#sail needle cases

[ltwilliammowett]

Sailor made sail needle cases, 19th century

[untolduttering]

Trust Me

Summary: Reader is terrified of medical needles and avoids Law when they get a deep enough cut to require stitches. They're caught, of course, and Law tries to help and calm a panicked reader.

Tags: hurt/comfort, blood, cutting, knives, medical needles, stitches, mutual pining

Word count: 2.3k

It happened so suddenly that for a moment, you could have imagined that it hadn’t happened at all. You were set to cutting some sailcloth after a run in with the navy left the sails with holes, and if not for the change in how the knife sliced through the fabric, you wouldn’t have noticed at all. The knife was sharp enough that there was barely any resistance as it gouged your arm. There wasn’t any initial pain either. You only grasped that there was indeed an injury once you stared at the wound, feeling the burn as it built and watching the blood flow to the surface, maintaining its surface tension before breaking and spilling over. You had already written off the flashes of white meat that gave away just how deep it was, telling yourself it only needed to be cleaned and wrapped. You snatched a spare piece of sail and pressed it to the wound, then took another to wrap around.

There wasn’t any need to worry, really. Small accidents like this happened all the time on the Polar Tang. Shachi scraping his palms on the rough surface of the deck as he fell, Penguin giggling behind him. Ikkaku dropping something heavy on someone’s foot, grimacing and apologizing profusely. If they didn’t, then Law would probably fall out of practice and lose his title.

That image of white meat flashed through your head again, and it coupled with the burning that only seemed to keep growing, never reaching its crescendo that promised eventual relief, made you think of the stitches that Law could possibly say it required. But it wasn’t bad enough for that, and Law deserved a break from time to time. So, you decided, this was something that you could handle by yourself. Even if Law always demanded that he was seen first in any case of injury, no matter how small, because he was the qualified one that could deem what required real attention, and he didn’t need anyone ruining the precise organization of his supplies. You could be careful, though. You knew what went where, and you only needed a few things. 

Steps slowing as you made it closer to the infirmary, you listened for any sign that Law may be nearby. The Polar Tang surfaced not too long ago, and so Law was most likely up on deck still assessing the damage. You pressed an ear to the closed door, though, waiting for any movement. At the lack of any sound, you entered, and shut the door behind you. It wasn’t avoidance, it was simply a need to not be bothersome over something so unimportant.

None of the cabinets and drawers themselves were labeled, as no one but Law rifled through them, so there was no need when he had it memorized. But it meant that you had to take the time to search through each one. You had to not only keep quiet, but try and keep any blood from getting onto his things.

A scurrying of footsteps rushed past the door, causing you to hold your breath and freeze. No one came in nor knocked, but if the crew members that had been on deck were moving around, it meant that Law might be below deck now too. You picked up pace, grimacing at every rattle and creak. Finally, you found the small butterfly bandages that would hold the wound close, and the wrapping as well. Your eyes skated over the suture kit as you grabbed what you needed and shut the drawer.

“Y/n-ya.”

You felt your stomach drop to the floor. Shit. You turned, keeping your right side facing him. Using your body to block your injured left arm from view, you let it rest on top of the counter, like it had been lifted as it was to lean against casually, and not because it was hurt and dripping. You looked him in the face because guilty people always avoided eye contact. It was set in a scowl as he waited for you to explain yourself. There was no need to chide someone that already knew they were in the wrong.

“I just needed a bandage. Small cut, I didn’t want to bother you about it,” you said. You kept your tone light, nonchalant, and tried at a self-deprecating, ‘I’m just so silly’ smile. And it might just have worked, except since all your attention was on your face and voice, you weren’t in control of your body. Law, a man keenly familiar with violence, could see the tension and threat your body held. Your pupils were dilated too, blown out to a concerning proportion. It was a look that promised that if he got any closer, you might just sink your teeth in.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked.

Continuing to refuse would be suspicious. If it really had been a measly little cut, you would have readily shown it to him just to poke fun at his worry and overbearance. You would have gone to him in the first place for a simple bandage, too. He knew this was all odd. But what else was there?

“There’s really no need,” you huffed out. “I don’t need stitches or anything.”

His eyes flitted from your face to your body. Tiny smears of blood on the fabric of your coveralls that went unnoticed at first caught his eye. He stepped forward with an extended hand. “Y/n-ya, I’d like to see it.”

Unconsciously, you flinched back. Harder, with a panicked edge you didn’t mean to let slip, you said again, “I don’t need stitches.”

“I didn’t say anything about that yet.” His voice was low, almost like he was trying to soften it.

Yet. He probably hadn’t thought of stitches, but when you said it yourself, he knew that it was worse than he had initially thought.

Law took two steps closer, causing you to turn fully forward, hands lifted. “Stop, stop it. Please.” Your throat felt like it was tightening and it made you sound close to tears.

Law was staring at your arm, now fully revealed in its red glory. So, so much red. The sailcloth was fully soaked now. His jaw tightened and nostrils flared with a heavy exhale at the sight. He lifted both hands in the air, an image of surrender. “You need to let me help you.”

You flinched again, harder this time, fully aware of those hands, that he could easily force you to do whatever. He could shambles you where he wanted, pin you down, and jam that needle in and out of your arm. You shook your head, back and forth, back and forth. You started stepping to the side, pressing against the counter, trying to get farther away, but stopped when you realized all you were moving towards was the corner. The only exit was behind Law.

Deciding to stick with a firm approach, as you had to take orders from your captain, Law said, more stern, “Let me help you.” He took one more step forward.

Your panic tripled, thrilling all throughout your body. You were a cornered animal, coiled tight from the lack of options. “I don’t need your fucking help,” you snapped.

Law felt a flicker of irritation. If you wanted to bleed out, or worse, get an infection, then that was fine. He could leave you to it if you wanted to be that way. But he smothered that feeling quickly. Yes, he could force this. He could strap you down and have it all done in minutes. That wasn’t what a good captain, a good doctor, did though. He’d win, but you wouldn’t go anywhere near him for months, not without thinking of how he handled this. You were a part of his crew. You were someone who’s pain and tears actually made his heart squeeze. This was about trust. The idea of losing yours made his own panic flutter in a way he wasn’t familiar with.

He lowered his hands slowly and let them hang by his sides. He took a few steps back as well. Gentleness was not something he was adept at, but he could try.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, truly soft this time. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I need you to trust me.”

The sudden change in his demeanor disarms you. You’d never heard him speak so softly, so earnestly, before. Your irrationality and the ridiculousness of your actions hit you, and suddenly your body drains, leaving you exhausted and sore. The wound on your arm is pulsating with ache. You do trust your captain. But your heart is still pounding. “I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Law's chest tightens at how meek those two words sounded. He moves now, albeit slowly, to you. He pauses right before his hands touch you, waiting for permission. You take a slight step forward, and he guides you toward the bed. He walks back to the counter to wash his hands and prep his tools.

“First I need to clean out the wound and make sure there isn’t anything left in there that can cause an infection. Then I’ll numb the area. Once fully numbed, I’ll do an interrupted stitch. That alright?”

Like you could really say no. It had to be done. But you knew he was doing it to give you a sense of control, and you gripped onto the kindness tightly. You nodded your assent.

After a thorough cleaning that has you hissing and huffing through your teeth, it's time for the first needle. Sitting again after going to the sink, you wait. Law lifts it from its place on the counter and brings it to your arm. You snap your head away, staring hard at the wall.

“Deep breaths,” he said. As soon as you inhaled, he stuck the needle in and pushed the plunger down. The cold burn of the liquid entering your arm made your breath hitch and your teeth to grind together. It was less from pain and more from the intrusion of something entering your body unnaturally. Law pulled the needle out and immediately rubbed soothing circles into the injection sight, gently as he was wary to add anymore hurt. You felt a keen disappointment when he stopped.

He placed the empty needle back onto the counter and pulled up the one chair in the room, deciding to sit while waiting for the numbing agent to kick in. He was close enough that your knees were nearly brushing. You fought back the urge to press them together.

“How’d it happen?” Law asked. He leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I was cutting sailcloth,” you said, jutting your chin toward the door, the vague gesture implying ‘out there’. “The knife slipped, I suppose. It happened so quickly.”

He hummed. “You should pay better attention. I’ll give you tasks without knives from now on.”

You pressed your lips together in a hard, thin line. As if you’d done it on purpose. “I was paying plenty of attention.” 

The corner of Law’s mouth twitched upward, like something about irking you brought him joy. Instead of annoyance, something about it warmed your chest. You glared at him without any heat behind it.

He nodded to your arm. “How’s it feel?”

You poked at the edge of your wound. You felt the vertigo that came from knowing there was something touching you but being unable to feel it. “All numbed up.” Taking a deep breath, you turned your head away again and lifted your arm towards him, letting Law know he could start.

He changed gloves before beginning. He started without warning, knowing well enough that a countdown meant nothing. Nothing would change the how and why of the needle going in and out. There wasn’t any pain and you didn’t necessarily feel it, but you could sense the needle breaking through your skin, dragging through the meat, and pulling back out. You felt the same of the thread. It made your stomach churn and your head spin. You dug your fingers into your thigh, needing the pressure to focus on.

Law took advantage of your inability to look at what he was doing to do some staring of his own. Knowing that you knew nothing of sutures, he knew he could stop and take you in without you asking why he’d stopped. Your eyebrows were drawn so tight together that it caused your nose to wrinkle a little. You bit down into your bottom lip as well, the queasiness you felt obvious on your face. The sight filled him with an unexpected tenderness each time he looked, and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to cup your face and smooth out your features. He wanted nothing more than to soothe you. But it was not something he could bring himself to do. The kindest thing he could do at this moment was finish the sutures.

The worst part was that he liked having you under his fingers like this. If it wasn’t so unsanitary, he’d have done this with his bare hands just so he could feel your skin. He’d let your blood settle under his nails so he could steal that small part of you for himself.

