#just some thoughts i had this morning

[borderlinereminders]

The thing is, we can't avoid conflict. We try our best, and that's good, but there will be conflict in relationships.

The thing that I think helps define a healthy relationship is how you handle that conflict together. And part of that is you should plan for conflict and how you'll handle that together.

When handling a conflict:

Both parties should be able to have the space to say their piece and talk about their feelings.

Validate the other's feelings if possible. This doesn't mean you necessarily agree with anything, or agree with their version of events. It just means you've heard them and are showing that you hear them.

Both parties needs should be heard, and if possible, a compromise might be found to meet the needs of both parties. This might require negotiating.

It shouldn't be about who's "right" or "winning." It should be about how you can solve the problem together.

If someone wronged someone, there should be accountability. Even if that person didn't mean to hurt the other person. You can and still should apologize for someone being hurt, and don't blame them for being hurt. It might be "I'm really sorry I hurt you. That wasn't my intention at all, but I can see you are feeling hurt, and I am sorry."

Try and be gentle. While I understand the want to yell, or use accusatory statements, these things are more likely to put someone on the defensive which will likely prolong the conflict. People are more likely to hear you out if they don't feel attacked, and are approached more gently. If you aren't in a place to do this, walk away and approach the hard conversation when you are feeling more calm.

Here are some suggestions I have for communicating during conflict. If you don't have a lot of spoons but can read one, I want to suggest the DEAR MAN one as one to prioritize!

This is a post about I-Statements. These statements are very useful for being honest about your feelings while not being accusatory. While it's tempting to be aggressive when talking about things that seem obvious to use, if we want to preserve a relationship with someone, we should approach conflict with the intent of finding a solution and not winning the argument. This usually means approaching the conflict with a goal in mind.

Here is my post about if you need to apologize to someone.

Here is a post about the DEAR MAN method. The goal of this skill is to communicate effectively with someone in a way that helps you express your needs/wants in a way that is respectful of all parties involved in hopes of reaching a positive outcome.

This is about FAST. This skill is useful for working to communicate in a way that preserves relationships while also maintaining one’s own self-respect.

This is a post about GIVE. It's helpful to use with a method like DEAR MAN.

[bbyteach]

so like, i'm not sure if i really buy the read that ed is a 'neat freak' or maybe that term just means something different to me. I feel that ed likes just loves domesticity and more grounding + more traditionally 'feminine' kind of work. and he is caught in this nexus of wanting to retire but got too good at his job a performing more traditional 'masculine' badassery. everyone talks about blackbeard doing shit like drinking the blood of his enemies (which probably many of those things are rumors) but the man is tired of doing that performance and just want to fix latches and eat good cheese. His job is doing Cool Dude Gender with no breaks no days off and he wants to be able to go home and relax. (also thinking of bp talking about sewing and it being 'women's work' in the first ep. like i imagine it's just seen as so uncool to a lot of dudes in this world to care about that shit)

not to mention how there's a trans allegory woven into his story a la Jes Tom and how much his path in life rhymes so much with stories i've heard from trans femme/gnc/enby amab folks. the overacting of masculinity and wanting to just throw it all out once you finally feel able to. him fishing out the leathers feels close to the stories i've heard from more butchy trans femmes/gnc folks (and tbh those stories I'd love to see more since there's so much rep for the hyper feminine presenting trans femme)

also like, i think the read of ed as trans masc is great too, I don't think there's One True Interpretation here, sky's the limit. for me I relate to ed's gender shit in that I always felt that I had to perform hyper femininity as a job and how exhausting it was, how I always felt like I had to run away from the truth that I simply am not a woman nor do I want the full time job of 'being a woman' in this world. but! after discovering I am nonbinary, I found I like to play with being feminine and masculine and being a weird little void if i can help it.

Just thinking about ed being seen as person who only likes 'neatness' doesn't feel like the right interpretation with him enjoying tasks like folding the laundry but also painting himself on the bride topper and stealing that pearl necklace from the bride too. I think the scenes of him cleaning up after depressive episodes are also just like... the thing people do when they're getting out of a bad one/sobering up too. just feels like there's something else more complicated there with gender shit in the mix.

