don’t think she’s really my mom.” He strode past her reaching for the photos on the coffee table, feet starting to tangle, “I know I’ve seen this one before somewhere,” he held up the baby picture, Faith tilting her head taking it from him. “I just can’t seem to place it yet. There’s just too,” he waved a hand over his head, “Just too much going on in my mind to find it.” 

She flips the photo over, “I see,” squinting her eyes, fuzzy memories she can’t quite reach, play out. A simple handmade shelter in the woods and a manila folder.

Chance holds up the second one, “This one I’ve never seen before,” Faith’s eyes take it in, glancing between his eyes and the one on the small boy’s. It’s him, she’d know his eyes anywhere now. He taps it, “That dino toy though,” he laughs to himself, “I had one just like it.”

Another drink down, Faith starts walking around him, fingertips running along his shoulders, “So who do you think she is?” God, how did she manage to make her voice sound like a song. She takes the second photo placing them on the table once more.

“A trick,” he shrugs, “Maybe I just got stuck in the Bliss and there’s no coming out of it for me.”

She smirks, “Or?”

“Or some trick of your brothers’,” he laughs with a snort, “Probably Sunglasses, wants to get me to join you all.” She tilts her head, “Joseph said it wasn’t too late for me.”

“Are you really considering the offer,” her smile grows, “After all this time? All this protest and resistance, you’d really join the faith?” His eyes follow every movement of hers, contemplating if he should ask for more from her. Her whispered words in his ear brings him back, “Join us in creating a New Eden?”

“I-,” he stops, the questions sinking in. He didn’t believe, would never believe in some higher power, especially one coming from Joseph. That wasn’t the only reason why people joined religions, or why one would stay…., “No. No, I’m not considering it, just trying to think like you do.”

She hums, “You hesitated,” Faith says as she sits on the back of the sofa, ankles crossed, “Normally you never hesitate.”

“This isn’t some therapy session, Faith,” he snaps rolling his eyes, another swig of the bottle following, “No need to look that deep into it.” That woman’s wrong, she’s wrong. Just lying, just a trick.

“Then what would you rather do?” Faith smirks, the concern growing in her eyes, “Anything you want.”

He moves closer grabbing her hand, still warm, chest starting to feel hollow while the rest of him feels some kind of electricity. Why did they ever start this? Why did he ever start to let himself fall for someone that could also be a dream at any given moment? There was never a real good way to tell the difference anymore, was there? How many times did he find himself here with her like this? 

He set the bottle down letting his now free hand run along her jawline and neck slowly, pausing where he could feel her pulse the best. He lets go of her hand placing it on her waist, feeling as her heartbeat increases.

“Real or not real,” he whispers, Please say-.

She takes hold of the hand resting along her collarbone bringing it to her cheek. smiling, “Real.” His breath catches, the pleas he had for her once it looked like neither were going to come back to the other, held back. She frowns, pushing some of his hair back, “Do you feel unreal, Chance? Or like none of this is real?”

He cast his eyes down, Can’t ever hide my thoughts from you, “I wonder sometimes,” the hand on her waist running farther along the curve of her, “Maybe this place is just some kind of afterlife.” He sighs, eyes slow to meet hers once again, “I just couldn’t take it anymore one day. Or they finally got me,” he’s spinning, falling, the longer he stares into her eyes, “But I just-Faith I don’t feel like myself anymore. I never do-.”

“Until that bottle is gone,” she finishes softly, Chance giving a small nod, shutting back the tears threatening to fall and close his throat. “Chance,” he opened his eyes to her sympathetic face, “What would happen if you felt like yourself again? Even just for a little bit.”

“Could think through everything,” he whispers, “The whole world….I can make sense of it all.”

“You think you’d have the answers you need,” she guided him closer to her, “The ones you want.” Chance nodded, resting his forehead against hers. If she was real then he needed to have this moment with her. Just needed to have her, the real her, the one that didn’t get angry when he’d refer to her as Rachel every now and again. Faith nodded, “Then how can I-?”

“Touch me,” his response was fast, Faith blinking in surprise. He took a deep breath, the smell of her flowers with undertones of fresh rain giving him comfort. This had to be the real her, had to be, “Just-. I need to feel….,” Real, alive, close, comfort, you, “Feel something other than….”

His words trailed off, Faith giving him a moment before finishing his thought, “Other than the confusion and pain?” He stayed silent, she nodded in understanding, “Is this what you need to help you,” her fingers started to play with the edge of his jeans, the bare skin she touched warming beneath it, She missed me too, didn’t she? 

He tilted her chin to take in her face, “It would be a start I think.” There just above her eyebrow, the faint scar from those early days of the reaping, Been awhile since I’ve seen that on her, “But only if you’re really here, really you.”

She frowned, eyes misting, “Of course it's me, Chance,” she pleaded, “I told you last night that I’d come back to check on you.”

He brushed a thumb over the scar, “Tell me how you got this then.”

She tilted her head, cocking a brow, before exhaling slowly, “I got it because you,” she poked his chest, “got a grenade thrown at me.” She gave a small smile at the memory passing through the two of them, “I still don’t forgive you for threatening to cut my hair that day.”

Chance couldn’t help but chuckle, “I was really looking forward to adding Hairstylist next to sacrificial lamb on my resume.” She laughed, the melody one he could never forget, Real. This is real, “Besides I saved your life that day.”

“Again, only after you put me in danger in the first place.” Her fingers traced along the muscle and bone of his hips, “It was also when you pointed out the obvious point I had been ignoring.” His mind wadded through the memories, the feelings vague, muted by the liquor taking hold of him, “I tried, well try, to ignore the fact that I’m so easily replaceable.”

“Oh,” he looks to his feet, “I’m still sorry. It was a low blow.”

Faith shook her head, “You were right though.” Her eyes grew distant, hands stopping along his hips, “I used to think she was meant to replace me, you know.”

It took a moment for the name to come up, or well the name Faith knew her by, “Mary? Your sister?”

She nodded, eyes cast down, “Some days I wish I could have been more genuine in my kindness rather than keeping her close to keep her from replacing me. Or at least had more time to be genuine,” her voice cracks, “She always was to me.” 

Chance ran his thumb along her cheek catching the few falling tears, “It weighs on you,” he started softly, “Those feelings of not being able to say goodbye, to make sure that the person knows how you feel about them,” Even if they are still alive. 

She pulled him closer, face pressed into his chest, “You won’t just leave without letting me have a goodbye, right?”

I can try, his eyes glanced down to the bottle at his feet, I want a little more. Need a little more. “Not if I can help it. Even if,” he looked up at the ceiling, letting out a sigh, “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but even if ghosts and the afterlife turn out to be real, I’ll make sure you can have a nice goodbye.”

Her eyes widened at the admission, “Must really care about me to make that kind of promise.”

Chance looked back into her eyes, mind slipping into the blue of them easily, pushing some of her hair back, “I-. Rach-.” He took a breath to steady himself, her grip on him making it harder to grab for the bottle, “Faith I love you.” 

Faith doesn’t say anything, eyes searching his face, his heart falling with each beat of his heart. Say something….anything. Say it back, the lump forming in his throat. 

This was a mistake. He shakes his head, “Look jus-just forget it. Forget I said anything.” He turned away, cheeks starting to burn, stomach turning as he grabbed the bottle stepping away from her. 

She grabs onto his hand, “Chance wait.” She jumped down walking closer to him, arms wrapping around him, kissing his cheek, “I know you do.”

“Do you just not feel the same?” His whispered voice hesitating with each syllable, “That why you won’t say it back?”

“Chance,” Faith closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, “I’d rather hear those words come from a sober mouth,” she laced her fingers with his, “You’re not the only one that has trouble distinguishing dreams from reality.”