“Finished,” Law tells you.

“Thank you, Captain.”

 He puts the suture kit away and wraps your arm in gauze and bandage. “You’ll need to have me redo the bandaging every so often over the next few days. I’ll tell you when.” He could easily tell you how to do it yourself, give you all the supplies and when to do it and what to look for. But a selfish part of him needed to be the one doing it, so you’d have to keep coming back to him, so he could hear you thank him again and again.

And surprisingly,  you were content to let him do so. Such ministrations made you uncomfortable, or you straight out rejected it, because you knew that to lose that attention in the future would be painful. But you felt unbearably needy when it came to him, and would greedily take whatever he gave you, no matter how little it could be.

You left, unaware of Law’s hungry gaze as you went.

[cursecuelebre]

All About Knot Magic 🪢

Knot Magic is how simple as it sounds. Knot Magic is one of the techniques whilst using the air element, "catching the wind" as it was called. Most of what we know about knot magic comes from folk traditions and lore about fisherman and sailors catching winds for their sails and tying fisherman knots. If they need extra wind in their sail, they will untie the knot letting the wind escape these traditions are still prevalent today. Fisherman knots do not unravel and tighter under stress. There are many different ways of how to go about it, you can use rope, twine, thread, string, cord, anything that can be tied in a knot. Color correspondences can be important as well.

In Witchcraft it's very much part one's craft especially if one needs to be bit more secretive and discreet in their practice. Knot magic is much involved in folk magic and what's nice about folk magic is that it's practical and not much ritual needs to go into it. Here are some ways you can integrate it in your practice:

Needle work

Looming

Weaving

Knitting

Tying a knot around something that needs to be fixed.

A witch's ladder

Poppet Work

Braiding

Rosaries

Binding

Celtic Knots

So How Do You Do It?

Well, it's easy, you want to capture the spell in the knot and there isn't any wrong way of doing it. Say you want to put reserved energy into the knots so in case you're feeling fatigue or just low on energy and need of a boost. One way is that you take the first section of the twine and chant on what is it you're capturing into the knot I will say talking and chanting is required because it needs to be air flowing and whispering is completely fine as well it doesn't need to be long just say, "I place a piece of energy within this knot." as you begin tying the knot when you're about to tighten it blow as you tighten it. It’s optional but double knots can help secure the knot and energy into place as well say if your saying is a bit too long for a singular knot double knots can be really great for this scenario.

You can also chant while knotting the twine The Witches' Ladder is good for this as well as braiding, here is a simple folk charm to use to create a ladder it's mostly for charms of anything that one would like to achieve and gain. I recommend it for beginners so that you can get the idea and play around and see what you can make out of it

Acquirements:

Yarn or Twine

Nine Feathers or anything that can easily be knotted like Hag stones which are rocks with natural formed holes

Make sure the twine/yarn is long enough to hold all nine objects then as you knot the twine chant the following incantation.

'I tie this knot for my need of____.

The next I tie in the Devil's name.

The third to fix it by my will.

The fourth one to hold it fast and firm.

The fifth one to bind it evermore.

The sixth fastens the wish herein.

The seventh brings it nearer still

The eighth makes it almost true

The ninth completes the ladder by which

I climb and reach for____.'

Make sure that you speak slow and clear even when whispering it helps putting, your energy more effectively within the twine or yarn. Imagine as you tighten it that it will never break away like a sailor at sea fasten his sail for the oncoming storm knowing it will never giveaway. You can make just knots with the twine no need of items if you don't wish to I usually don't. You can anoint them in oil or herbal water to bless it. You can write your own incantations and use many other knots.

Use poetry or chanting for me I used the Havamal as Odin speaks that he knows numerous spells I made a belt of said numbered of spells into knots around his glass candle.

I wand dress my wands and staffs, to help preserve and restore energy but also to help grounding and give me a bit more energy in my workings, for this I combining knots and braiding

In regard to braiding, needle work, weaving, though like needle work will have knots at one end and the other it's very few. Whilst doing these activities you can chant, sing, speak, or pushing your energy into each stitch and loom and connector it's mediative and really great for trance work.

Deities Associated with Knot Magic

So this will include UPGS of deity correspondences but within reason and good links that I will describe.

Loki: his name might’ve derive from “knot” and his symbol/sigil is a six looped knot of a snake that is signifies his trickster nature. Now this is my own correlation I don’t know if there is historical evidence of Loki including in Knot magic. However it’s still a good correspondence and working with him. Visualization of knots and finding clever ways to undo them or tie them for mischievous ways. Not to mention he is often associated with spiders who are natural weavers so that can be a great correspondent.

The Norns - Wavers of Fate, they spin the fate of makind. They can help with healing, protection, manifestation, and altering fate.

Frigg- Associated with Weaving as a domesticated art and link to the Norns as she also knows all people’s fates. She is very wise even more so than All father her husband, talk about power couple. She can help protection, Motherhood, healing, wisdom, knowledge, patience.

Athena: Goddess of Craftsmanship especially weaving, one of her famous stories was she cursed a hubris weaver named Archane into a spider who weaves beautiful webs this story is how spiders came to be. Athena is associated with war, wisdom, knowledge, justice, craftsmanship, and strength.

Our Lady of Knots or Mary, the Untier of Knots: This is for people who work in Saint magic or incorporates saints in their practice. Our Lady of Knots is an aspect of Holy Mary. Which she is prayed for resolution of difficult situations in life such as family discord, violence, anger, parents and children conflict like misunderstandings, addictions, lack of peace, martial problems, separation of home or god, and unemployment.

Njord - Norse God of Fisherman, fisherman knots are again a very common occurrence in folklore. Fisherman knots do not unravel and tighter under stress. Praying to Njord to help strengthen such knots and put up as a talismans or offerings for him.

Rán: is a Norse Goddess of the sea who uses a net to capture drowned sailors and live within her hall. Fisherman nets if you ever see one is full of knots again I don’t know there is historical evidence of her within knot magic but she can help with capturing dangers in her net or help soften a blow or change that can be coming without your control.

Britomartis: Goddess of Traps and Nets, often associated with Artemis a huntress and a virgin goddess. Evoke her to help trapping dangers or maybe help you get out of a tricky situation.

Wind gods that can be evoke to let their winds and energy to trap within the knot. Those within the air element.

Odin: He is considered to be the God of Wind, as he was the one to give humans breathe.

Poseidon, Zeus, and Thor as storm gods: Now these gods can cause storms and strong winds especially Poseidon who can create hurricanes. But they can also help with withstand storms (literally and metaphorically).

Hermes: Like Loki he is a trickster god and possibly can help with knot magic as well but he is often associated with the air element.

Hekate: Goddess of Magic but she has elements within air as well, because of being a goddess of magic she can help with any type of intention of use of magic within reason of course.

[crackedhrglass]

i got this ask on my strawpage and was gonna type it up in my notes app and post it to twitter, but i really couldn't figure out a way to say it concisely, so i'm answering it here bc it's prob gonna be long lol.

do i think stancest is actually canon? simply put, no. despite how often i'm like "STANCEST IS CANON!!" i truly don't think that AH and the writers intended stan & ford's relationship to be seen through an incestuous lens.

their relationship is def the heart of the show, second only to dipper & mabel's own bond. they are the center of each other's worlds, their story & character arcs revolve almost entirely around each other, and their happy ending is literally the two of them sailing off into the sunset to spend "the rest of their days" together (ford says this almost word-for-word in journal 3).

but i still don't think all of that was meant to be taken romantically.

in my opinion, where things start to get a little weird is, surprisingly enough, ford's relationship with bill.

the rest is under a cut bc HOLY SHIT this got longer than i expected.

there's no denying that bill was written to deliberately parallel stan in a number of ways, from his mannerisms, to his conman status, to the fact that he calls ford the same name stan did when they were kids.

he's written in a very intentional way that makes him serve as both stan's parallel and his foil, especially in their respective relationships to ford (bill feeds into ford's ego and encourages him to aspire for greatness alone, stan has always been a direct obstacle & challenge to ford's ego, accidentally ruining his chances at WCT & encouraging him to live out their childhood dream together; bill valued infinite power over his own family and destroyed his dimension as a result, stan valued his family over everything, and saved ford and his dimension as a result).

normally, this wouldn't be that big of a deal to a stancest shipper like myself. but as the book of bill & the accompanying website all but confirmed in big, flashing neon lights, ford & bill have a romantic history and are exes.

having the two people closest to ford be compared to one another is one thing. having ford be drawn to bill because of how similar he is to the brother he secretly misses is one thing.

having ford be romantically involved with said character is what makes me raise an eyebrow lol.

again, do i think ford is literally a brocon who's got repressed sexual/romantic feelings for stan?

no.

i do, however, think he has unresolved Brother Issues that led him to subconsciously find comfort in a romantic partner that reminded him of stan (right down to bill calling him stan's nickname for him) in much the same way a person with "daddy issues" may seek out affection & intimacy from someone who reminds them of their father (or is just "fatherly" in general).

that much, i believe, was actually intentional. it's just too blatant to not be lol. it'd be a completely different story if either

bill & stan were nothing alike (untrue) or

ford & bill's relationship was strictly platonic and didn't have any romantic implications (also untrue)

i've said this before, but this isn't just a case of "oh, ford fell in love with someone who just coincidentally reminds him of his brother." bill's use of the nickname "sixer" during their first encounter was a deliberate attempt at appealing to a part of ford that was repressed, vulnerable, and aching, in order to get ford's guard down and make it easier for ford to trust him, and it worked.

billford is a ship that, to put it bluntly, would not exist without ford's buried feelings for stan, even disregarding shipping/incest/etc. ford's desire to be close to stan even platonically is what allowed bill to needle his way into ford's heart in the first place.

and all of this wouldn't be that weird if, again, bill hadn't continued to feed into ford's longing for stan even after they'd established a romantic relationship, by still calling him "sixer" and trying to permanently sever the relationship he had with stan specifically, once he and ford broke up (the phone call he tried to make while in ford's body that was described in tbob).

to put it another way, imagine if wendy was basically an older, taller mabel, or if any of mabel's crushes were eerily similar to dipper. people in the fandom would def take notice and view it as a little strange. so i don't get how people can look at ford dating someone so blatantly and intentionally similar to stan and think to themselves "ah yes, this is normal. ford is completely Normal and definitely doesn't have any underlying issues whatsoever" lmao

to conclude: no, i don't think ford & stan's relationship is actually canonically romantic, nor do i think ford falling in love with bill was incestuous, necessarily.

but i do think that he had a desperate longing to reconcile with stan buried DEEEEEEP down, and it manifested itself in the form of being attracted to bill, which is probably why he never bothered correcting bill's use of the nickname "sixer" since their very first meeting, or ever expressed that it made him uncomfortable.