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[sasanka-27]

I will remember how you kissed me, under the lamp post back on sixth street ~ 🍂🌆🌦️

[paranormaljones]

okay so my theory about How To Train Your Dragon is that Astrid loved Hiccup WAYYYYY before the events of Romantic Flight but due to how the vikings lived in near constant combat with the dragons and young children/teens being forced to learn how to defend themselves and their families from an early age, she closed herself off to those feelings because by all accounts Hiccup was doomed to die. she resented how useless he was in combat, and she resented how much she cared. she was mean and dismissive to him out of fear that she would inevitably have to mourn him soon, and the colder she was the easier it would be.

then, miraculously, Hiccup begins to show some kind of competency in dealing with the dragons. but he's still not defending himself. he's finding strange ways of controlling them, but he's still as physically weak as he was before and Astrid can't see how whatever he's doing will help him outside of the training ring. great, you found out that Deadly Nadders like chin scratches. what about the Monstrous Nightmare burning down your house?

all this just makes Astrid angrier. how is Hiccup succeeding without violence? how will he survive without violence? violence is what she was born into. what does he know that she can't comprehend?

it's only later, when she sees that this scrawny beanpole of a boy has found a companion in a Night Fury, the embodiment of Death, that the miracle of him starts to make sense. he knows so much more than what any of their people can comprehend. and he wants so badly to show her. and for the first time ever, Astrid has hope.

i believe that this explains Astrid's comfortability and affection for Hiccup that she shows during and after the events of Romantic Flight, why she wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek after everything. considering her personality, i don't think Romantic Flight shows her falling in love with Hiccup for the first time. i think she has loved him for a long time, and was too trapped in self-protection to allow herself to feel it (similar to Katniss regarding Peeta). but now she has hope that maybe he won't be ripped away from her. now she sees how much more there is to him, sees that he embodies Mercy stronger than Death.

[ineed-to-sleep]

It honestly baffles me that some people are so casually dismissive of animals' feelings. Istg some ppl only see pets like toys and are barely able to hide it

[sainz100]

Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen in Tokyo ahead of the 2016 Japanese GP | x

[feroluce]

Randomly consumed today by the thought of henghill cuddles, but like from a specific point in their relationship, like after they've only recently started laying in the same bed together.

It's something that takes them a long time to work up to; they both have nightmares, and yeah, Dan Heng is a Vidyadhara and he can heal himself beyond anything Boothill could accidentally do to him, but still. Boothill is made of metal now. He's heavy. It wouldn't take much, just a single flailing limb to cause some damage. He still gets up after Dan Heng falls asleep, and sneaks down into the guest cabin in one of the other cars.

But he'll lay in bed with Dan Heng until then. At first Boothill would always try to situate a blanket between them, because well. Metal isn't exactly pleasant to cuddle. But more and more lately, he's noticed Dan Heng keeps worming his way around their soft barrier and just kind of...rubbing his hand along him? Open palm up the curve of his side, across the planes of his chest, into the star-shape at his solar plexus, down the plates of his abdomen, back to his side again. Fingertips tap soundlessly against metal, or press into dents and divots, or smooth over old scars in the steel.

"Ya don't hav'ta do that, ya know."

"Does it bother you?"

Dan Heng's hand has already stopped, settling somewhere on the futon, neutral ground. Boothill clarifies that no, it doesn't bother him. But he can't feel any of it. He only knows he's doing it because he can see the motion out of the corner of his eye. Dan Heng doesn't need to go through the extra effort to do things for him like he would someone with a normal human body.

And Dan Heng goes quiet, just long enough that Boothill gets curious and turns to look at him over his shoulder. He has the cute little furrow between his brows, like when he's thinking.

And then he opens that pretty mouth of his and says, "That's alright, I think I'm doing it for myself, anyway" and Boothill nearly wheezes because wow, Dan Heng is almost never quite that honest when it comes to himself fdklsajlkd

Boothill cackles in surprise and asks point blank what he means, because what could he be getting out of that? Given the implied permission, Dan Heng's hand starts it's usual route again. Side, chest, solar plexus, abdomen, side. Boothill can practically hear him chewing on his words.

"I like that you're warm," is what he finally says, and Boothill suddenly feels like a bullet has just grazed something vital. "All the processes you run increase your temperature," Dan Heng's hand fans out across a span of steel and he holds it there, like he's soaking up the heat. "And your metal is smooth, it feels pleasant to touch," his fingertips move in circles, slip into a divot perfectly sized, rub back and forth. Boothill silently wills one of his cooling fans threatening to open up to stay closed.