He looked over his shoulder, the windows still grasping onto that green fog, “What do we do then, if neither of us can trust in what we see and hear? If we feel we can’t even trust the validity of our feelings?”

“Exist.” 

“In this moment,” she smiled, taking the bottle from him, “We meet in the middle.” She took a long drink, nose wrinkling from the burn, “Or well I meet you there, and then we just exist in the other’s presence.”

He blinked, eyes wide, “You’d stay the whole night?”

She smiled, giving a small nod, “Just like I used too.”

“The nights where we just laid in bed-.”

“And talked, with my skin pressed to yours-.”

“Until the whole world was just you and me-.”

“The orange of the sun dispelling the barriers we’d set up-.”

“Our call to return to a world where-.”

 “Neither of us really belong anymore.”

 She brushed some of his hair back, unable to break free of his green eyes, his hands resting on her hips, breathing even once again. He was the first to move, guiding them to the bedroom, pulling the zipper of her dress down once in the doorway of his room. Faith let it fall, pulling his shirt over his head. Chance quick in removing the rest of his clothing as she followed his lead, sliding under the covers with ease. 

Maybe it was the time they had spent apart or the feeling of being unreal that changed their thought process. They were only meant to lie there feeling the other close to them, not having their lips crash together, hands tangling in each other’s hair, and their hearts starting to race. He pulled her leg around him making sure it was secured around his hip before moving his lips down her jaw and neck. She let out a small gasp as he started to kiss across her chest.

Her fingers grasp at his hair, pulling his lips back to hers as he lays her on her back. She rolls her hips to meet his gaining whatever friction she can, Chance moaning into their kiss, hands gliding down her body. Fingertips trace the scarred sin before running up her body once again, pulling one of her arms away from him, lacing their fingers together, holding it down on the bed. She gives the lightest of pushes on his shoulders, Chance following her thoughts kissing down her body once more. 

His lips and tongue trace every outline of her, her breathy moans filling the room. The heat radiating off of her only grows the closer he gets to her core. She doesn’t force him back up, doesn’t stop him from starting his act of worship between her thighs. She lets him watch as her back arches, the way her chest moves as her breathing deepens, listening to his name leave her lips as her fingers tangle farther in his curls. This. This is real. This is the woman he’d been letting himself fall for. Not the one who’s been coming to visit almost every night with her song that commands his actions. 

There’s little time to recover when she pulls him back to her lips, the taste of her still lingering. He’s starting to strain, desperate to be connected to her when she pulls away, foreheads still resting against each other. There’s a moment where both catch their breath, Faith whispering, “I want you….,” her fingers running down the nape of his neck. 

“I need you,” they say together. 

“All of you,” he continues, “Every part of you.” His eyes travel down her body, every scar, curve, flaw traced and memorized, “For as long as I can have you.”

She traces a fire along his chest, letting out a ragged breath rolling her hips, “Let’s start with now,” she whispers, their bodies interlocking with ease. Easy, right, perfectly made for the other. How it all seems so obvious as their hearts beat in perfect rhythm, the slow and purposeful movements eliciting a duet of moans, sighs, and gasps. It's no longer a rage of fire and heat, not like it ever was, it’s slow and calming, always there. 

Equal as Faith easily takes the lead, pushing him onto his back, Chance moaning out her name. His head falls back with a low groan as she starts to move her hips in a circle, nails gripping onto his chest. His hands fall and rise with the curves and dips of her torso, hips bucking to meet her movements. She increases the pace of their movements, Chance gripping onto her hips, both on the precipice of ecstasy, time slowing down around them.

Then all at once the pleasure hits them, engulfs them, their lips crashing together as they ride it out. The high lasting longer than it had before made the two of them work to catch their breaths. They smile, Chance giving a small chuckle giving one more soft kiss every little detail and sensation heightened and solid. They were both here, they both existed at this moment.

They were both alive.

It took a moment for the two to fall into place on the bed, silent as they adapted once more to just feeling the other’s warmth once again. Faith’s fingers traced the scars littering his body, mind searching for something to start with. “You know, I got a glare from John after that day, you know.” 

“What day?” He asked, noticing how she shivered feeling the way Chance’s fingers traced patterns lightly on her skin.

Faith laughed quietly, “The day you first brought me here.” 

“Ah,” he kissed the top of her head, “Why did Fashion Week glare at you?”

Faith smirked, pulling him closer, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how you called him Karen.” He gave a snort holding back his laughter, “I’m serious. The way you said it,” she gave a small shake of her head rolling her eyes, “There was just something funny about it and it kept playing out in my mind during our meeting. He said something that I think was vaguely insulting and the name slipped out when I tried to call him out on it.”

Chance laughed, burying his face in her hair, “Of course he would have to act like a Karen after I graced him with that name.” He looked up to the ceiling, hand moving over the curve of her hip, “I would have loved to see his face as you said it.”

“Maybe someday you’ll be able to,” she looked up, resting her chin on his chest, “once all of this-,” the smile she had starting to fade.

Chance nodded slowly, moving on his side their faces close, “Once all of this is over,” If it ever will be. His lips brushed against hers briefly before placing a light kiss on them, “My day to see Gossip Gabby really appreciate my humor will come. Even if I have to make it so.”

She giggled, “Do you have these nicknames written down so you can just pick from a list?”

Chance placed a hand on her cheek, bringing her lips to his in a deep kiss, forehead pressed to Faith’s when he pulled away. “You’ll never know, Princess.”

[ramblingguy54]

Huey & Lena: A Shared Common Struggle.

Take it from someone who used to be Magica’s shadow. You can’t ignore the parts of yourself you don’t like. Even the parts you’re afraid of.

Wasn’t sure what to expect when I heard Lena would be teaming up with Huey in The Split Sword Of Swanstatine. In retrospect, they really struck gold here with their dynamic. Besides the hilarious comedy that ensued from Lena resetting Huey’s attempts at trying to outwit Steelbeak, there’s a deep connection these two share in their emotional baggage and it’s being ashamed at different parts of who they are personality wise. We’ve witnessed Huey’s Duke outbursts being played for laughs back in The Infernal Internship Of Mark Beaks & Timephoon, but here there are no shenanigans with The Duke side this time. Huey tries to stay level headed in his thinking and skills of observation, but when faced with a challenge where he can’t out think someone, since Steelbeak isn’t one for mind games because he’s not sharp, it boils this kid’s own deep seeded anger up to the surface. It’s not a laughing matter anymore when The Duke arrives, considering we get further insight of how Huey is very vulnerable about that part of his attitude. Rather than trying to control that anger, Huey instead bottles it all up, which isn’t very healthy emotionally speaking. Lena understands all too well that running away from elements of what makes you different doesn’t solve anything after how much stuff she’s confronted head on in stories revolving around her self value. Lena, already being experienced in that field of issue, can easily help give Huey the guidance he needs to become content with that aspect of his behavior and it’s very crucial stuff for his development, but also foreshadows at the same time what could become of him if he allows said anger to swallow him up whole. Puts things into a bigger picture when people, be it family or friends, make side comments at his textbook thinking of organization and need for greater knowledge to know the world around him.

The Duke Of Making A Mess is...the part of me that’s pure emotion. Get’s in the way of my thinking and goes against everything I stand for.