[hannahbarberra162]

A Negative Outcome, part 2

on Ao3

Thank you to all the Nonnies and @alexa-fika and @luarsunny for your amazing ideas. Now it's a coherent story with a love interest, because I can't stop myself. Based on like 2 people asking me to continue the series haha.

Note: Marco isn’t as dark in this one, he’s more conflicted about your treatment. There's less whump but canon typical violence. I kept the same picture because I like it.

~

For as much as your life completely changed overnight, it also became very predictable. You woke up in the morning, locked in your room. You waited until Marco came and unlocked the door and herded you down to the mess hall for breakfast. You sat at a table full of people you didn’t care to know and ate your food. Marco brought you to the infirmary where you sat with a needle in your arm for two hours. You ate a snack. Marco healed you. Your blood was taken. You ate a lunch Thatch brought you. Marco healed you. Your blood was taken. You ate a snack. Marco healed you. Marco let you leave. You went to the deck to spend the remainder of the day outside. You ate dinner. Marco brought you back to your room, locking you in for the night. The cycle repeated.

You had some small variations during your interminable days in the infirmary. You read various books in different genres while sitting in your phlebotomy chair. The nurses would come and chat with you sometimes but they were often too busy to stay more than a few minutes. Sometimes you’d have a visitor or two, sometimes Deuce would write in the phlebotomy room while you read or he’d read to you. Sometimes Thatch would sneak you in something tasty, sometimes the weather would be bad and you didn’t want to go to the deck and you’d go to the ship’s library instead. Even with the minute changes, it was a predictable, boring, miserable time. 

At first, it wasn't so bad. You’d never been on a pirate ship, certainly never with an Emperor and his crew. Everyone was pleasant to you, trying to make you feel like you had a place in the crew. You knew your place was a kidnapped blood bag, but it was still nice they made the effort. You were still scared of Marco, so you did whatever he told you to. You were a perfect meek little patient, sitting quietly and waiting to be told what to do. You foolishly thought that it might be fun to travel the world with an Emperor, being able to see the sights of the Grand Line. But it wasn’t like that at all. 

Even though you were compliant, Marco was tightening the leash on you constantly. You weren’t allowed to go into the crow’s nests after you almost fell climbing the ladder once. You weren’t allowed to make desserts with Thatch anymore in case they raised your blood sugar too high. You weren’t allowed to go swimming off the side of the boat, even when Namur was near you, in case there were predatory fish. You weren’t allowed to drink after you once had three beers at a party on board. You knew the boat stopped at islands for restocking, you could feel when the ship wasn’t sailing the waters of the Grand Line. You begged Marco to let you off the boat, but he never allowed it. He said he was worried about your safety in case there was trouble or fighting, but you knew he was worried you’d try to escape. Everything fun was getting prohibited, your life was getting smaller and smaller. 

Not only that, but you couldn’t bear being in that room for a minute longer than you had to. You were still squeamish, despite being subjected to medical treatments daily, and hated the sight of your blood being removed from your body. Just approaching the room made your heart rate spike and your breath came in short pants. You always flinched back from Marco’s hand reaching for you once you were in the phlebotomy room, but were only met by his firm grasp on your arm and the chair at your back. Marco had tried reassuring you and praising you for your good behavior, but it didn’t help. You wanted to rip the needle out of your skin every time you saw it, no matter how many times it had been. You tried to have Marco move the machinery to another space, just to give you something different to look at. But he said that the phlebotomy room was the only space that could accommodate the machinery, so you had to stay there. His solution was to put a potted plant on a small table in the corner. You wanted to kick it over every time you saw it. 

As you spent more time around Marco, you saw that he wasn’t as cruel as you thought in the beginning. If anything, he seemed conflicted about your presence on the ship. You almost asked him about it but you didn’t think it would be a “productive conversation.” Marco used that phrase whenever he shut down what you wanted to talk about - your captivity, when it would end, your lack of freedoms, if you'd see your family again.

“Maybe you could find someone who wants to be on the ship?” you asked as a non sequitur a few days into your kidnapping. You sincerely meant it, surely there were people who would love to join the infamous Whitebeard Pirates. Marco hummed but didn’t answer.

“I’m sure you could hold, like, auditions or -” 

“This isn’t a productive conversation yoi. Let’s move on,” Marco said dismissively. You clamped your mouth shut, hurt bubbling up inside. Any conversation you wanted to have went that way, with the Commander shutting you down quickly. Shortly after that you’d received your first “gift” from Marco. He often tried to do small gestures for you to make your stay better, especially after he made you upset. You felt he was trying to assuage his own guilt more than anything else. He never said anything, just put things in your room that he thought you would like. Books mostly, but sometimes nicer clothes or toiletries, shoes, a length of rope, a mirror. All the items were nice, but you would rather leave it all behind and go back home.

You understood Marco was conflicted but the amount of resentment you had for him trumped any of your other feelings towards him. He was the one who planned and executed your kidnapping, he was responsible for your misery. He was the one who poked you every day and made sure you sat in that goddamn chair. He was the one who healed you unnaturally fast, making you able to give more and more blood. It was his rules that were making your life monotonous and boring. Ultimately, you didn’t care if he was conflicted, you weren’t. You wanted off the ship, permanently.

Not only that but Marco monitored everything you did and consumed to an incredible degree. He had you on a special (bland) diet promoting nutritional balance, he made sure you only drank water and 2 cups of tea a day, he monitored how many hours you slept and the quality of your sleep. He made sure you walked for at least 30 minutes a day and he monitored your vitals every 12 hours. He even groomed you now, cutting your nails so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself. You didn’t know if it was a bird thing or a Marco thing, but you hated it. He was up your ass every minute of every day. You. Were. Sick. Of. It. 

You begged Marco for days off, for a single day where you didn’t have to have your blood slowly extracted, only to be healed and repeat the process over and over. You implored him to leave you alone in your bed, to give you a break, to let you be, but nothing worked. You screamed, cried, and sobbed, but nothing moved the Phoenix. Every day without fail, Marco dragged you off to the infirmary, sat you down in the chair and took your blood. On days you were particularly defiant, he threatened to strap you down. He only had to follow through once. He looked upset after he’d done it, but you weren’t in the mood for dissecting what Marco was feeling. After that, you were more compliant as you realized the lengths Marco would go for his Captain. You hated needles, you hated the infirmary, you hated the ship, you hated Marco, you hated Whitebeard, you hated everything and everyone you came into contact with. 

Well...you actually didn’t hate Whitebeard. You tried really, really hard to hate him, but you just couldn’t. You’d met him a day or so after Marco had brought you on board. Whitebeard had wanted to meet and thank the person responsible for saving his health. You hadn’t wanted to meet him, but Marco marched you up to the Captain between one of your many blood donation sessions. 

“I apologize, child,” Whitebeard began. Of all the things you thought he would say, that was not one of them. “I am not sorry you are here, I am glad for it. You are saving my life and countless other lives, those who depend on my strength as an Emperor. But I do apologize that you were uprooted. I hope you can find some fulfillment here, even if it was not what you envisioned for yourself.” You stared at the old man, who was receiving your platelets via IV at that very moment. 

“It’s…ok,” you replied, after you realized Whitebeard was waiting for a response from you. What were you going to say? “Please return me home?” “Statistically, 60 people on your crew also have A- blood, can’t you use theirs?” “I don’t care about the islands and people under your protection?” It wasn’t ok, but what was there to say to the strongest man in the entire world? Whitebeard looked down at you from his high vantage point and gave you a kind smile. 

“It will all work out, child.” Marco shuffled you back to the infirmary before you could say anything else. Of course it would work out, you thought, for you. But nearly every day, when you came up to the top deck, Whitebeard would beckon you and have you come over to talk to him. He always thanked you for your "contributions" and asked how you were feeling. At first, the conversations were stilted and awkward, but after a while, you enjoyed your brief exchanges with the aged Captain. You could tell he was doing better, he didn’t look as tired as when you first arrived on the ship. He was friendly and kind in his own way, telling you stories of his travels and journeys, letting you sit on his shoulder if you were tired, giving you sips of his good alcohol when he could sneak some. Marco also wouldn’t bother you if you were with Whitebeard, which made you seek the Captain’s company all the more.

“Leave her, my son,” the Captain boomed to an annoyed Marco. You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him from Whitebeard’s shoulder.

“But, Pops, it’s time for-” Marco was cut off, something you hadn’t seen anyone dare to do before.

“In due time, Marco. For now, she is resting.” You could have kissed Whitebeard for the reprieve from sitting in that room. If you looked at the gray walls and dull green chair for any longer you’d go crazy. The longer you were on the ship, the better Whitebeard was doing, even you could tell that. He had more energy and vigor, he needed oxygen less frequently. You were happy for the Yonko, but the better Whitebeard was doing, the more Marco managed your life. Marco was obsessed with keeping you healthy to ensure Whitebeard continued to do well.