"I like how you feel under my hands. That's all." Headshot! No recovery possible.

"...Suit yerself, then," and Boothill quickly turns back over before Dan Heng can see it in his face, how close he just hit to his heart.

[puppyeared]

adhd is when you shoot for the moon but you forgot the rocket fuel and by the time you realize it everyones already on the moon and then you panic and crash into the sun and it explodes

[skitskatdacat63]

He is so 🤏

+

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

met a VERY charming lil friend yesterday who i have never (knowingly) seen before!!! 🖤💛

this is the Sequoia Pitch moth (Synanthedon sequoiae), yes, moth! these fascinating little creatures bear an incredible resemblance to members of the family Vespidae, like common paper wasps and yellowjackets, and that’s no simple coincidence!

the appearance of these moths is an example of Batesian mimicry, a type of mimicry where one species mimics the warning signals of another species, but without having the same harmful or undesirable defences.

in this case these moths look like they may give you a nasty sting, but really they’re about as harmless as a moth can be! (plus they have gorgeous slightly iridescent black-lined wings and fluffy little shrimp-like tails! absolute cuties!)

[someartistsammy]

Genesis's childhood award, the basis of pasteurization, and the supposed fragility of Banora Whites.

A take on it from a farm kid that actually specializes in growing apples.

Was talking with a good friend of mine last night about various takes in the fandom last night and was reminded of one I had seen semi-recently about Genesis's childhood genius in supposedly inventing pasteurization.

I want to believe this is a take that comes from being uninformed as to what pasteurization actually is, considering him being the first to invent it around the time of 1990 would show a stunning lack of technological advancements in the world of FF7. Let me explain.

Shinra has had a lot of technological advancements, and we can see those constantly portrayed clear as day throughout the world of FF7. However even in the time before Shinra, during the time of the Republic of Junon, it can also be assumed that they would have pasteurization, a process that in the real world was invented in the 1800s. Exploration of the world in Rebirth also reveals multiple areas that have shipment docks from the time of the Republic. This would include the assumption that this is how people both traveled as well as transported and exchanged goods.

Pasteurization is an incredibly important technological advancement as it's allowed for the easier shipment and trade of food on a global level. The definition can be found below.

In food processing, pasteurization is a process of food preservation in which packaged and unpacked foods (e.g., milk and fruit juices) are treated with mild heat, usually to less than 100 °C (212 °F), to eliminate pathogens and extend shelf life. Pasteurization either destroys or deactivates microorganisms and enzymes that contribute to food spoilage or the risk of disease, … (continued on Wikipedia)

There are different methods such as Low-temperature long time (LTLT), High temperature/short time (HTST) and Ultrahigh temperature (UHT) (also called Ultraheat treated) however that isn't super important to this, just know that HTST is the standard for apple juice.

The point in this being that if Genesis were to have invented pasteurization ~1990, the rest of the world would have been taking incredibly risky measures in transporting food and risking spoiling for decades, as well as various things being unsafe for consumption such as milk. With the advancements the world already had by this time such as phones, war artillery, windmills, and mako reactors, I find it highly unlikely that he would've been the one to invent pasteurization.

I feel as though it is important to mention that Genesis's award was first place in the National Agriculture Awards, but more specifically, an award in the processed food category. The processed category in these awards directly gives it away in the fact that food was already processed enough to have its own category for awards. Presentation on this is in relation to the presentation of a processed product, and not a form of processing itself. In the assumption that these reflect actual reward categories, there are different categories for scientific invention as well as processing systems.

Reference page for the names/categories presented. This is not the description document.

Agricultural Proficiency Award Area Descriptions.

Although there is the argument that they likely didn't use this same style categorizing, its important to note that they did use categories within the national agricultural awards, and they specifically made the choice of processed food, instead of any of the other choices. If he really made such an important invention, why wouldn't it be stated anywhere as clearly being pasteurization, something that would revolutionize the world, or for that matter why wouldn't it be awarded in the name of development of food science?

I believe its also worth mentioning that the Crisis Core Complete Guide says "Because the fruit can only be harvested in this region, it sells for a high price on the market, but the village children don't seem to know this, …" This would be due to the fact that the Banora Whites are common-place in Banora. In a similar way to how wagyu in Japan is significantly cheaper than it is in the United States, due to export; Genesis would have an easier and cheaper time attempting experimentation methods, if there even needs to be any variation for them, resulting in juice with correct pasteurization due to his being local to Banora. (Market price on them in Banora would be naturally lower due to supply likely being higher than demand, as well as not having to worry about import and export fees. Not to mention being the place where it is naturally grown).