When Huey struggles to contain that embodied rage in his own mind space it shines light on just how compassionate he is, overall. It’s why we don’t see him get angry often, as Huey desperately wants to be a mature and loving older brother he tries the very best to carry himself to be in front of his bros. This picture here doesn’t scream, “Look, everyone! It’s The Duke. Laugh it up again.”, and that perceived statement couldn’t be farther from what’s actually going on here. The Duke’s horrifying return here shows how terrified Huey is of being unable to control his feelings from lashing out and hurting people around him he cares about. Fighting hand to hand with Steelbeak isn’t Huey’s top priority concern and more of a future obstacle he doesn’t want to see come true. Could he lose sight of what’s important, where Huey allows that anger to cloud his judgement when it matters most of all for helping the family in fending off FOWL? Which, again, Lena can understand that lingering anxious fear of transforming into those worst parts that could define her life, if she allowed them to. So, it makes for an awesome dynamic between them as characters with a shared struggle of fending off their worst fears about themselves. Huey’s worst nightmare of getting angry and lacking a form of control shows a great weakness. Something that Bradford could easily take advantage of for his master plan’s success. Controlling your anger is no easy task, so bottling up your emotions passively won’t make situations better. Sometimes you gotta take on the beast inside of yourself, while taming it to the best of your abilities. Huey’s struggle is one a lot of us, myself included, can strongly relate to because anger can be your greatest weapon, but it can turn into your biggest weakness for not thinking clearly, too. It’s why I normally bottle up my anger a lot of the time because I do get scared of how my anger makes me verbally speak. However, I also know when’s the right time to snap, given you can’t always bottle up those feelings forever either, of course. Tempt a kind person to get pissed and their anger makes people, who have short tempered outbursts, look like angels in comparison. Don’t ever light the long fuse of someone who is very kind, compassionate, and forgiving. Huey is all of those things here.

Yes, there are indeed points in your life, where you’ll have to get angry at someone that won’t listen to reasonable solutions and it won’t be fun to bring out that darker side of yourself, but that’s how its gotta be. Good communication can’t always solve every problem in your life, so what’s the next best thing? A good verbal intensity or ass kicking to send home a message you’re not to be screwed with. A mindset Huey needed coming to terms with and so he did. Anger can bring a terror out of yourself that you didn’t realize was there, while it can provide clarity of figuring out better solutions to comprise with that temper, as well. That’s why I loved Huey & Lena’s dynamic in this story of the week. It allowed Huey to grow more in development with confronting his anger issues, gaining more respect from Lena for his monstrous fighting abilities, once that temper was better utilized to fend off Steelbeak’s strength. Lena teased him with calling him a clown at Season 3′s start, but she sure as Hell doesn’t see him that way anymore after what happened here in this episode. When you get Steelbeak, someone who is the literal muscle of FOWL, to be afraid of your power, you know you’ve got something dangerous in your capabilities.

So, yeah, this episode was great development for Huey’s arc and introduced a terrific dynamic with Lena I didn’t know I need, until now. That was like easily my favorite aspect of this episode for what it managed to do.

[ranmanjuu]

YIEEE PLATONIC MATCHUPS. Anyone who has had the misfortune to hear me mention that word, will know that I’m the biggest hoe for friendships and family stuff. So this makes me so happy 🥺🥺🥺 I can’t. Thank you sm for doing this, and remember to take care of yourself!

Personality: ENTP-T/Aquarius. I tend to be very stubborn, argumentative, and blunt, but I try to tone it down around my loved ones. I’m open minded, hardworking and passionate about the things I love, and I never shy away from a challenge. In true ENTP fashion, I’m arrogant, but aware of my own faults. I’m quite clever, but I start doubting my abilities pretty quickly.

How I act around friends: If you’re a person I like and I’ve known you for long enough to be comfortable around you, I’m a high-calibre crackhead, and a bit overbearing with my mother hen attitude. My nickname for you, depending on your comfort levels, is either an insult or some tooth-rottingly sweet name. If I haven’t known you for too long, I’m bound to be a bit more careful with my words as I’m afraid I’ll fuck smth up and make you feel uncomfortable. It takes me a long long time to be certain that you won’t drop your bags and run away after I’ve made one tiny mistake. If you’re someone that I don’t like, I’ll be the epitome of sass and smartass, but that’s only if you’re amusing enough (god I sound like a dick). Strangely enough, I’ve often come to like people like that—even becoming close friends with them—who aren’t afraid to retaliate. I like some mental spar here and there. If you don’t get upset or smth, I’ll just ignore you and be civil (unless you’re scum).

Hobbies/Interests: Dancing, baking, English literature (but really any literature), debate, history, sports.... I have too many interests and hobbies to the point of losing sight of all of them. Due to that, I have a lot of surface knowledge, so I’m pretty much a jack of all traits master on none. I’m eager to learn more things, so I don’t mind if a friend doesn’t share too many hobbies with me. Me and my best friends pretty much share none.

Pet Peeves/Things I need in a relationship: I just mentioned that me and my best friend don’t really have a common interest, but we’re able to comfortable talk about everything. It doesn’t always have to be deep talk/intellectual stuff (tho I really really really like some intellectual convos), but I need to be able to talk with you if we’re friends.

Beyond that, I’ll also need you to tell me your honest opinions, and whether anything that I do makes you uncomfortable. Communication is vv important to me.

I hope that’s enough info for you to work with. You know where to find me if you’ve got any questions 💜💜💜 take care sweets!

FUCKING SAME i’m not saying that i would rather be in a found family with everyone rather than date a, or several, warlords,, but i would rather be in a found family with everyone. it is literally my favorite shit ever

(sorry if this doesn’t fit your liking!)

i match you with. . .

— nobunaga!

you were extremely snippy with nobunaga when you first met. the moment he stepped out of the burning temple was where he, one of the great unifiers of japan, was free game to you.

you did not take kindly to him practically kidnapping you (although you had no place to stay, but hey, consent was important) which, may have led a blade to your throat in courtesy of hideyoshi, but (un)fortunately, nobunaga told him to stand down. which he did, but not without glueing a dirty look on you the entire way back.

and such continues. you were completely blunt with your feelings of him dragging you to the battlefield (it being absolute refusal). yet here you are, in front of the burning castle as its occupants spilled out.

the words you said to him, you’ve forgotten, but it was enough to render him silent. something about the distant, detached, perhaps even melancholic look in his eyes made you flinch.

and as the days progressed, it continued to haunt you. not only that, but also the news that nobunaga’s shoulder was injured from protecting you.

. . .well, maybe you went too far—

even if your respect was low enough that you didn’t care how he felt—it was still good to keep him in good terms. you didn’t want the guy in control of like the biggest clan to be iffed with you.

so you came to him in his tenshu that night. both to thank him, and apologize to him if you said something wrong.

in response, he. . .laughed?? seeing your face, equal parts irritated and confused, he bared a fiery grin, “you’ve been prudent and called me names this entire time, yet you’re apologizing if you made me uncomfortable?”

“yeah, what about it?”

your expression was now full on irritated, and he laughed again, a booming voice that echoed through the night, “no one’s ever treated me as such. you’re an interesting one, fireball.”

“can’t say the same to you. you remind me of a middle school boy who has a ‘holier than thou’ complex, except this time you’d be arrested for committing warcrimes.”

honestly you stayed not by the classic definition of “he was interesting”, but more so “the AUDACITY of this bastard. tf is he up to nexti Have to see”

on the nickname scale, definitely jabbing him in the guts deal! ofc, he’d prefer you to not use such burning nicknames in the presence of important figures, but you’ve managed your way through... backhanded and subtle ones. it’s something he picks up, and silently view as a challenge.

he’d enjoy talking about any and all interests, no matter how experted you are at those. cause even if you’re average at it, it’s all to widen his views and he enjoys hearing about things like that, even if some times he might not understand, so the fact that you know so much is definitely a topic fuel for weeks on end.

he’d also enjoy having deep convos/debating with you. not many people talk back to him, so to have someone who does and can give him new perspectives is refreshing indeed, no matter how stubborn he is.

i feel like nobunaga, as outspoken with his thoughts he may be, is... emotionally stunted, so to say. he isn’t at all going to hold back on his feelings and opinions on if you’re crossing a line or making him uncomfortable, but with more trivial matters, he might not pick up on the cues to atcually speak up his mind, so you might have to ask him first (which then would go smooth sailing i feel, cause again, he is very outspoken)

honestly? all in all, you know those friendships where you constantly but heads with each other and you seem like you cannot stand each other (you can’t), but if worst comes to it, you’ve got each others’ backs? an “i’ll kill you and i’d kill For you” type deal. sort of more rivalry siblings in a way? yeah, that.