The fourth division Commander Thatch had also made a huge effort to get to know you and connect with you. You didn’t really know why he bothered, it wasn’t like you’d joined the crew or anything. If you had your way, you would escape and never see any of them again. You rebuffed Thatch’s initial attempts at friendliness, but the chef was not easily deterred. You were suspicious, thinking that he drugged your food or that he was trying to find your vulnerabilities to use against you. You even made him take a bite of food from a random spot on your plate before you ate anything he brought. He took it in stride, eating whatever you asked. But it turned out, he was just kind and friendly. Eventually, you did start chatting with him, it wasn’t like there was much else for you to do while you sat with your arm out. 

He tried to find out your favorite food, your favorite drinks, your favorite colors, anything that he could do to brighten your day. He would personally bring you lunch and stay with you for as long as his schedule allowed, chatting and trying to get you to smile. He told you funny stories from his youth, sea legends, anything that you showed a modicum of interest in. He brought you flowers from whatever island he stopped at, leaving the phlebotomy room filled with vases. Thatch called you all kinds of ridiculous food related nicknames, trying to get a reaction out of you.You liked spending time with him even if you didn’t say so outright, and missed him when he was too busy to come up for lunch. One day you were chatting and eating the tomato soup he’d made for you when a question crossed your mind. Thatch was walking around the room, wiping down the counters and muttering about dust.

“Thatch, do you think we would have been friends if we met another way?” The chef stopped his movements and turned to you.

“Why do you ask Sugar?” he flipped the rag over his shoulder.

You shrugged. You’d been thinking about the same in relation to Marco lately. You thought that if you and Marco had met under different circumstances, you might have enjoyed spending time with him. He was smart and funny in a sarcastic way, which you appreciated. But under the current circumstances you’d never want to be friends, not as long as he kept you under lock and key. Thatch crossed the room over to you, tilting his head to look at you. 

“I think so,” he replied, putting his hand on your shoulder. “I think we could be more than - maybe close friends,” he finished, a light blush across his cheeks. It sounded like he was saying two different thoughts, but you didn’t ask anything further. You stirred your soup, the red of the tomatoes reminded you too much of blood and you couldn’t eat any more. 

“I think so, too.” You said, smiling and handing him the bowl. Your fingers touched as he reached to take it and now you were the one with a flushed face.

Even with your friendship with Thatch, as the weeks went by you receded into yourself more and more. You were the most depressed you’d ever been, and it was only getting worse. Marco told you that there was no physical reason for your lethargy, that when he healed you, you were returned to picture perfect health. But after six hours of having your blood drawn, you were lethargic and withdrawn. You started sitting in one spot on the deck, watching the waves and birds, knees hugged to your chest. If the weather was bad, you sat in an old lounge chair in the library, feet curled under you.The crew tended to leave you alone, they were busy and had their own friends and siblings to talk to. Besides, you were usually angry and snippy, you’d bitten off the head of more than one crew member who talked to you after your six hours in the infirmary. You didn’t want to do anything or see anyone.

Weeks passed and your life dwindled down to almost nothing. You didn’t see the point in doing anything beyond what Marco forced you to do. Thatch still came and tried to talk to you, but you zoned out a lot while he was talking. He kept trying to give you new foods to try, to see what you liked, but everything tasted the same. You had bags under your eyes and you were losing weight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Everything made you tired, you spent most of your time dozing, both in and out of the chair. You didn’t stay on the deck anymore, you walked your required 30 minutes and went back down to your room, waiting for whatever you were told to do next. You’d even stopped reading, just spending your time in the chair looking out the window, thinking about nothing. 

You knew people were concerned about you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that either. They probably thought you were being overly dramatic and whiny, or just wanted you to accept your fate. Even though you’d given him no cause, Marco had taken away all sharp objects from the phlebotomy room in the infirmary as a precaution. You’d even stopped getting knives with your silverware, which was more annoying than anything else. One day while you laid in your bed, you overheard Marco and Thatch talking as they walked down the hallway together. Thatch was probably on his way to bring you something else to try and get you to eat. He said you were losing too much weight too quickly, or something like that, you didn't listen to what he said anymore. Their muffled voices were getting louder as they approached your door.

“ - really depressed, Marco,” you heard Thatch say.

“I know, I know. I see it too,” Marco replied, sighing. If you could see him, you thought he would be rubbing the back of his neck. You assumed they were talking about you.

“We need to do something -”

“I know, I know,” Marco repeated.

“Ok, so you know, but what are you going to do about it?” Thatch said harshly. They were right outside the door. You didn’t even pick your head off the pillow. Let them talk, what did you care?

“I don’t know yoi. I can’t let her go, you’ve seen Pops. He’s so much better than before, he doesn’t even use oxygen anymore. And he didn’t get that West Blue fever that ripped through the crew -”

“Yeah, I know she has to stay, but we have to think of something , she’s gonna -” You stopped listening, dozing off instead. Nothing they could offer you was something you wanted. All you wanted was to go home, and that was decidedly off the menu.

~

One day, after your required afternoon walk, you returned to your room, ready to face plant on your bed and nap until dinner time. You opened the door and came into the room, taking off your boots and shutting the door behind you. As you walked towards your bed, you had the sensation you weren’t alone. Turning around, you saw a man with a large black beard grinning at you as he lurked in the shadows. You’d talked with Teach a few times but not many, he creeped you out. He took a step towards you and you took an instinctive step back. You eyed the door, wondering if you could make it before he caught you. 

“You won’t make it,” Teach said, almost cheerfully. “And you’re not going to make it any farther than today either.” 

“W-what do you mean?” you asked, scared. The man moved towards you, the length of rope Marco had given you in his hands.

“I’m going to help you. Put an end to all your suffering, like you want.” He threw one of the ends of the rope over the scaffolding of the ceiling. The other end hung down, you saw he’d made a noose. You realized the length of rope wasn’t from Marco, Teach had put it in your room all those weeks ago. You wondered how long he’d been planning this - this wasn’t some fly-by-night plan, this was premeditated.

“All you need to do now is come here, look, I’ll even do the work for you if you want,” Teach spread his hands out, like he was doing you a favor. “C’mere, I’ll hang you myself,” Teach said with another smile. You felt the blood drain out of your face, he was serious and not backing down. You kept moving backwards but your back hit the wall, stopping your progress. 

“I d-don’t want to -” you stammered, before Teach interrupted you.

“Of course you do, we’ve all seen you moping around the ship. Depressed little thing. Wouldn’t it be better to end it now, on your own terms? Show Marco who’s really in control?” He kept getting closer to you, making your chances of escape lower and lower with each footstep. 

“N-no, wait, please, I- I don’t -” you were trying to tell him that you didn’t want to die , you were just having a hard time lately. 

“ZEHAHAHA, well I do!” Teach grabbed for you and you tried to dodge- but he was faster than you anticipated and easily captured you. He slammed you against the wall with one hand and put one of his large hands around your neck, squeezing harder and harder. He picked you up by your neck, still choking you. You felt the amount of air you could breathe diminish until there wasn’t anything left. 

“It’s more fun to do it this way, and I need to make sure you’re actually gone. Afterwards I’ll string you up, no one will be any the wiser. You’ll be the poor little lady who took her own life to avoid being on the ship. Marco will be gutted, Thatch will cry, and Whitebeard - well, things will go back to the way they were before.” It was difficult to listen to Teach describe your death as he crushed your windpipe, choking the life out of you. You saw spots forming in the corners of your vision, you tried clawing at Teach’s hand but he didn’t even bother to swat your hands away. Your heels were kicking against the wall, trying to find purchase, to no avail. You looked up, the last thing you were going to see was Teach’s face excitedly watching your eyes as he murdered you. You thought about your family and friends, and wished things had ended differently for you. You were on the edge of consciousness, about to fade from life itself.

When a blaze of blue entered your field of vision, causing Teach to grunt and drop you. You heaved in a breath, trying to get as much air in as you could. You gripped your own throat, rubbing it in the hopes of getting air in. You were having some success but you were too panicked to breathe normally. You were on all fours, trying to get a breath in, to stop your overwhelming sensations of panic, to stay out of Marco’s way as he fought with Teach. Blood was spattering on your clothes and face but you barely noticed over the rush of your adrenaline. 

The sound of the fight must have alerted others because you heard voices filling the room, but you couldn’t focus over the rush of the blood in your veins and the breath you were still trying to catch. Someone picked you up like a child, with your head over his shoulder and rushed you out of the room, away from the many people trying to fit in. You looked up to see a worried Thatch, carrying you in the direction of the infirmary. You struggled in his arms, you couldn’t be in the infirmary right now. You just couldn’t.

“Whoa, Sweet Pea, what’s happening?” Thatch walked slower but still on the same trajectory. You weren’t able to free yourself from Thatch’s arms but used your remaining adrenaline to try.

“N-n-no inf  -” you were trying to talk but were barely able to get anything out. Everything was a wheeze as you struggled to talk. 

“You need to go to the medbay, you need help -” you started crying and flailing again, trying to get away from the needles and the blood and the chair and the room. Your crying was making your breathing ragged again. Thatch completely stopped walking for a moment.

“Shhhhhh, stop. Hey, it’s OK, shhhh, I’ll take you somewhere else.” Thatch was rubbing your back, trying to get you to stop crying. “We’ll go, uh, to my room for now.” You didn’t care where he took you, it just couldn’t be the infirmary. He kept walking but turned right at the end of the hall instead of left. You stopped wiggling, content to go anywhere but that damned room.

Thatch brought you up a floor and opened a cabin door, bringing you into his room. Normally you’d want to take in everything, but you were feeling drained. You still felt like you couldn’t breathe normally and you could feel your throat was swelling rapidly. He deposited you gently on the bed and sat next to you, putting a hand on your knee.