*In the above example I used wagyu as a comparison, however this could just as easily be any other exported food that becomes considered rare when exported, another example which is actually more rare would be the black diamond apple.

While mentioning this, I also want to say that his invention is specifically upon Banora White Juice, not apple juice in its entirety of existence. In similarity to pasteurization, this feels like an over-exaggeration of what Genesis actually accomplished.

While branching through this topic, I also want to bring attention to a take I was sent a while back on the supposed fragility of Banora Whites. While going through the Ultimanias with assistance of a friend, nothing could be found on sources hinting towards Banora Whites being fragile. My next assumption is that this conclusion was likely reached on the basis of Banora Whites being mentioned to be region exclusive, and a high-price market item.

Banora Whites are called just that because of their area of growth being only that of Banora in the Mideel region. The growth of Banora Whites is actually tied to the amount of lifestream that flows through the Banora Underground, this gives Banora a very unique type of soil that allows for the growth of Banora Whites. Since Banora is the only place where the crop grows, giving it a very limited area of growth, and since it cannot be grown globally, gives it a very high market value.

Now into the technicality of things, it could also be assumed that the sale of the Banora White was likely tied to its aesthetics, similar to the way that the pink pineapple is in the real world. The difference here being that when juiced, the pink pineapple loses most of what it has going for it in terms of its aesthetic appearance and thus reducing its marketability and price. Meanwhile, Banora whites, while although losing what would make them have a unique aesthetic appearance, could possibly have a specific flavor to them that translates into the juice.

You see, I believe Genesis's intelligence on the matter comes from not creating some life changing way of preserving things, but rather from preventing waste. Although I do not find any info on Banora Whites being fragile, it can be argued that all apples are fragile in a sense, or at least majority of them. They're truly one of those fruits where sometimes you can chuck them at a tree and only see a bruise or dent, and other times you look at them wrong and they'll split wide open.

When thinking of an apple in general, chances are fragile is not the first word that comes to mind, as many other fruits would be considered fragile long before them, and that'd be correct. However, the harvest and transportation of apples, as well as their general growth, can be littered with complications. When moving apples in a commercial wooden apple bin, when you have hundreds of them stacked together, driving faster than even 2MPH by tractor can cause shaking and damage to the fruit by rubbing damage which can create bruising.

Banora is a remote island location, and import and export of items is likely expensive, which would contribute to the income that Banora Whites would bring in (see earlier mention of wagyu and Japan vs US price) Due to being an island, the methods of exporting would have to be either by air, which would be incredibly expensive and fuel taxing, or by ocean. I mentioned earlier that FF7 Rebirth shows multiple docks and ports that would hint towards ocean being the likely way of transportation of food and people. This would require a boat to leave from down by Banora and travel all the way up the coast through the Meridian Ocean. Constant swaying of the ocean and anything unsecured likely leads to aesthetic damages which allow for even less of the Banora Whites to reach market in aesthetically acceptable shelf conditions.

Banora and in general the Mideel Region is a very coastal region that by flora alone also appears to be a very warm and tropical one. By this assumption not only would Banora Whites possibly be prone to sunburn, a reason they likely developed their darker appearance to survive, but also being internally cooked by the heat of the sun. Also being coastal could lead to strong storms brought in by the ocean leaving damage from heavy winds, pelting rain, hail, and similar damaging weather factors. Excessive rain also typically leads to apples suffering growth cracks, which also takes them off the table for being sold to market as-is.

In the assumption that the Banora Whites would survive possibly brutal conditions that are located down in that area, due to any damage caused by going across the sea, they would likely need to be packaged first while in Banora (hence the warehouse) which would also bring up the pricing on them. However, where does this leave the fruit that's been damaged? Just because it has a crack it it or an aesthetic-only scar across the skin does not mean that the fruit is ruined or inedible. This is fruit that can be used for many different things, including juicing. Juicing is a method that ignores damages that are purely aesthetic, and allows for profit where there would otherwise be none given. Genesis's invention is that of one that prevents waste, and allows for another source of income to the area.