[recurring-polynya]

For the AU drabbles, can you do Renji ending up in Spirit Society and meeting Tengu!Rukia and Tengu!Byakuya?

I described the bones of this AU in this art post (you should probably read it first).

Given that I did all that work up front, instead of writing something that makes sense, I am going to be very self-indulgent and write this out-of-context Feels Fiesta where Tengu!Rukia doesn’t want Regular!Renji to go home.

Read on ao3 (features the pictures from the first post) or ff.net

🐦     ✨     💔

Rukia staggered over to the library table, carrying far too many rolled-up maps. She attempted to tip the first one gently onto the table, but instead, half a dozen rolled out of her arms. “Watch out!” she yelped helplessly.

The Shinigami Abarai Renji had exceptional reflexes, though, and he deftly scooped his ink stone out of danger as a map rolled past the spot where it had sat just a moment before.

“Sorry,” Rukia apologized, her feathers wilting. She wanted so badly to be a help for once, and instead, she couldn’t seem to stop embarrassing herself.

Renji flashed her one of his brilliant smiles. She wondered if all shinigami smiled so freely. It seemed a strange quality for a god of death to possess, but very little about Renji comported with her conception of what death gods should be like. The Shinigami Kurosaki Ichigo smiled often as well. Rukia had assumed that might be due to his human half, but perhaps ushering souls to the afterlife was not such a grim occupation as one might expect.

“Don’t worry,” Renji reassured her, the corners of his warm brown eyes crinkling. “I am a champion ink-spiller, so I’m pretty good at avoiding it. Thanks for digging these out for me. Were you able to find any that show the old kitsune trade route you mentioned?”

“I’ll have to check,” Rukia sighed. “I’m afraid they weren’t very well organized. My brother’s servant, Wakame Ambassador--”

Renji made a face like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“You must not make fun of Wakame Ambassador!” Rukia warned in a hushed voice. “He is just a magical construct, but he does have feelings!” She frowned at the maps. “It’s not his fault Brother didn’t put a whole lot of brains in him.”

“I would never,” Renji reassured her gently, “make fun of Wakame Ambassador.” He fiddled with his brush. “He just… reminds me of something from back home.”

Rukia knew she should get to work looking for the map he wanted, but she couldn’t help herself. She was so curious about his Soul Society, and he was so close-mouthed about it. “Do you miss it?”

“Hmm?”

“Soul Society,” she said, rolling the word around in her mouth. “Do you miss it?”

“Oh,” Renji replied. “A little. I haven’t really been gone that long, and I do want to help you folks out. I am starting to get these little pangs, though.” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t’ve expected to get one over Wakame Ambassador.”

“They must miss you,” Rukia pressed. “You’re a very important person, there, right?”

Renji let out a sharp guffaw. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Rukia’s brows furrowed. “But you said the captain you serve is a powerful clan head and a great warrior! Aren’t you the leader of his armies?”

Renji rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. “I guess you could say I have an important job, that’s true. It’s not quite the same as being an important person.”

It made no sense, in Rukia’s opinion. She had never seen swordwork to match his, and then he knew shinigami magic as well. He spoke so knowledgeably of strategy and tactics, he must be a scholar of warfare. Yet, he interacted so easily with the tengu troops. He was a natural leader in the way she wasn’t. Not that Brother would ever let her lead troops into battle in any case. “You know,” she started slowly. “Brother is very impressed with you.”

Renji raised one skeptical eyebrow.

“He is!” Rukia insisted. “And… if you are not appreciated in your homeland, I think that Brother would be most happy to have you stay! He would make you his war leader, I am sure of it!”

A very strange look came over Renji’s face. Rukia found herself talking faster and faster, as if her words could outpace his doubts.

“Demons notwithstanding, the Spirit Society is a wonderful place to live, and the tengu are the best of its tribes. I know you would feel self-conscious to not have a set of handsome wings or magnificent horns, but you have such interesting barring on your skin and your plumage is a lovely color. You would be very popular nonetheless!”

“Plumage?” Renji echoed blankly, his hand going to his hair.

“The costumes you and Kurosaki Ichigo fashioned were very clever. They would not fool another tengu, of course, but…” Rukia trailed off, unable to put into words the way her heart had sped up when she had seen him wearing the dark pinions and red-tipped horns of a tengu warrior. Of course, if he had been born a tengu, she was sure he would not have such common coloring. She could imagine him with a fine set of double wings, like her brother’s, blood red, tipped in black, and with great curling horns, like the woodcuts of the mighty warriors in her history books. “Or maybe there’s a spell that could grow you wings!” she realized suddenly. “I am very good at magic, you know, I could look through my spellbooks.”

Suddenly, his big, warm hand with its funny, blunt fingernails encased her own. “Rukia,” he cut her off. “Thank you. That’s a very generous offer, and believe me, I’m flattered.”

Rukia looked into his face. With its sharp nose and narrow, beady eyes, it was so clear that he belonged among her beautiful bird tribe, not a bunch of boring, ugly ghosts. It was unfair. “But?”

He shrugged. “But I gotta go home.”

There was a long silence. “Why?”

“Well, I got my friends, my squad, my captain. People who depend on me.”

“People who care for you?”

“Er, right.”

He hesitated. If he hadn’t hesitated, Rukia would have held her tongue. But it seemed, in that hesitation, there was a chance, and she felt like she had to take it. “There… there could be people here who would care for you, given time. Maybe there are already.” She took a deep breath. “I would like you to stay.”

A deeply pained look came over his face.

Rukia’s gut plummeted. It had been a mistake. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I should not have said anything.”

Renji’s face hardened. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment and his hand tightened on hers so hard it hurt a little. “It’s not easy to put yourself out there, but you’ve always been braver than me.”

Rukia frowned. What could he possibly mean by that?

“It’s really hard for me to say this. You have no idea how hard. I like you, too, you know. I like you so much. But there’s… my heart’s already spoken for, Rukia. It has been for a long time. She’s… she’s a lot like you. Tough and clever and beautiful and the best friend you can imagine. And that’s part of why it could never be fair to you if I… if you and I...”

Of course. Of course he already had someone, how could she have been so foolish? But why hadn’t he mentioned this before? And why did his voice crack so when he spoke of her? “She does not return your love,” Rukia realized, the words escaping her mouth before she could catch them.

Rukia expected Renji’s face to look even more pained, but instead, his brow softened and his mouth curved into a fond smile. “I dunno, actually. It’s… it’s never been the right time or the right place. We’ve been through a lot together, though, her and me, and I know that she’d miss me if I didn’t come back.” He snorted ruefully. “I’d give every kan I got to hear Ichigo try to explain to her why I didn’t, though.”

Suddenly, a number of things he had said clicked together in her head. And it had not been wishful thinking, she realized. His smile truly was brighter for her, his gaze softer.

“It’s the other me, isn’t it?” she said softly.

Renji’s face stiffened, and then he sighed. “Of course it is. I can’t manage to keep stuff from you in any world, it seems.”

“I met her once, you know,” Rukia noted coolly, despite the turmoil in her chest. “The last time Kurosaki Ichigo was here.” She paused. “She did not seem a fool.”

Renji laughed, and patted her hand boisterously. The tension between them released like steam from a kettle. “Believe me, she’d have to be, to put up with me after all the grief I give her.”

Rukia regarded him under lidded eyes as she reached for one of the maps. “You already told me that she resembles me. Do not pretend she does not pay you back four-fold.

Renji regarded her right back. “I won’t.”