“I’m gonna look at you, make sure you’re able to breathe and swallow. Then I think I need to get Marc-”

“N-no. No Marco,” you rasped. Thatch frowned and patted your knee.

“I know you don’t always like him, but being strangled is a big deal. There’s a lot that can happen afterwards if you’re not checked out,” he told you. “Please, I need to make sure you’re OK.” You looked at Thatch and gave a small nod, lifting your face up and closing your eyes. You didn’t want to see him reaching for your throat.

“I’m gonna touch your throat now, just with my fingers,” Thatch said quietly. You felt tears at the corners of your eyes, but you tried not to cry. You tried to take a deep breath but it made you cough instead. “I’ll wait until you tell me its OK.” You coughed again, this time the tears did leak out. You gave another small nod but flinched as you felt Thatch’s thick fingers on your bruised throat. You were shaking but couldn’t stop it.

“Can you try to swallow? Please?” he asked you quietly while palpating your neck. You tried, but it was difficult to get your saliva down. “I’m gonna take my hands off, ok? Can you open your eyes? I wanna check a few things, I’m gonna touch your face. You’re being so brave, we’ll be done soon, OK?” You tried taking another breath and opened your eyes. Thatch looked closely at them and your cheeks, moving your head left and right. You had a headache, you hoped this was over with soon. He removed his hands

“Alright, I think you’re OK for now. I need to go-”

“No -” you started to try to talk, putting your hand on his. You belatedly realized it was spattered with blood, you weren’t sure whose. You didn’t want him to leave, and you didn’t want him to get Marco. It was inevitable that you’d have to see him eventually, but you didn’t want to see him now. Thatch looked at you with pity for the first time.

“No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. You’re safe,” Thatch said softly. You trembled even more. Weren’t you supposed to be safe already? Why had a member of their own crew tried to murder you? None of it made sense but you knew it was related to your blood somehow. Everything bad in your life always came back to the blood running through your veins.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Thatch asked, bringing you back from your thoughts. You didn’t answer, just crawled into his lap. You knew you were gross, covered in blood and drool and who knew what else. But Thatch didn’t mind, just held you as you whimpered in his arms until you fell asleep.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Hi! How close is the current crazed sewing kit to completion? I’m a textile major- wait sorry, introductions- call me Rivet (not like the frog, like the metal thingy that holds things together) she/her. Anyways. I’m a textile major and I want to create the worlds most fucked up non-euclidian quilt. Its my capstone project. If the kit’s already claimed or not ready for usage/consumption/harvest, that’s alright, i have some favors and a variety of the currency the goblin market uses, but i’ve really got my eye on the weaving tablets and myriad pins of this iteration. I promise i’ll use it all though! Or, at least, i’ll keep the odds and ends tucked away for future projects. I’m willing to trade a ship in a bottle that sails on an ocean affected by tomorrow’s weather, a cursed bonefolder that actually, yknow, folds bones instead of paper, and a bolt of fabric i spun and wove myself. Nothing overtly magical about it, but it is a nice shade of red.

The fourth crazed sewing kit is ready and it is yours.

A swatch of bloodstained blue velvet

Swatches of stiff fabric that shift chameleon-like to match any other

A walnut shell containing yards of fabric woven from starshine

A bloodstained pincushion in the approximate form of a person, filled with human hair and fingernail clippings, among other things

A seam ripper that only cuts the threads you intend it to

A pair of iron shears, decorated with gilt filigree, which only cut things that have been measured twice

A needle of steel, which is efficient but bites

A needle used to stitch a wound, which now only pierces flesh

A needle of silver, used as a sword by a very small hand. Any thread spun through the eye is unbreakable while it's being sewn.

Thread of human hair, cut and regrown

Thread of human hair, golden

Thread of horsehair, one strand jet black and one snow-white

Thread of gold and of silver, the first of which sooths and the second of which energizes

Thread of variable length, glowing as though white hot

Fabric-pencils which trace possibilities, leaning theatrical

A mannequin which wants nothing more than to swap places with you, and will do so at the first opportunity

A spool of oakwood plated with gold, which ensures you will have just enough thread to finish any project you use it with.

A drop spindle of oakwood which turns hay to gold

Two buttons of silver which shine in the dark, from a coat made of night-sky

A squatcho from a beret, seemingly made of lead inside the fabric casing.

Pliers plated with sterling silver, to remove recalcitrant needles

[jackoshadows]

Do you think Arya sailing away at the end has any chance of happening in the books?

100% not happening.

Anyone who can read a book and understands themes (and that's definitely not David Benioff and Dan Weiss) can see that GRRM is building up a story for her character in terms of home and identity.

From Arya starting out as a bullied child, unable to conform to patriarchal ideals, feeling like she does not belong in the world she grew up in and wanting to go on fun adventures to her then going on the adventure from hell (an absolutely harrowing journey), the story is about how despite the trauma and how much it has changed her, at her core she holds onto Arya Stark, to family, to her father and mother, to Jon, to Winterfell.

All Arya has been trying to do from book one is get to family and home. And a big part of her narrative theme is identity:

It's been pointed out that a lot of characters in A Dance With Dragons are losing their names, and their very identities, as a result of intense circumstances. What's that about?

Arya has been doing it for some time, actually. Arya has gone through a dozen different identities, even getting to Braavos — where the ultimate goal of the Faceless Men is to become no-one, and to be able to assume identities as one assumes a suit of clothes. But yes, identity is one of the things that I'm playing with in this series as a whole, and in this particular book — what is it that makes us who we are? Is it our birth, our blood, our position in the world? Or something more integral to us? Our values our memories, et cetera.

Usually in a heroic fantasy series when someone loses their identity, you expect that to be followed by them regaining their selfhood in some dramatic way, or taking some heroic action that reasserts who they really are. Do you feel a responsibility to subvert that? Or play with that trope?

I'm certainly playing with it. There are different ways of assuming identities. Some of them I try to get at in books, and it's a little bit reflected in the chapter titles. In some cases, it's just someone putting on a mask. I mean Qwentyn Martell and his companions assume false names at several points during their journey from Dorne to Meereen. They assume different roles and different identities, but it never really affects who they are. When they're in private, they're still the people that they have always been. When you're dealing with Arya and what she's going through, or you're dealing with Theon... you're dealing with something much, much deeper there, where the original identity is being threatened or kind of broken down by one means or another, and maybe is in danger of being lost entirely.

Arya takes on different names and travels in disguise through war torn Westeros, finally ending up in Braavos. And it's at Braavos she has to make that ultimate change and become 'No One'. While at the same time holding onto Needle.

Needle! The last link to Winterfell and Arya. The Faceless Men want her to give it up because they recognize it’s importance - GRRM

This is why Needle is so important in Arya's arc. It's what connects Arya to the idea of home and Winterfell. And she has Needle hidden away for a reason.

And we have two more books to go. Is Arya going to give up 'Arya Stark' and then just be a nameless, faceless assassin running around killing characters for the next two books? Is that why GRRM loves this character so much, has written so much for her (female characters with the most POV chapters) has so many plots revolving around her ? Makes no sense.

I mean look at which Stark has the most POV chapters in the series:

Which Stark thinks the most of other House Stark members ?

Which Stark thinks of their parents the most:

And which Stark child thinks of Winterfell the most in their POV:

[Note: Bran is in Winterfell for two whole books]

And yet this traumatized child - who has been trying to get home since book one - is going to sail away from family and home at the end because she wants to go on adventures? Absolute fuckery I tell you.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Australian Pokemon: 3 regional standards

another set of fakemon from my original Goorda region, based on Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand (though mostly Australia). This time I'm covering 3 regional standard lines: The early game bug and the fossils. Previous posts: creepy lines, regional variants, birds, early-game standards, misc 2, misc 1, starter variants, starters.

The early game bug is Larvanette, the larva Pokemon, bug-type. As soon as they are born, Larvanette are wrapped in a silk cocoon by their parents that they will stay in until evolved. Different Larvanette live in differently-colored cocoons so collectors sometimes seek out all the variants.

Larvanette is based on a weevil. Weevils are beetles that often have very long snouts. The way it is wrapped in its cocoon is based on a way babies are often wrapped up in blankets. There are multiple color variants (seen on the side of the drawing) with varying variety, white being the rarest. In an actual game this would just be a cosmetic difference, like the color variants of the Flabebe line. Its name comes from "larva" and "bassinet". The color of a Larvanette carries over to its evolved forms.

Larvanette evolves to Weavil, the weaver Pokemon, bug-type. Weavil secrete colorful silk from their upper set of hands, then use the needle-like fingers on their lower hands to weave that silk for many purposes. This silk is very soft and very strong, so Weavil are often caught to use their silk for clothing and other fabrics. Weavil are not particularly good at fighting so many trainers don't bother with them. However, a trainer who sticks with their Weavil for a long time may find it holds hidden potential.

Weavil is based on an adult weevil and is intended to look like a motherly figure wearing a silk cardigan and sewing something new. The color of that cardigan and its silk will change based on the color of the Larvanette it evolved from. Its name is obviously a pun on "weevil" and "weave". I picture evolving Weavil as being challenging, possibly requiring a specific item or needing to be at a pretty high level. Its like Magikarp, stick with it and it gets really good.

The final form of Larvanette is Weevilong, the Weevil Pokemon, bug/dragon type. Weevilong are said to evolve only from the eldest of Weavil and are so rare many do not believe they exist. They are said to weave clouds into their pelts, which gives them the ability to fly. Because of their advanced age, Weevilong are said to be very wise and calm, slow to anger but unstoppable when riled up.