Juicing of apples that wouldn't make it to market would keep the price of the pure solid apples that do make it to market still profitable, while also giving use to those that wouldn't be allowed onto the shelves. While its nothing groundbreaking for the world, like pasteurization would have been, it does allow for Banora to be able to sustain itself via income more, and just overall prevent the waste of more food.

Although to some its not as glamorous if he didn't do something that fundamentally changed the world as a kid, that doesn't mean that what Genesis did isn't still something that he was worth awarding for, especially as a youth. Not only did his creation prevent the waste of food, which earned him his award, but Banora White Juice also did become a famous global hit.

[mallowninja]

thinking more about mouthwashing and coming to the conclusion that i'm less annoyed by the toxic yaoi and more annoyed by people who portray curly as a Good Guy who made a mistake

curly is possibly someone who has been a good person but the curly we see in game is someone who papers over sexual assault for the sake of protecting his friend, fails to take proper precautions against said friend's behavior, and dooms the entire ship to his narcissism

curly enables jimmy, cannot hold his role as The Guy Who Keeps The Crew Safe over his position as Jimmy's Friend or Pony Express Top-Rated Captain, and destroys five people because of it.

I feel awful for Curly. I don't wish Curly's fate upon anyone. But I don't like Curly, at all.

[yuus-sentient-teddy]

To heck with it--FragMem fluff

aka Happy First Anniversary to Fragaria Memories!

Apologies if OOC, this is the gist that I got of their characteristics. I hope you guys enjoy regardless!

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It was looking to be another late night in the castle's library, but at least you had the quilt Romarriche gifted you to keep the increasing chills away, and small snacks and tea to keep your spirits up.

Actually, you never brought the snacks and tea: they were always there when you came into the library. It started almost a month ago and none of the librarians could tell you who left them there (or so they claimed). You had an idea who the culprit was regardless; you recognized the tea set and plates as the ones he reserved just for special guests. You didn't approach him about them, though, afraid that if you did, your fluttering heart would make it difficult for you to properly thank him.

Besides, you still needed to figure out what to gift him back in return for the quilt. You've considered an embroidery of a bouquet of roses, tea from another kingdom that you think he may enjoy, and a quilt of your own making, to name a few. They were good ideas, but now that he was providing refreshments, you thought the gift should be a little more refined--

You blink, refocusing on the form in front of you. You chide yourself for letting your mind wander back to gift ideas and him. You have forms to finish and a bed to fall into, now isn't the time!

With a huff, you reread the paragraph and adjust the quilt over your shoulders. Your fingers run over the stitching and feel the soft texture of the fabric. Even if it's been months already, you still appreciate the craftsmanship of the quilt and you are thankful for the comfort it brings.

You know what, perhaps you should make a quilt after all; you aren't as skilled as the older needle-workers, but you're pretty good at the craft. You just need to figure out what patterns he likes, maybe you can casually bring it up the next time you two chat. While you're at it, you should thank him for the refreshments. He's so thoughtful, and you really should have told him you appreciate them when they started appearing.

Despite your best efforts to focus on the paperwork, your sleepy mind further wanders to him and plans for the quilt.

It isn't long before you quietly doze off.

You're not sure how long you were asleep, but when you become conscious, you realize a few things:

One, you're being carried by someone.

Two, you're snuggling against this person, who is so warm and whose arms feel safe to be in.

Three, there's a faint perfume of roses, tea, and a certain sweet something that altogether is unique to one person.

Romarriche.

Romarriche is carrying you.

You try to keep calm and be still. If you are still dreaming, you don't want to wake up quite yet.

After a few seconds, he stops to open a door and the familiar scent of the scented candle you burned earlier greets your nose. He's brought you to your room.

You feel yourself being laid on your bed, legs hanging over the edge, and your shoes carefully taken off. He lifts you up and puts you down again so that you're lying completely on the mattress, and your heart flutters at how he does it so effortlessly. The blankets are pulled up to your chin and gentle hands tuck you in. All the while, Romarriche whispers to the supposedly sleeping you.

"I deeply admire you for your dedication to doing excellent work and wanting to help wherever you can. I just wish there was a way where you wouldn't have to push yourself to exhaustion."

You feel strands of your hair being brushed away from your face. His fingers lightly touch your cheek and linger there.