Rukia’s heart felt tender and achy, but warm, as well. The other Rukia must love him back, she was sure of it, even if she couldn’t say so. The alternative was too sad to bear. “I wonder,” she sighed, “why there is no version of you in this world.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Renji replied. “There probably is. He’s just not a tengu. You folks are way too elegant and clean-cut for the likes of me. It’s an honest miracle I ever met my Rukia in the first place.”

Rukia gaped. “Surely not! You are a noble warrior! Strong and handsome and polite!”

Renji gave out a bark of laughter. “That’s only because I’ve spent a long time trying to get this way. You got any nue in Spirit Society? Or ookami?” He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I’m even classy enough to be a wolf spirit. Inugami?”

“We have all of those,” Rukia replied, bristling. But the dog demons are not to be trusted! Brother says they are barely better than the kitsune!”

“Mmm,” Renji replied with a shrug. “Right. Well. Like I said. Never the right time. Never the right place.” He turned back to the war record he’d been looking through.

Rukia’s face fell. She felt like she had failed him, somehow. Was it something about her brother? He could be a bit… insular to be sure, but the inugami were the very worst of the… dog... Rukia blinked and she traced a finger over the map in front of her. “The inugami are not the only dog tribe. Here, on the other side of the mountain. It’s hainu territory, which is why Brother doesn’t want to travel through it, but it has to be safer than that old kitsune trail. The hainu are an honorable people, if a bit unsophisticated, and they, too, would be affected if the demons were to swarm the valley. If they allied with us, I am sure we could fight off Grimmjow’s forces! You are a genius, Abarai Renji!”

“Me? What did I--?”

Rukia jumped to her feet. “Come. Brother won’t like it, but I am sure he will listen to you!”

“Why would you think that?!” Renji yelped as she hauled him from the library. Suddenly his eyebrows drew together. “Wait, this actually isn’t a bad idea. Do you think it would work? Have you ever actually met a hainu?”

“Well, no,” Rukia admitted. “But at least they have wings, how bad could they be?”

🐕     🤝    🐦

A/N: Okay, I know you asked for Byakuya, who… did not appear in the previous scene. So here’s Byakuya omake. A Byak-omake, if you will.

“What do you mean, the other me does not adorn himself with beautiful feathers?”

“Well, you’ve got a whole bird motif goin’ on, he’s not much of a bird guy. I mean, he likes birds. I guess. He just doesn’t dress like one.”

“How does he accessorize, then? Does he have a lush cloak of fine velvet?”

“Er… he’s got a haori?”

“Ah! Is it richly embroidered?”

“It’s got a six on the back.”

“A six.”

“Yeah, like the number six.”

“...”

“He said he’s thinking of adding some tassels? Gold tassels?”

“Gold tassels are good. How many?”

“He wasn’t specific at the time, but I’m guessing… two?”

“...Two?”

“Isn’t two enough? It’s two more than anyone else has.”

“...Two?!”

“...”

“Wakame Ambassador! Fetch my traveling cape and headdress! I must travel to the Soul Society to teach my other self how to dress properly!”

[jeanjauthor]

I was reading about mediveal horses in fantasy and how they’re unrealistic. And usually the horses were avarge. But isn’t a shire horse origin in 1066-Ish? Could that be used in a mediveal fantasy?

It could be, but you might want to do some research to know what those shire horses were actually used for, and what they weren’t.  Horses were not owned by everyone, and were not put to the plow for a long time.  Why not?  Because horses were more expensive than oxen.

An ox is nothing more than a castrated bull that’s been trained to pull a plow, a wagon, etc, and if you have cows for milk and dairy and beef, you’d want to keep most of the females, but not keep most of the males--not as bulls, because your cattle would be goring each other.  So any male cattle born would be assessed for qualities, and either kept for stud (only 1-2 on a farm, IF you have the room to keep a bull separate from the cows), slaughtered for beef, or castrated and trained to be a work animal.

Cows will drop a fairly equal ratio of the genders, but female cattle produce milk, making them valuable to keep around and keep fed.  Horses...well, Mongols might milk mares, but that really wasn’t an European thing, which is what a lot of fantasy (talking about the stuff written in English, here) is based upon.  And mares don’t produce nearly as much milk as cows do.  So economically, it makes more sense to keep cattle around and put them to work in the earlier medieval periods.

Shire horses are huge because they are meant for pulling plows and wagons (their solid hooves don’t break up the rows and the soil nearly as much as the split hooves of cattle).  They’re not usually trained to carry armored warriors into battle, etc.  Medievally, there were horses trained for specific tasks, like the smooth-gaited riding palfrey.  It was not a specific breed of horse, instead being picked for its temperament and trained in its movements.  While certain knights did have big destriers to ride...the majority of mounted warriors actually rode smaller horses, like rounceys and coursers.

And of course, the mule is often overlooked.  This hybrid between a donkey and a mare was the “workhorse” of medieval life, if it wasn’t oxen.  They could carry a lot more weight, were more intelligent, and ate less (or at least didn’t have to eat as much quality food in winter), making them inexpensive to keep.  There might have been mules trained for warfare, for scouting, and certainly for “blending in” when spying on a neighboring region.  Just go in as a trader or traveler with your packs on your mule, and people won’t think twice.

Additionally, you might want to research when stirrups were invented and used--Roman cavalry did not have stirrups, because while they were invented in BCE Asia, they didn’t reach Europe until some time after the collapse of the Roman Empire.

...As you can see, using a shire horse for something in your story in a way that your equestrian-knowledgeable readers won’t go “...wtf??” over can require a bit of educational effort.  Presuming this is a fantasy set in a created world and not an historical real-world setting, you can get away with many things...but if there’s one thing to take away from all of this, understand that shire horses are BIG, and will need to EAT.  Lotta pounds on that thar horse!

And they’re not a bicycle.  Your character cannot just get off their steed and go inside a house for the night.  That horse must be given water, and a rubdown, the saddle needs to be removed to prevent galling and sores and scarring from those saddle sores, they need to have adequate food of the right quality--shire horses are big, so they need a lot of calories, but you cannot give a horse nothing but grain, however high-calorie that feed may be.  They need fiber from grasses and hay--they do not eat straw, which is calorically and nutritionally deficient!--they may even need tree browse (yes, horses and cattle will eat leaves, not just grasses), and sometimes you’ll want to feed them fruit, but not always.

Also, sugar cubes are very much an Industrial Revolution thing, because the cubes are made via complex machinery.  Sugar lumps are what you’d serve medievally...but you’d probably not give pure sugar to a horse, because sugar is expensive in a medieval setting.  Honey drizzled over dried fruit slices would be a more likely treat, and you’d certainly feed your horse (or donkey, mule, etc) the core from your apple or your pear.

Additionally, horses are herd animals.  They need companions around them or they become distressed from anxiety and nervousness, not having other sets of eyes and ears to help watch out for danger.  This doesn’t have to be another horse...though it should be, on a farm.  There are companion animals that are goats and mules and donkeys, and I’ve even heard of dogs and cats--yes, housecats, or more properly, barncats--being companion animals to horses.

Consider your characters’ socio-economic backgrounds before assigning them a shire horse, make sure they treat that horse as a living being in need of care and not like a bicycle that can be easily set aside and forgotten about, and decide if what you need is a really big horse (because sometimes you do!) or if something smaller or faster or whatever might serve your story better.

And lastly, horses cannot gallop for more than a few minutes.  Galloping is sprinting.  Not even Usain Bolt can sprint for more than a few minutes!  Cantering is also not something that can be maintained 24/7, or even for an entire hour.  Horses need to be ridden at the walk, the amble, and/or the trot as much or more often as at the canter, especially when burdened with armor, gear, rider, etc.

Humans can out-distance horses over the long run.