Weevilong is based on the New Zealand giraffe weevil and the Madagascar giraffe weevil, which are highly elongated weevils. It is also based on eastern dragons, who tend to be serpentine, can fly without wings, and are often quite hairy. In this case, its silk instead of hair. The color variants gimmick follows through like with its pre-evos. While the first two stages have typical early game bug stats, Weevilong is a badass with near pseudo-legendary stats. Its name comes from "weevil" and "long". Long both as in the Chinese dragons and, well, it's a long bug.

Moving into the fossils, I looked for Australian fossils and no species I found really inspired me. However I did find a few things that gave me ideas and I decided to combine those with an era of geological history that Pokemon hasn't touched yet: the Permian.

The first fossil Pokemon, revived from the Electrified Fossil, is Shail, the Sail-Back Pokemon, electric/rock type. The sail on its back contain special cells that generate electricity when exposed to sunlight. It would bask in the sun in the morning to power itself up before hunting in the afternoon.

Shail evolves to Galvodon, the Sail-Back Pokemon, electric/rock type. The spines on its back contain special organs that generate large amounts of electricity. When fully charged, the space between its spines fill up with arching electricity, forming a sail. Even millions of years later, it's fossilized bones still hold an electric charge.

Shail and Galvodon are based on dimetrodon, the famous sail-backed synapsid very commonly mistaken for a Dinosaur even though it was extinct long before they came around. I drew inspiration from the lightning beast, an ornithopod dinosaur so called because it was discovered in Australia's lightning ridge. Shail basking in the sun to build up electricity in its sail is a reference to the common hypothesis that dimetrodon used their sails to regulate their body temperature. By basking with the sail facing the sun, it would warm up. Galvodon's back spines are based on tesla coils and the sails aren't flesh, they're raw electricity. Shail's name comes from "shale" and "sail" while Galvodon's name comes from "Luigi Galvani" (who studied bio-electricity in animals), "galvanism" (electricity generated by chemical reactions), and "dimetrodon".

The other fossil Pokemon, revived from the Opal Fossil, is Tuscal, the Opal Tooth Pokemon, psychic/rock type. The gemstone on its forehead has the power to sense the mind of other Pokemon, letting it detect prey and predators without seeing them. Its teeth are made from a psychically-active form of opal.

Tuscal evolves to Gorgopal, the Opal Fang Pokemon, psychic/rock type. It used its psychic powers to predict the actions of prey before they were even made, making it the apex predator of its time. Its opal fangs transmit large amounts of psychic energy, paralyzing the nervous systems of anything it bites.

Tuscal and Gorgopal are based on gorgonsids, powerful, saber-toothed Permian predators. They are also based on opalized fossils. These are fossils that are made of opal due to the conditions where they fossilized. Most opalized fossils are from Australia. The opal on the forehead that gives these Pokemon their powers is based both on the common third eye imagery associated with psychic powers and with parietal eyes, which are simple light-sensing eyes possessed by most modern reptiles and (possibly) by gorgonopsids. Tuscal's name comes from "tusk" and "opal" while Gorgopal's name comes from "gorgonopsid" and "opal".

[youcalledmebabe]

if you had to describe each ship's dynamic of the babe's anatomy universe with a song, which ones would they be? and/or, which song would character a dedicate to character b?

this was such a fun challenge. since I just went to the eras tour (incredible!!) I’m gonna pick Taylor swift songs. but I know Taylor isn’t everyone’s thing so I will ALSO pick another. got long because I’m bored <3

luztoye

lover: have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

massachusetts (jensen mcrae): I’ll never forget how I bloomed for your gaze

to me luztoye has this essential quality of falling into a very serious relationship very quickly. it’s like have I somehow known you forever even though we just met? and I think (spoiler!) when they break up it’s complicated because there’s a lot of bitterness and hurt feelings but it was a relationship that brought joe to life and changed him forever.

webgott

imgonnagetyouback: we broke all the pieces but still wanna play the game

true blue (boygenius): I can’t hide from you like I hide from myself

if there was a needle drop in the fic it would be imgonnagetyouback the minute joe sees web dressed up as Clark Kent. he wants him back! and he’ll get him. and true blue is very much them settled. they see essential parts of each other and their love is tested and comes out the other side even stronger

winnix

foolish one: I’ll get your longing glances but she’ll get your ring

hard feelings/loveless: loved you every single day, made me weak, it was real for me

well. yeah. dick does not get the ring. but he sure gets everything else! and he knows that he’s foolish and it’s not like him but he doesn’t know how to stop. and then it’s been years of his life and he HAS to stop. just because they weren’t ever together doesn’t mean it wasn’t Real. but he wants something that’s real to everyone

baberoe

labyrinth: you would break your back to make me break a smile

love you for a long time (maggie rogers): if devotion is a river, then I’m floating away

what is there to say except that Gene and Babe love each other lots? they’re always trying to make the other happier. always putting the other first. devotion is the name of the game. they had a rocky beginning but it’s smooth sailing on that river now!

reneson

sweet nothing: outside they’re push and shoving, you’re in the kitchen humming

is that alright (lady gaga): knowing if we stay together that things will be right

to me renee and chris are the fairytale relationship. no drama, no breaking up and getting back together. they’re in love and their baggage doesn’t get in the way of the relationship. the outside world can be difficult to cope with but their relationship is very much a safe haven for them both

kathnix

so it goes: you did a number on me babe, but honestly baby who’s counting? who’s counting? one, two, three…

no children (the mountain goats): I hope you blink before I do, I hope I never get sober

failmarriage slay! nix and kathy have insane physical chemistry and they mistook that for true love. many such cases. and they absolutely refuse to admit that they were wrong about getting married. so they’re clinging to the sinking ship and neither wants to be the one to give up.

dick/?

the black dog: my longings stay unspoken and I may never open up the way I did for you

dust to dust (the civil wars): you’ve done your time, listen to me, you’ve been lonely too long

dick and redacted. wow. I can’t say much because of spoilers but ouch. poor poor [redacted]. a relationship dick gets into because he’s lonely and wants something real. or at least something that appears real. and unexpectedly it IS. but real doesn’t make it forever!

[ltwilliammowett]

Sailor's needle case, mid 19th century

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part II): The First Christmas Death

The first time we see Scully engage with her family is in the infamous Beyond the Sea; and it establishes quite a bit about her personal life with the episode opening alone.

**Note**: I recommend reading the Typing posts for each of the Scullys (located in the Typing section here.)

Beyond the Sea

“You gonna leave this up all year?” Captain Scully asks, a tease sparkling in his eyes. 

Scully doesn’t pause her busy-bee buzzing around the kitchen as she answers, “Yep. All year.” 

Her voice is light-- intentionally buoyant and unpolished, making her seem years younger-- and her lips pull up on one side in a smirk.  “Since you always made us take the Christmas tree down the day after Christmas, I’m making up for lost time.” 

She’s teasing back in the same dead-pan: what appears to be a poke is “betrayed” by a twinkle in her eyes. 

Her father wanders in to further their light-hearted discussion,

but drops in a little paternal my- way-is-best-you’ll-see warning: “If your idea of a good time is to pick up pine needles, treat yourself.” 

Maggie wanders into frame, not to be left out of this tete-a-tete-- “As if he’s an authority on having a good time”-- poking back at her husband while reminding him he’s sounding a bit too authoritarian. 

Scully seems to treat her mother with more gravitas than her father, pausing to listen and engage more seriously with the conversation. 

Dad Scully is delighted to be soundly defeated.

The whole family shares a “got ya back” humor, suppressing their smirks and enjoying themselves in a twofold manner: savoring the joke while purposefully not reacting to it, making it a double joke. 

In this scene, Scully glances back and forth between her parents, gauging their reactions and reveling in their good humor-- which, as was discussed in Part I (see here), has been a while for her since she joined the FBI. 

Scully hinders Maggie from helping with a quiet “It’s okay, Mom, I’ve got it”; and, again, glues her face to Maggie’s when her mother responds with an “Oh, okay.” 

Scully is still heavily reliant on her parents’ reactions towards herself to moderate her own happiness: she’s happy if they’re happy, and she vigilantly zeroes-in on their expressions to see if they've been offended by anything. It would seem the disturbance to their familial equilibrium has been newly re-established; and she’s striving to prove to them-- most likely without them wanting her to-- that she’s capable, smart, and able to take care of herself. 

Interesting note: is that she seems more on edge around Maggie than Captain Scully: while he is a no-nonsense Naval man, Scully is still his little girl; and Scully, while affected about his reaction about her job, seems to expect more disdain or anger from Maggie than her father. Or, at the very least, she suspects that the current peace amongst the three of them is largely moderated by Maggie (which proves to be the case.) 

“Okay Maggie, let’s shove off.” 

Maggie looks up, not ready to go just yet; but immediately acquiesces with a faint “Oh.” She’s rallied by her next sentence-- “Okay”-- and turns to wish her daughter goodbye. Scully gives her a warm hug, careful not to get her dirty hands on her mother’s blouse. 

“Well thank you for having us. Dinner was delicious as usual.” 

Scully, it seems, is a wizard in the kitchen.

Scully gives her mom a quick, warm smile before stepping away to mock-salute her father:

For a split second, she sucks her lower lip up, a rush of emotion passing over her face temporarily-- 

perhaps sad he’s leaving so soon, perhaps gearing up to surprise him with her salute, perhaps both of those and something else-- before her adoring smile returns: "Good sailing, Ahab.” 

Her father beams and scoops her up in a tight hug--

“Good night, Starbuck.”

These two are incredibly happy to be in each other’s company: is this a reunion of sorts, or simply a rebalancing after their relationship had toppled with the Scully family schism? The three of them had to be alone together during the holidays since Bill, Melissa, and Charlie were out of the house (and seemingly out of the state) while around the time Scully was recruited. Melissa was there for one Christmas before her sister was recruited; but Scully has been teaching at Quantico since, and was recently requested to be a field agent to the X-Files. That means Scully had her parents (mostly) to herself during med school (four to eight years?) and developed an even more connected bond than did her siblings-- which makes sense why the others drop intermittently into Maggie's life but Scully stays. It would have been incredibly devastating to Scully to have her parents' reject her FBI vocation; and heartbreakingly devastating for her parents to lose the stability of seeing their baby girl often because of a demanding, dangerous job.