"I feel that every time we meet, the bags under your eyes get deeper, and I cannot help but be more worried. I do remember what you told me that night, but I also remember you nearly falling asleep into your lunch just last week and again three days ago."

He sighs. "I want you to know that your coworkers and I would be more than willing to share your burden. You wouldn't need to stay later than usual that way."

His perfume gradually becomes stronger. "I hope that somehow, my words can reach you in your dreams. I dearly care about you and wish for you better health."

Something soft touches your forehead; it doesn't get past being feather light. It's there for just a second, then it's gone along with his scent.

"No," you hear him whisper to himself, "I mustn't. It would be improper of me to assume they would feel. . ."

Hang on, that tone in his voice. It couldn't be longing, could it?

He sighs again, then says with a smile in his voice, "Have sweet dreams, dearest."

Once he leaves, you open your eyes and think about what just happened. You clench your hands and internally scream.

Romarriche cared about you this much?! Did he know that you appreciate him and that you really like him?!

A realization hits you that makes your face warm up.

That feather-light touch on your forehead. . .

"It would be improper of me to assume they would feel. . ."

". . . dearest. . ."

He was in the process of kissing your forehead and stopped because he didn't know if you felt the same towards him.

Romarriche liked you.

You smack a hand over your now burning hot face. Great Strawberry King, you really need to work on that quilt ASAP!

. . . And tell him that you like him back.

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You look forward to harvesting the newest species of apples, so much so that you're sure the horses would roll their eyes if they could whenever you gush about it. You can't help it! You just love seeing how well the apples grew, and tasting one and thinking about the potential dishes you can make.

Stepping outside, you take in a deep breath of the fresh morning air and smile. The sun is just on the verge of peeking over the horizon and the autumn chill lightly bites your cheeks. You notice some farmers climbing into a wagon, likely coming back from the kitchen after delivering vegetables and apples for this morning's breakfast, and you wave to them. They wave back, then head on to their side of the field.

Your fellow harvesters won't arrive until a little later, so you decide to meander around.

You pass rows of various fruits and take a quick look at a patch of ripe pumpkins. Your lips immediately lift into a smile as you remember a certain Fragaria helping the farmers plant the seeds and attentively listening to their talks about pumpkins.

He was cute and had a very bright personality, was proud and had faith in the goodness of everyone he met. You two would have small chats at random times throughout the day, but nothing more beyond that, what with his knightly duties and your tending to the farm and the livestock keeping the two of you busy. You'd really like to get to know him better.

You look up every so often at the sky for incoming warm shades and you rub your hands together or lift the collar of your coat a little higher. You don't mind the autumn weather, but it does get a bit too chilly for your liking. It still doesn't stop you from getting up early and being the first to be ready to harvest.

You suddenly hear your name being called. Startled, you turn around.

Jogging down the dirt path, white and red uniform visible in the early gray morning, is Hallritt. He stops before you, panting, and his cheeks are pink from the autumn chill and the small excursion. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you, but I wanted to give you something."

He holds up a red knitted scarf and your eyes widen.

"It's just, I've noticed that you keep hunching into your coat and I get worried that you might catch a cold. So, I learned how to knit a scarf," Hallritt explains bashfully. "I'm sorry if it's a little crooked in some parts. I've never knitted before and practiced before making this, but. . . I hope you still like it."

You're silent as your mind registers his words; he slowly starts to become worried. But before he could say anything, you smile and say, "I haven't seen you a lot as usual and thought it was just my imagination. I appreciate this, Hallritt!"

Your fingers brush against his when you accept the scarf. In that brief moment, you feel a tiny spark that makes your heart skip a beat. You don't notice that Hallritt's eyes had widened a little, feeling the same tiny spark.

You wrap it around your neck and immediately laugh. Hallritt joins with his own. "I didn't realize the scarf would be this long," he says.

"No, it's perfect! Look, I can wrap my hands around the ends!" You proceed to demonstrate this.

"That's a relief!"

Somewhere beyond the rows, you hear horses fussing, and the sky starts to take on a pink tint. "I have to get going soon. Will I see you at the stables later?"

"Yeah! I have to apologize to Blossom for not visiting her for so long. I hope she can forgive me if I bring her treats."

"For someone like you, I'm sure she will."

"Wow, you really love that scarf," your friend observes.

"How could I not? It's so soft and warm!" you say, nuzzling against the yarn.