We are pursuit predators.  While horses and dogs can outrun us in a sprint, we can literally walk other animals to death.  Wolves can almost keep up with a reasonably fit human who is used to walking everywhere (which is your basic medieval traveler)...but even though wolves are pros at long-distance travel, they still have to stop and rest more frequently, and horses far more frequently still.  Horses give us the advantage of short bursts of higher speed, and the ability to carry or (even better yet) pull far more weight in supplies, etc, than we can haul ourselves...but they cannot run forever.

If your human has enough of a head start that can negate the sprinting capacity of a horse, and if there is enough underbrush to just barely admit a human to pass through it, but not a horse, a human on foot can escape from mounted people pursuing them.

...All of this is just scratching the surface of writing realistic horses in fantasy, and I am not an expert by any means.  (I have, however, listened to many, and done my own research.)  So...go chat with equestrians, ask them questions, look up resources online, and ask yourself some questions. 

How would this character have/afford a shire horse?  How would they train this horse?  What uses would they have for this horse? How do they take care of the horse?  What equipment do they carry for taking care of the horse, riding, etc?  What companion animals does the horse get to have? What are their plans for recovering the horse if it spooks and runs off?  How much does the horse consider the character a friend and/or herd-member?

Yes, you could ignore all these questions and just have the horse around when it’s convenient and vanish it when it’s inconvenient...but unless it’s like an enchanted bridle or a brooch, a ring, a summoning statuette, whatever, imbued with the spirit of a faithful steed (fantasy writing is great for this stuff)...you’re going to need to thing about these sorts of things if you want to have your horses in your fantasy setting be realistic enough that the equestrian community won’t *facepalm heavysigh* any time they read a scene in your story with an equine.

The “enchanted bridle” thing is how I pretend my characters in World of Warcraft don’t have to worry about actually housing, feeding, etc, their steeds, and it’s how they can ride or fly all day without tiring because it’s not a living being, it’s an enchantment full of magic.  BUT, if you’re going to go this route because it’s easier...you’ll still need to consider, how did your character acquire this enchanted object?  How could they afford it? Did they make it themselves? Or did they find it, or steal it?  How is it powered?  Does it have a limit to how much it can be used in a day, or summoned and dismissed and resummoned?  Does it require a set period of waiting time between being dismissed and being resummoned? 

Is there a chance of this enchanted item breaking?  Remember, it doesn’t have to break at the worst moment in the story; it could break earlier, when they have time to fix or replace it...but do they have the resources to fix or replace it?  Not just in terms of buying or craft, but, are enchanted bridles or horse statuettes common in that region?  For that matter, if they’re not common, is it going to cause confusion to people when they go around or into a building for a few moments, only to come back to see absolutely zero horse anywhere, because while they were gone you dismounted and dismissed the enchantment?

...Okay, okay, I’ve gone on long enough!  You can see how this one topic can quickly get out of hand.  And again, I am not an expert on equestrians in stories.  But if you do a bit of research and keep some realism in mind...you can write realistic scenes involving horses, shire style or otherwise.

[tired-college-student-writing]

Tim’s Secret Weapon pt. 12

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav​ ‘s Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damian brings a new friend home.

Part 1

Part 11

Part 12(HERE)

Part 13

____________________________________________

Jason had started cackling as soon as Tim explained why he was cross, pulling the ring from his hand and tossing it back to its proper owner. Damian Bruce and Alfred were intrigued by the prospect by the fact Jason was predestined to be a miraculous wielder. Dick, on the other hand, was pouting at Jason being ‘officially more of a cat than him.’

“You’re not a black cat,” Tim snapped, using the door frame to stay upright, glaring at the stark white number over Jason’s head, “He may claim he’s all about destruction but it’s who he was made into not who he is at his core.”

“What?” Jason huffed, “You’re the one that said my number went up to 15! I’m a cat now, I’m leaving the birds to join Selina.”

“No,” He nearly growled in frustration, staggering over to the couch, “Adrian is the real cat here. At his core, he’s sweet and kind and trustworthy, but he also has chaos at his center. He can destroy a person he believes deserves it without a second thought, tarnish a reputation permanently with no remorse if he believed it was the best course of action, manipulate a person into behaving how he wants with precision and grace without anyone realizing that the ray of sunshine would be able to do so. He’s literally destruction. You aren’t like that Jason, not at your core. You’re a true holder, but you aren’t a Black Cat.”

The room was silent as he finally finished and he couldn’t help, but look around at their stunned faces with confusion. Even the Kwamis had frozen from where they had been whispering on the side table, glancing between each other and Tim.

“What?” He snapped, too tired to deal with anything else tonight.

“You’ve only just met Adrian,” Kim drew out, “And just spouted off stuff I never knew about the sunshine boy with such confidence I’m pretty sure you’re not lying.”

“What do you mean? Of course, I know that stuff, can’t you guys tell it too? That’s just what I can tell from observing if I really wanted to know anything important about him I’d have to do research,” He explained with a groan as he leaned against Dick’s shoulder.

Dick just looked down at him in amazement, “No Timmy, most people can’t tell that kind of stuff just from spending a few hours with someone.”

“Huh? You guys never acted like I was crazy before,” He pointed out looking at his brothers.

“I always assumed you researched our targets before we needed the information,” Bruce hummed, “We had meant to ask you how you knew some of the skills you had listed when you had never met the heroes before making the entries in your journal.”

“I mean I did look up some stuff, but isn’t most of that stuff common knowledge?”

Jason snorted, “I didn’t know Bruce spoke Portuguese before reading his journal entry, replacement. I can say with confidence that there’s no video footage of B or Bats speaking or reading Portuguese anywhere or any reason you should know that before I even kicked the bucket.”

“I…” Tim tried to think back, to why he knew this information, where he had put together the man had known so many languages.

“Tim,” Marinette piped up, “What languages does everyone in here speak?”

“French and English.”

His deadpan earned an eye roll from her, “No, I meant past that. Start with your family and then my team, tell me all the languages. Go.”

He was skeptical of what she was trying to do but decided not to question it, “All the bat speak Mandarin, Spanish, Arabic, and BSL. Bruce knows Romanian, Portuguese, Dutch, Cantonese, and Greek. Alfred speaks German, Italian, Japanese, Russian, and Polish. Dick speaks Romani, Romanian, Dutch, and Russian. Jason has Portuguese, Japanese, Korean, Cantonese, and Russian. I can do Japanese, Romanian, German and Polish.

Damian knows Japanese, Korean, Cantonese, and is just short of fluent in Romanian.”

His eyes turned to the Parisian teens, ignoring the surprise at their extensive list of languages, “ Adrian knows Mardiran and Japanese. Chloe knows Japanese. Kim is fluent in Vietnamese and is nearing passable in German. Max knows Korean and Safan. Alix knows Ancient Egyptian and Arabic. Kagami knows Japanese and Mandarin. Viperion knew quite a bit of Italian but wasn’t quite fluent. Marinette knows Italian, is nearly fluent in Arabic and… actually, I’m not sure what the last one is, but it’s ancient, something close to Sino-Tibetan I think?”

Eyes flashed around the room, before settling on Tim.

“Seriously?” Tim groaned, “None of you knew that?”

Jason's eyes flashed to Damien, “Since when do you speak Romanian?”

He scowled, the tips of his ears burning, “It was going to be a surprise for Grayson, I was hoping to be fluent by his birthday…”

Marinette broke in before any of the brothers could make a comment, “Tim, Damien only practiced Romanian when he knew everyone was out of the house. Nor should you know about the Guardian Language.”

“Guardian Language?” He whispered, head too fuzzy for him to process more than that.

She winced a little, “When the role of Guardian was handed over to me, the language of the Guardians was basically downloaded into my head. It allows me to read the Guardian Grimoire and perform the spells within it to heal kwamis, fixing broken miraculous or create potions to allow them different abilities they don’t usually possess. Usually, there’s a lot of training to be able to deal with the new knowledge being shoved into their heads but my gaining of the guardianship was more than a little unorthodox so I had to deal with migraines for about six months after. I had to decode the secrets for myself even with knowing the language.”