Maggie prods her husband to question their daughter about her job,

even though both Captain Ahab and Scully want to avoid that topic

(Scully’s “It’s good” followed by a convulsive swallow rings loud and clear as the predecessor to her “I’m fine”s;

and her father’s lip purse, slight nod, and quick retreat betraying that he both does and doesn’t want to know more about his little girl’s job-- like Captain, like Starbuck);

but more than that, Ahab and Scully display various degrees of the same discomfort and disappointment: he feels unable to bridge that uncomfortable gap without damaging their relationship again; and she feels disappointed that her father didn’t inquire further about her goals and her ambitions, crumpling up her napkin

and tossing it

as an expression of how severely letdown she is. All three Scullys gloss over the moment as the two parents coat-up and shuffle out the door, ready to shove the awkwardness back under the rug.

Maggie, it seems, pushes her husband and daughter out of their comfort zones so that they will reconnect faster-- which doesn’t seem to be working, but is a method she uses with Scully the rest of the series. Scully sees that her father is only asking because he’d been told to-- she doesn’t even have to turn to know that Maggie is giving him cues over her shoulder, that’s just how her parents are-- and she feels more insecure after this scenario than she felt before it: ramrod-straight back, all-business “drive carefully”, 

and gazing longingly after her father, hoping he’ll reach out for a goodbye kiss or even a final goodbye,

which doesn’t seem to be his normal habit as he walks out in silence without fuss or iciness (he is a man of habit after all, post here.) 

Scully again convulsively swallows, trying to shove the weight of anxiety and insecurity off her back; 

but it seems to have affected her so deeply that she can’t fall asleep, curling up on the couch watching late-night tv and perhaps a short nap. (Was this before or after Mulder told her his own sleep woes? Likely not at all; and just another human trait of Scully’s she keeps tightly under wraps from everyone.) 

Scully suddenly opens her eyes seconds before the lights around her flicker, having felt a second presence in the room; 

and lifts her eyebrows, realizing that this person wasn’t a figment of her imagination and that he was her father. 

“...Dad?” Scully asks, voice soft and crackly from sleep; and starts to sit up as the lights continue to flicker on and off.  

It’s particularly endearing that her right knee pops in and out of frame as she uses her leg to prop up on the couch: 

“I thought you guys left. Where’s Mom?” she asks, blearily. 

Captain Scully continues to mouth the Lord’s Prayer, eyes locked on her with terminal intensity (heh.) 

Despite these strange circumstances, Scully doesn’t seem too fussed, just confused: 

her family seems to have abnormal quirks of their own that she takes for granted-- probably why she isn’t disconcerted by abnormal behavior on the X-Files (leading to Mulder’s bewilderment that she can miss obvious clues that the perpetrators are betraying in their behaviors and mannerisms.) 

The phone rings, surprising Scully; but when she looks back, her father is gone. 

(Also: Scully hung ornaments on her lamp, with the rest of her Christmas kitsch shoved on the table where she writes up her reports. It would seem she doesn’t have the surface space to put her decorations on; but she’d rather give up her work desktop than go holiday cheer-free.)

She stares, a little more nervous, as the phone continues to ring and the lights flicker one more time. Finally, she jumps up to answer the call, taking her security blanket with her.  

Scully’s “Hello?”s drops off into incredulous puzzlement when she hears sniffling on the other end of the line; 

but before it can get more horror-tropey, Maggie squeaks out, “Dana?” 

“Mom? What’s the matter?”

“We, um… we lost your dad.” 

Scully listens in shock as Maggie states, “He had, uh, massive coronary. About an hour ago. …He’s gone.” 

She visibly starts to shake as she turns to the chair where her father’s ghost sat, 

anguish temporarily consumed by fear at this unexplainable circumstance. 

There is no comfort in this last goodbye: only terror.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Disclaimers: This post is likely filled with typos. Will ghost edit later.

[lauraallean]

Sea of Sands, Sea of Spores

Originally posted to my Wordpress journal on January 31, 2023

Spoiler warning: The following contains discussion about the world’s explored in Tress of the Emerald Sea and Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere, Dune, Star Wars and Children of the Whales along with the themes of these stories. You have been warned.

Since the start of the new year, no book has perhaps caused quite as much of a stir online as the first of Brandon Sanderson’s Secret Project novels, Tress of the Emerald Sea. Announced last year, Tress is the first of four novels Sanderson fans have to look forward in the coming months.

The story itself pulls inspiration heavily both from classic fairytales and high seas adventures to regale audiences with the tale of a girl who lived upon a rock in the middle of the titular Emerald Sea. That is until she ventures away from home to rescue her prince (well, technically, he’s the son of a duke) who was kidnapped by an evil sorceress. Of course, this being a Sanderson novel, the story is filled with a litany of literary twists, subtle foreshadowing, and a smattering of Cosmere related Easter eggs thanks to the stories loquacious narrator. But perhaps one of the most unique aspects of the novel is its setting, a planet called Lumar, who’s 12 moons releases a deadly rain of aether’s onto the planets surface.

For a more in depth idea of what aether’s are, check out this entry from the Coppermind wikia. But to explain it simply, within Sanderson’s novels, an aether is an object containing investiture, the Cosmere equivalent of magic. Throughout Sanderson’s works, investiture comes in many varieties and usually requires some form of bond or trade for them to activate or manifest. In the case of Lumar, the aethers rains down on the planet in search of water, creating seas of dangerous spore-like dust upon which people have adapted to sailing on. Though each moon, it’s spores, and the colorful seas that they’ve formed aren’t fully explored during Tress’s adventures, she and her companions sail the Emerald, Crimson and Midnight Seas, and Sunlight, Zephyr and Roseite spores are utilized on board the ship. And while people have been able to find ways to make use of the spores, the story makes it clear that, no matter the variety, spores pose a grave threat to those who meddle with them. When exposed to water, each pose their own unique dangers. For instance, Emerald spores sprout into vines that grow with unnatural speed while Zephyr spores release gusts of air and Crimson spores explode into needle sharp barbs.

When discussing the worldbuilding of Tress of the Emerald Sea, Sanderson has said he’s been inspired for some time to create a world with, “a fantastical ocean, a different kind of place that you can go where people sail in something that isn’t water.” Of course, he had already done this before in creating the Cosmere’s spiritual realm where the ocean is made of glass beads. So what is it about these unnatural oceans, these alien seas, that make for such compelling story telling?

To understand this, it’s worth exploring some other examples of worlds similar to Lumar. In March of 2018, Netflix released season one of the series Children of the Whales, the first episode of which opens on a funeral, immediately painting the story in tones of gloom and mourning. As the deceased is sealed within their coffin, they’re carried off to the edge of their island home, called the Mud Whale, and cast into the seemingly endless sea of sand that surrounds them.

And while it visually resembles a traditional desert, it’s explained that the use of magic is needed in order to keep from being sucked beneath the sandy surface. Only strange fishlike creatures survive within it’s depths. And while life on the Mud Whale at first appears idyllic, if a bit uncivilized by modern comparison, it quickly becomes clear that life on the island isn’t as picturesque as it at first seems. While the inciting incident of the story is centered around them finally making contact with their first outsider in nearly a century, it is later revealed that there exists a whole world that the Mud Whale has not only been lost from but deliberately exiled out of as punishment. And while the majority of the island’s residents have access to a form of magic called thymia which is inextricably tied to the island, the price for this magic is an exceptionally shortened life span for it’s users that in return leaves most of the island’s children as orphans. Although the use of magic allows them to travel short distances from the island, the inhabitants of the Mud Whale have no control over where the currents carry them. In this instance, the unnatural ocean acts as less of a threat then it does in Tress but instead serves as a jailer.

When it comes to similar worlds that pose a more direct threat to their inhabitants, the two most well known examples are also quite similar to one another: the desert planets of Tatoine and Arrakis, of the Star Wars and Dune franchises respectively. Within both universes, finding yourself on either of these planets usually represents a downward turn of fortune. As C-3PO says of Tatooine in A New Hope, “What a desolate place this is,” and it would be hard to argue against the observation. Tatooine is made up almost entirely of an uninhabitable desert waste. And Arrakis’s reputation fairs no better. In the novel Dune, we’re first introduced the very idea of Arrakis as Paul lays in bed contemplating his families upcoming relocation to the planet. “Arrakis — Dune — Desert Planet” refrains ominously through his train of thought narrative like the beat of a distance war drum.

Of both Arrakis and Tatooine, the planets are described as nearly uninhabitable. Though neither ones sandy expanses are technically considered seas or oceans, the magnitude of their size serves to create the same sense of isolation that the vastness of an oceans casts on an island while simultaneously providing all new dangers for their residents. Brutal sand storms, predators evolved to thrive in the waste, “outsiders” who threaten the boundaries of their communities and the constant lack of life sustaining water. And yet on both these planets, humans do persevere and make lives for themselves on these plants. They do not thrive on either planet by any means, struggle and poverty seems to be the norm for inhabitants of both Tatooine and Arrakis, but humans have none the less found ways to survive on both, given enough reason. Tatooine is said to be located along important trading routes while Arrakis provides the invaluable substance called spice to the rest of the universe.

A common building on Tatooine

While the people of Lumar aren’t necessarily forced to confront their seas of spores as directly as the people living on Arrakis or Tatooine, for those who do chose to sail the spores, the danger they present is all the more real. Not only is life sustaining water a limited resource while at sea but as the story’s narrator reminds us, human beings produce plenty of water on their own, “considering the number of wet things that leak from human bodies even when they’re healthy.”