"You sure it's not just because the knight gave it to you himself?" they tease.

Your cheek warm up and you narrow your eyes at your friend. "No!"

After a beat of silence, you quietly say, "It was nice of him to make this for me, though. I've been racking my brain for the past hours settling on a gift."

You sit back against the barrier of the cart, staring at the clear sky. "I'd like to make him something with apples, but there's just so many things I could do!"

Your friend considers something. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen you try the apples we just harvested."

You blink and sit up, knowing your friend is a fellow baker. "Have you?"

They smile. "I think the taste will speak for itself."

Hallritt had been looking forward to chatting with you again, so he was a little disappointed when you weren't around as much as usual. Was this how you felt when he got preoccupied with knitting the scarf? He feels bad now.

"Hallritt!" To his pleasant surprise, it's you. The scarf is wrapped twice around your neck, and the ends flutter a little behind you as you jog towards him.

"Hey!" you greet, stopping before him. "I was hoping you'd be here. Here, I want to give you something."

You hold up a small casserole dish wrapped in cloth.

"Oh, you didn't have to!" he says.

You shake your head, insisting. "It's thanks for the scarf."

When he accepts it, he could feel the warmth of whatever you had made. "I made it with the newest species of apples. It took me a little bit to come up with the recipe, but I did it!" you explain proudly.

"You came up with the dish from scratch? Now I really can't wait to try! At the same time, it makes me relieved. I've been wondering where you've been for the past weeks."

"Sorry about that, Hallritt." You shrug and smile apologetically.

"There's no need!" A thought comes to him. "Why don't we go to the parlor and share this? I've. . . kind of missed talking with you."

Your cheeks heat up. "Honestly, me too. But you don't have to share, though! If anything, I'd like to hear what you think of them."

And so the two of you spent a cozy afternoon in the parlor, catching up and laughing, and unknowingly moving closer together.

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You yelp again for what seemed like the umpteenth time and manage to catch yourself against a brick wall. You're usually good at handling icy paths, but you've never gone down this street before and it is ridiculously slippery. You wouldn't be surprised if this street has an associated notoriety.

"Are you all right?" Tuxam asks, just three paces in front of you. You are impressed and envious over how he hasn't slipped even once during the walk. You think his cane might be helping, but it doesn't take away your feeling.

"Yes, just almost slipped again is all," you say, shaking your head and steadying yourself.

". . . Here." You look up from the sidewalk. He's offering his arm to you. "H-hold on to my arm."

He clears his throat, embarrassed by the stutter, and the dust of pink on his cheek darkens. He's still avoiding eye contact as he says, "As a gentleman, it would be unforgivable if I continued to allow the risk of you falling and hurting yourself. It is already improper that I let you slip the past few times already. O-of course, you do not need to accept my help, if you aren't comfortable!"

Like any other citizen of this kingdom, you are aware of Tuxam's fixation of being a proper gentleman. While there are moments where you think he is going overboard, you think it is charming how he insists on holding open the door for the next person or pulling out a chair for you to sit in. Or maybe you just think the Fragaria himself is cute--ahem!

You shake your head and smile. "No, it's fine! I appreciate it."

He's stiff and a little awkward as you both loop arms, but as you two continue down the sidewalk, he relaxes--just a little bit. This is much closer than the two of you have ever been; the other time was when he readjusted your tie and had unknowingly stood very close. You wouldn't forget how embarrassed he got over invading your personal space, but you didn't mind. . . mostly because you yourself were preoccupied by your racing heart.

You spy the two of you in a reflective glass pane. You had a pleased but shy smile on your face while Tuxam had a straight but blushing face. Altogether, you two looked like a couple heading for their first outing.

Whoosh!

"Whoa!"

A gust of cold wind suddenly smacks into you two. Immediately, you duck and huddle closer against Tuxam, your free hand gripping his sleeve. Once it passes, you look to him.

"Sorry about that, I was--Tuxam, are you okay?"

His face is bright red and he seems to be on the verge of exploding. He shakes his head. "Yes, I'm all right. You don't need to trouble yourself over me. Are you all right?"

"Yes, just surprised is all. Oh, your hat's a little crooked. Here, let me fix it."

You unlink your arms and adjust the hat accordingly. You then notice his bow tie is crooked as well and begin to carefully fix it. All the while, Tuxam is quiet. Another wind comes, but it's significantly calmer and causes loose snow from building roofs to fall.