“I don’t even know what the Guardian is,” Tim whispered as the truth set it, “I really shouldn’t know this stuff about you guys…”

“Another aspect of your power, no doubt,” Alfred cut in, “Hardly the worst thing in the world for a detective to have intuition-based knowledge of the people he’s looking up, hmm?”

Tim laughed, “Thanks, Alfred.”

The butler merely nodded, “However, I am fairly certain Master Tim hasn’t been truthful about how much sleep he’s gotten this week and a miraculous drain is dangerous even when well-rested, I suggest suspending this discussion until a proper hour?”

Damien gave him an innocuous look, “ You tried to lie to Pennyworth? Are you completely braindead.”

“Panicking over my secret being out means lots of comfort coffee,” He groaned back as he attempted to bury himself in Dick’s side.  

“Go to sleep Replacement,” Jason huffed, as Dick pulled the other man to his feet. Zombie Tim's duty was something they all had plenty of experience in. It wasn’t long before he was stripped of his costume and sweatpants and an oversized tee pulled on over his bike shorts.

Tim barely registered the lights being turned off as he was bundled into bed, half asleep already.

When Tim arose the next morning he was surprised to see it was only 8 am, seven hours after when he remembered his brother’s getting him to bed. Typically, after the kind of crash, he felt last night he needed a solid thirteen hours of sleep and two cups of coffee to feel this alive again. His answer came from the tiny horse resting on the nightstand.

“Kaalki? What are you doing here?”

“Kwami healing,” She offered in an attempt to be nonchalant as she floated up in front of him, “ Tikki is best at it but every Kwami, barring Plagg, can offer some form of rejuvenation to those who need it. My way of healing is to replenish the energy that has been lost in a timely manner. It was the least I could do after causing you so much distress last night.”

Tim frowned and offered a flat hand for her to land on, “Don’t do that, there’s no blame on you or Marinette or anyone else. Accidents happen, and it’s not like there’s an instruction book on miraculous and metas.”

She fidgeted, “I believe you are correct but I still felt bad for causing such harm to befall you.”

Tim just shook his head, “Either way, thank you. I feel amazing right now.”

She smiled, “Perhaps if you hurry you can join your family for breakfast, I heard they were setting out to leave soon.”

He quickly pulled on his clothes and did his morning routine in the ensuite before entering the main room where his family froze in place as they were pulling on coats and shoes.

“What the fuck are you doing up?” Jason hissed, ready to force him back into bed.  

“Kwami magic has its perks,” Tim defended, hands raised in surrender as Kaalki floated next to him, “I feel more awake then I have in years.”

Alfred grinned, “Ah yes, I remember how Duusu would help us relax after battles. Well come along then,

Marinette squinted at him judgingly, trying to figure out how he was allowed out by his family before Kaalki darted from his jacket over to Max’s. Instead, she just huffs and begins leading the entire group of heroes towards her parents’ bakery, Damien quickly falling in step to her left, glaring at Adrian who had fallen into step on her right.

“SO, replacement,” Jason drawled, dropping an arm around the short brother’s shoulders, “I didn’t get to ask last night cause you looked more zombie then me, but if I’m not a cat, what am I?”

“I don’t even know where to start with miraculous,” Tim huffed, pushing the older man away, “Where would I even start with which miraculous to give to you?”

“Well, how about we give you a starting point,” Adrian asked, turning to walk backwards so he could look at them with a twinkling smile, “Miraculous are broken into two categories, indirect and direct. Direct miraculous powers affect the target of the power directly like the Bee’s venom freezing someone, while the Indirect affect the world around the target, like the Horse’s teleportation. The Black Cat and Ladybug fall outside of the groupings as they’re both direct and indirect. Indirect users can’t use Direct miraculous effectively and can even have adverse effects of transforming too long and vice versa. So does Jason feel like a direct or indirect holder.”

“Indirect,” Tim started, finding the words just started flowing as he stared at the 11 swirling about over his brother’s head, “Jason’s cocky and more stubborn than the Blue Boyscout if you get him going, but he’s also loyal to a fault and filled with so much determination I’m not sure whether to be scared or impressed. No matter how angry he is at someone, or how much he thinks they deserve the consequences of their actions he will be there to protect them by any means necessary. He may talk tough and act stupid but he’s unbelievably wise with instincts unparalleled by normal humans when it comes to trust and how to get out of sticky situations. He can and will kill, but only if it’s the only option left to make it out of a situation alive.”

Jason scowled and pulled on the end of his jacket sleeve as he looked away, “Geez, rip me open why don’t you?”

“Hey, you asked,”

Marinette stared at him with a cryptic eye, “No, he’s right I can see it. I think I know what miraculous to give you.”

Tim’s attention fell away from the conversation as Jason tried to pry the newly found information from the young Guardian. Because that was the least of his worries.

Not when his eyes landed on vibrant blue hair, strikingly familiar, attached to a man sitting on the wall around the Seine, strumming his guitar absentmindedly.

“Found you,” Tim said, causing the man in front of him to smile up at him.

“That was quick,” He laughed, the thick gothic steel-colored 13 made his blue eyes take on a silver hue.

“It’s easy to spot such a high number when most don’t reach past six,” He shrugged.

“You and I aren’t very different, you know?” Steely grey 13 offered, looking back to his guitar.

“I think the masks gave that away,” Tim mussed, “I’m Tim.”

“Luka, Luka Couffaine,” Steely Grey 13, Viperion, Luka offered easily, “And I meant past the masks.”

“How do you mean then, Luka?”

The younger man looked up at him and waved a hand at the chair across from him, “How about you take a seat, Uccellino, and we can compare notes on what it’s like to be meta.”

____________________________________________

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @mewwitch @roseinbloom02 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mochinek0 @royalchaoticfangirl @09shell-sea09 @mystery-5-5 @derpingrainbow @aloha-posts-stuff @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @maribat-archive @blue-peach14 @kae690 @zazzlejazzle @vincentvangoose @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @celestiacq @peculiarlylostdreamer @dani-ari @melicmusicmagic @themcclan @nyctamaximoff @nataladriana9 @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonna @urbanpineapplefarmer @graduatedmelon @lexysama @hecate-hallow @ki117h3dr4g0n @vinerlover @interobanginyourmom @bluefiredemon @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @clumsy-owl-4178 @shizukiryuu @whogavemeaninternet @schrodingers25 @lunar-wolf-warrior @urbanpineapplefarmer @xxmadamjinxx @crazylittlemunchkin @littleredrobinhoodlum​ @rougemme​ @dur55​ @phantommeow12 @kand-roo​ @silvergold-swirl​ @officiallyathiana​ @completelypeccable​ @redhoodsdoll​ @nataladriana9​ @mariae2900​ @northernbluetongue​ @sturchling​ @thesunanditsangel​ @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo​ @bobothyross @taoiichii​ @magnitude101999​ @magicalfirebird​ @nataladriana9​ @panda3506​ @aquariusrunes​ @woodland-queer @sayarock121​ @mindfulmagics​ @magic-miraculous​ @my-name-is-michell @naoryllis @slytherinqueen2432 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @captainartsypants @nanakeid @legendaryneckjudgestudent @smolplantmum @the-real-ginakid @nyaabinch @elmokingkong @gentlemanoftimetravel @whitennerdiest@imbrium-mare @tired-butterfly @corabeth11 @aestheticnpoetic @amirahevens @sassakitty @letterlust @whats-she-gonna-post-next

[angeltrapz]

hhmmmmvnfj asks abt Lawrence? umm in a selfship way: what’s ur favorite gift he’s gotten u? — in a character analysis way, bcuz I’ve posted a lil abt it n u mentioned it in DMs too: if William had survived, bc Lawrence was handling new disciples at that time (like Brad n Ryan), how do u think Lawrence n William would’ve interacted? (esp bc we know William was at least vaguely aware of who Lawrence was pre-trap bc of their connections to John)

dfhskj thank u!!! finally getting 2 this

okay fr the selfship part: mentioned it a little bit when replying 2 the other ask u sent, but it’s a worry stone made out of rhodonite (which looks a lil like this), bc he knows how interested I am in gems + rocks n stuff like that but also bc he wanted me to have smth to fidget with in case I forgot my lil lanyard of rolling beads when we went somewhere! it’s smth I just run my thumb along bc it’s smooth n soft n fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. a lot of times if I’m in an uncomfortable situation I can’t get out of, having that w me helps a lot bc it’s grounding n it reminds me of him 💞💞

fr the character analysis part: KJSKFS YEAH I love getting 2 talk abt that bc I actually think abt it quite a bit. as u said, William and Lawrence have always been vaguely aware of each other on account of being connected thru their interactions w John, the doctor who he felt wasn’t kind/sympathetic enough n the insurance agent who denied his (EXTREMELY experimental, mind u) foreign treatment request. I’m not sure that they ever interacted face-to-face PRIOR to John’s death, but after William survives his test it’s just kinda like... who else does he have 2 talk to that might be able to understand even the tiniest bit what he went thru? he loves Pamela to pieces, of course he does, she’s his only family - but she didn’t see what he’d had to do, doesn’t rly KNOW like Lawrence would.

but I still think he’d absolutely be Cautious, bc even w the desire to be understood n maybe even have someone he could confide in, William knows now that Lawrence has been helping John for quite some time - as we see in 3D and as u said, Lawrence is the one handling new disciples, something that only John ever did; Amanda didn’t have her own apprentices, n Hoffman sure as hell didn’t either. that, n William doesn’t know how much involvement, if any, Lawrence had w his own test - that’s smth that wld haunt him a lil, I think. it’s hard to be comfortable around a person who is not only directly involved w the person who felt it necessary to put u in a trap, but who Also may have been the one to put fucking explosive bracelets/anklets n tattoos on u + SEWN A KEY inside of u, which is INCREDIBLY violating of his bodily autonomy. that could warrant a whole discussion of its own tbh.

but. Lawrence is the closest John ever got 2 having a TRUE successor (which I have conflicting feelings on; my reading of Lawrence in SAW 2004 was not someone who wld have joined up w someone who caused him so much pain, but fr the sake of exploring this, I think tht after going thru something as horribly traumatizing and irreversibly changing as he did, he sought that life of control n routine that he felt he had prior to his game, and well, John could certainly provide that,,,) n William would likely know this. Amanda’s dead, Logan is off doing who knows what n living his life, Hoffman is only doing it out of a weird sense of obligation?, and Jill isn’t rly a disciple, just some1 who’s been dragged into it too. (I think William n Jill actually would’ve gotten along tbh,, it’s a different thing entirely whether William would WANT to interact w her.)

I think Lawrence wld want to be able to reassure William that he had no hand in what happened to him (I don’t even know if Lawrence is the one who fitted the bracelets/did the key?), but he like. wouldn’t even know where 2 begin bc how can he explain that in a way that William could ever rely on? how could he ever convince William that he truly wasn’t responsible when all the other man wld have 2 do is look at all of th ppl he assisted John in securing/operating on? Hoffman was the one who put William in his trap, but Lawrence doesn’t know he’ll ever b able 2 prove that in a way William can believe. n I don’t think he’d expect William to believe him, not at all, but I think Lawrence at that point truly doesn’t have anyone - he and Alison are divorced and she has Diana, Adam isn’t around obviously, John + Amanda are gone, Hoffman doesn’t know he exists, so who does he have? I think he longs fr that sort of connection, even if it Is forged thru smth as terrible as what they were both individually put thru by John - they have tht common ground of being involved in his diagnosis + the way he responded to them (petty fucking grievances... kramer I will literally knock yr teeth in u fucker) n being ppl he considered partially responsible fr his downfall in a way (Lawrence wasn’t “kind enough,” William said no to a highly expensive and experimental international treatment that they weren’t even sure wld WORK). and like, not necessarily 2 the same extent, but they were both physically altered by what they went thru. Lawrence is missing his foot. William has scars + tattoos that he could get covered up, sure, but the experience isn’t going away. the scar on his side where the key was hidden is never going away. Lawrence’s prosthetic is functioning but the fact that he cut his fucking foot off isn’t going away. n that’s not even TOUCHING the lasting mental effects.

so I think William wld be feeling rly lost. he just doesn’t know what to do. he doesn’t know if he can even go back to the life he led b4 (if he does, it’s not for a very long time) n he has a hard time looking Pamela in the eye bc he feels personally responsible fr her having been there too + bc of what he’d been made to do to so many ppl. he feels alone, much more than he ever has before, n that’s saying smth bc his personal life was already extremely solitary bc he felt it was safer for him + his career. no one could possibly understand what he went thru, bc nobody saw it. nobody saw the way he tried so hard to keep every1 alive, the way he tried to help the people he worked with + CARED FOR even if he had 2 put himself thru pain to do it (holding onto those pulleys until his shoulders were almost DISLOCATED fr Addy n Allen, burning himself w the steam so Debbie could get thru the maze, the entirety of the shotgun carousel). Tara + Brent didn’t see him sacrifice himself fr his coworkers, n neither did Pamela. nobody knows. William wants some1 to connect with, n that just doesn’t seem like a possibility given that what he went thru in there is knowledge that only he himself + Hoffman carry.

but Lawrence knows. he understands n he's the one 2 kinda make that offer, to just be like “u don’t have 2 trust me right now, or even ever, but I understand n if u want some1 2 talk to, I’m here.” bc what does he have to lose? Adam is gone. Alison n Diana are gone. he’s by himself. and so is William, though he has Pamela. they’re both men who went thru smth unspeakably terrible bc a dying man wanted 2 play god n they came out of it much worse off than they ever were b4 John “helped” them. n William is just like. how much worse could it get? after Jigsaw, what could possibly be worse than what he’s already gone thru? so he’s just kind of like, “okay, we can work this out, I can’t say I trust u right now but maybe I can in the future. we can do this together. we can help each other.” n that’s how they end up meeting for coffee or breakfast/lunch/dinner every so often (coffee meets are at least weekly), n it’s just kind of like. the reassurance that some1 has seen the very worst parts of u and are still around. the relief of knowing someone sees u and knows how hard yr fighting to rebuild a life that’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces. n they’re struggling against that current together, and maybe it starts in a place of “I have no one else so I might as well chill w u,” but eventually William and Lawrence kind of fall into this uneasy friendship. they’re there for each other. William calls Lawrence when he has a nightmare that keeps him up fr hours after, shaking n w his heart beating out of his chest bc he doesn’t want to remember. Lawrence spends th night at William’s place every now n then bc he can’t be alone w his thoughts n the phantom pain in his leg just won’t quiet. they meet for coffee. they have breakfast sometimes. Lawrence has clothes n a toothbrush at William’s and vice versa. they’re in this together.

n maybe that escalates into more (which I believe wld only happen after they get 2 a point where they’ve discussed, at length, John’s legacy n who exactly would be continuing it + if anyone WLD be, n after Hoffman is “disposed of” in a sense), but even if not, they both know they Have Someone who looks at them n doesn’t see them as a monster, not the horrible person John thought he needed to “fix.” they both carry scars, both physically n mentally, frm what they went thru. they’re both struggling to get their bearings + Lawrence is still coping w what he’ll need to do after John’s (and eventually, Jill’s) passing. it won’t be easy, but they’re not walking alone. they’re wading thru the mud together, hand in hand, and fr William n Lawrence, that is enough.