He can't stop staring at you. He thought of you as perfection when the two of you first met, and being able to properly see your face, he was well reminded of it. The backdrop of lightly falling snow makes the scene somehow more beautiful.

You eventually notice his staring and realize how close your faces are. Your cheeks heat up. "I'm sorry, am I standing too close?"

He blinks, cheeks heating up as well. "Ah, no! I was just. . ." He falters for a moment, then collects himself. "Thank you for fixing my appearance. It would have been improper if it continued to appear unruly."

You smile in response. "Of course, Tuxam. Shall we continue walking?"

He agrees. When the two of you link your arms again, he's a little less stiff than before.

A few paces down the sidewalk, he speaks up. "If you need to hold onto me with both hands, you may. Your safety and comfort are important, and it wouldn't do if I ignored those."

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You remind him of the poems he read about the the spring and summer breezes. Warm and refreshing, and a singing voice that carries beautifully across the field or a room with an open window. Sometimes, the breeze that is you turns into a dizzying wind full of anxieties. He's more than happy to listen to whatever is on your mind, and for that, you're forever grateful.

You try to repay him for being so patient and willing to listen to your anxious thoughts, but he waves them off. You accompanying him on his traverses into the nearby fields is more than enough.

It's something the two of you do sometimes after all the work is done, if the sun is shining brightly and Puruth is in the mood to look for four leaf clovers. Sometimes you bring your lyre to get his opinion on a work in progress or to have something to fiddle with. There are moments where you even come up with a poem or random composition on the spot.

The latter scenario isn't that rare, not when he looks right at home in a sunny flower field. You'll often see Puruth standing in the middle of ankle-height grass, staring at the distance with a relaxed smile, while the sun casts its golden light on him and turns him into an enchanting prince.

You think Puruth has caught on that some of your sporadic poems and compositions are inspired by him. You also think he's aware that you're aware some of the poems he writes himself are inspired by you.

Neither of you seem to want to point it out, but if the glint in his eyes are anything to go by and if he understands the glint in yours, this arrangement is just fine. It's basically a fun little open secret between the two of you, one that you hope lasts for a long time.

The gentle rustle of leaves. The smell of dirt and a tinge of lavender in the passing breeze. You open your eyes to the sleeping face of Puruth just a small step away from you. He's facing you, and you wonder if he had fallen asleep while watching over you. It wouldn't be the first time.

In the hour before you fell asleep, the two of you climbed up a small hill and sat beneath one of the trees at its top. There, he read poems from a book he borrowed from the town's library and the two of you chatted about them. You vaguely remember a poem about dandelions and thinking how nice it was to listen to his voice and how comfortable the grass felt.

The book now sits between the two of you; a ladybug was making its way across the cover. Surely Puruth wouldn't mind if you looked through to see what other poems were there.

You sit up--and that's when you discover something that makes you chuckle.

Three-leaf clovers have been stuck through the buttonholes of your jacket and the loops of your shoelaces. Puruth must have collected the clovers and stuck them in while you were asleep.

You pick the one at the very top of your shirt and realize it's a four-leaf clover. You huff through your nose, smiling. Carefully, you tuck it in his hair--then stand up and head down the hill to look for a clover patch.

In just a few minutes, his hair is dotted with the little green flora. You didn't have Puruth's luck in finding four-leaf clovers, but at least he had the one he gave to you. You silently laugh at your handiwork and reward yourself with reading the book of poems, eagerly waiting for his reaction when he wakes up.

You hope afternoons like these last for a long time.

[isfjmel-phleg]

It's my night to work, and I can't, and I'm very sorry. Can't argue with the campus nurse though.

I am also very sorry about the grass out front of our main building. The circumstances were desperate and hopefully it will never happen again.

[doppelcoworker]

"I guess I just don't know what it means to love?"

> [ Colleague ran his hand over the walls of the elevator. That chef, Vincent? He heard he didn't have any taste. It was a strange thought to have… but he felt the same, in a sense. A yearning for something he had never felt before but cannot truly feel as a whole. ]

> [ His heart beat only to pump blood through his body, his emotions welled because of his sadness. He never understood why this mattered so much to him if it affected him so little. ]

> [ After all, it's not like he wanted to have it. ]

"Tell me… anyone…"

"What is it like to fall in love?"