“Breathe in a burst of verdant spores, for example, and your saliva would send vines growing out of your mouth—or in more interesting cases, into your sinuses and out around your eyes.” Read the first 5 Chapters of Tress of the Emerald Sea here.

All of these stories rely heavily on the classic conflict of man versus nature and Tress of the Emerald Sea is no different.  With this story, Brandon Sanderson has created an ocean that defies our normal expectations of a maritime adventure. Sure the spore seas ripple like water and boats can sail upon them, but unlike a traditional ocean, the “water” is a substance far more volatile and each sea presents its own unique challenges to those who sail it. We see this over the course of the novel as Tress learns to face her fear of the spores and in doing so gains access to even greater power and abilities.

No matter the world, the fascination with these desert seas has been rising in popular culture (like with the recent film adaptations of Mad Max and Dune) and after seeing what Sanderson has done in subverting the normal expectations of the “unnatural ocean” trope, it’s easy to see why. On a world like Lumar, Arrakis or Tattoine, characters are forced to confront nature head on in order to survive and in doing so, often achieve far greater feats then they or their audience's ever imagined.

[captmickey]

Been thinking about the Plunderbunnies a little but all I can really do rn is rotate them in my brain, so I wanted to ask... you got any headcanons to share? Maybe regarding their wedding, or being new parents with Boybrush?

Oh boy do I!

....just realized I shout that everytime someone asks me about headcanons and the such.

But yes! Yes I do! I have thought about it intensely for... well, ever. Especially in regards to their wedding. So lets break it down by each thing because I'm that person

In regards to their wedding:

-I always loved the idea that Guybrush had to get his wedding suit tailored because he is both very tall and very lanky. But because of his nerves getting the best of him and imagining all the worst case imaginable scenarios, he shakes like a leaf which causes needles to poke him which makes him panic even more (a.k.a ask me about my 'Guybrush has a phobia of needles' headcanon) and luckily Haggis sees what's happening and manages to calm Guybrush's nerves.

-Thanks to Return, Guybrush wrote with Elaine the invites. He added the haiku and it was a surprise hit... don't ask him to write any more poems/haikus... it was a one time thing.

-Grubby hands is I.... Guybrush stomped the glass at the wedding. If you know, you know.

-I don't know why, but I loved the idea of Wally being a part of Elaine's bridal party over Guybrush's. So Carla and Wally definitely threw an excellent bachelorette party.

-The Barber Quartet were Guybrush's groomsmen. (If Winslow had known Guybrush then, absolutely would be his Best Man).

-Guybrush and Elaine dated for a bit longer before they tied the know officially. Guybrush proposed properly and with a (thankfully) uncursed ring.

-Elaine made the uncursed ring her earring as seen in Tales because one, too big to wear as a ring and two, it's her good luck charm since Guybrush went to great lengths to craft it for her.

In regards to Boybrush:

-Everybody when they heard the news initially panicked that Guybrush would be a terrible father because he's that much of a goof. He not only destroyed but obliterated that fear by being the best husband/father there is.

-Elaine, admittedly, was insulted on Guybrush's behalf that everyone kept asking her if she's feeling safe around him.

-Guybrush stayed up late and read as many parenting/baby books there is so he can take care of Elaine and their soon to be kid. It is safe to say he's the most knowledgeable pirate in that regard.

-Guybrush also panicked endlessly if he was even fit to be a dad. Not that he didn't want to be... he did. Badly. But he feared that everyone's assumption on him had some validity. Elaine had to calm him down that he would be fine... and he calmed her down as well that she would be an excellent mother.

-They were each other's cheerleaders throughout the whole thing.

-It was Guybrush's idea to stay on land during the final months of the pregnancy. He read too many books and the idea that they could be caught in a storm or a battle when it was time scared him.

-Because Meathook moved away, they took residence in his place and refurbished it to be a proper home. They still refer to their ship as home, but this is their "in-between sailing" home.

-Carla saw the extreme lengths Guybrush was going through for Elaine that she had no problem stepping in to help to let him catch some sleep. He was trying his hardest and Elaine would stare, smirk, and go "told you so."

-Winslow and Anemone were the only two to not judge but they knew not to overwhelm either. If they were needed, the Threepwoods knew where to find them.

-After Boybrush was born, Guybrush held him and immediately felt a shift: being a father and a husband was far more important to him. He still loved being a pirate, but that was easily third place.

-Whenever Boybrush woke up in the middle of the night, Guybrush would wake to take care of him... Elaine has done much of the work and he feels this is the least he can do.

-That being said, Elaine has caught him dead asleep with Boybrush in his arms in the rocking chair. She tells him it's okay that she takes care too.

-It shocked Guybrush how quickly Boybrush falls asleep in Elaine’s hold. He has to tell stories to get the child to sleep.

-One time Elaine went to Carla to help with gubernatorial work... they heard snoring and found Guybrush asleep on the couch with Boybrush on his chest drinking from the baby bottle.

[cuddles-with-dragons]

Songs that give me Crosshair vibes

AKA my depression playlist

Anti Hero - Taylor Swift

Ship in a Bottle - Fin Argus

Believer - Imagine Dragons

Eyes Closed - Imagine Dragons

Ready Aim Fire - Imagine Dragons

Creep - Radiohead

Human - Christina Perri

Running Up That Hill - Kate Bush

You Know My Name - Chris Cornell

Gasoline - Halsey

A little background on why I chose these songs under the cut if you're interested

Anti Hero

I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming

And I'm a monster on the hill Too big to hang out Slowly lurching toward your favorite city Pierced through the heart but never killed

When your squad abandons you twice, it leaves scars. And when you don't even fit in with the outsiders, well...

Ship in a Bottle

You can fit everything you know In a bottle for you to show Pick your brain apart and put it in And build it again with needles and pins Everything you have earned is a ship With blue waves crashing into it But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore With your glass ceiling, walls, and floor

You set sail alone, there is no crew No one on the deck who can help you This is all your own battle to win This is your ship and you are the captain

Order 66 fucked up everything. The old normal died. Crosshair was essentially on his own without the Batch

Believer

You break me down, and build me up, believer, believer Pain! Oh, let the bullets fly, oh, let them rain My life, my love, my drive it came from Pain! You made me a, you made me a believer, believer

I was choking in the crowd Building my rain up in the cloud Falling like ashes to the ground Hoping my feelings, they would drown But they never did, ever lived, ebbin' and flowin' Inhibited, limited, 'til it broke open, and it rained down

You can't kill the past. But you can blame people besides yourself.

Eyes Closed

I'm back from the dead, from the back of my head Been gone and facin' horrors that should never be said The wrath and the grit from the pit of despair Been takin' every whip and word, I've never been spared

Lock me up inside a cage Just throw away the key, don't worry 'bout me

"I belong in here." (This song is a little ironic, considering that it's hard to shoot straight with your eyes closed)

Ready Aim Fire

With our backs to the wall, the darkness will fall We never quite thought we could lose it all Ready, aim, fire, ready, aim, fire An empire's fall in just one day You close your eyes and the glory fades

Back in the casing, shaking and pacing This is the tunnel's light Blood in the writing, stuck in the fighting Look through the rifle's sight

Whether you're losing a squadmate, a friend from a long time ago, or your first friend in a while, it's hard.

Creep

I don't care if it hurts I wanna have control I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul

Self explanatory.

Human

I can fake a smile I can force a laugh I can dance and play the part If that's what you ask Give you all I am

But I'm only human And I bleed when I fall down I'm only human And I crash and I break down Your words in my head, knives in my heart You build me up and then I fall apart 'Cause I'm only human

This is more of an AU. It represents how toxic the Empire is, but also how toxic Hunter can be. (In my opinion, anyway)

Running Up That Hill

And if I only could I'd make a deal with God And I'd get him to swap our places

It doesn't hurt me Do you wanna feel how it feels? Do you wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?

Don't be afraid to hold it against the people who hurt you.

You Know My Name

If you take a life, do you know what you'll give? Odds are you won't like what it is When the storm arrives, would you be seen with me By the merciless eyes I've decieved?

Arm yourself because no one else here will save you The odds will betray you And I will replace you

This one is also more of an AU. Tech = CX-2.

Gasoline

(Oh, ooh-oh, ooh-oh, oh) I think there's a flaw in my code (Oh, ooh-oh, ooh-oh, oh) These voices won't leave me alone

And all the people say You can't wake up, this is not a dream You're part of a machine, you are not a human being With your face all made up, living on a screen Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline

First few months after O66 vibes.

[thiscapriciouslife]

“The Ladder”

You’re fatal you’re fatal

Syringes and needles

You go to the atttic

To find all your people

You go to the basement

To find out you’re killers

An insect that thrives

Without handguns or feelers

Nobody sees who you are

without sealant

A child who’s starving to death

While you feed them

And nobody kneels

on the blacktop or pavement

Without picking scabs

causing scars

that don’t mean much

So you stand up and reach

In your pocket for matches

But in it was just a pocket

full of ashes

Now throw it in water

And watch what will happen

Now cover your face with it

Put on a mask then

You look all around

At these walls made of heathens

And watch as they laugh

when you just want to be them

And topping it off

Is a ceiling of treason

So do you just join them

Or fail trying to beat them

The ladder provided

will not even reach them

So why even try

to reach goals

and achievements

Once and a while a

man needs pep talk

You push on that rung

take a step

That’s a leg up

Step out of the ring

let it ring

Put the phone down.

And plan your escape

make your way

out the hole

But the higher you get

There is much less to hold

Except for a rope

with a noose

and a note

We promise to lower you into the ground

Your family and friends

will make sure you’re remembered

Here lies a man

but his name is all weathered

But then you’ll feel cold

with the worms

in the dirt

Looking up at the ground

where where the walls still exist

Where the ladder is rotting

away where it sits

Tempting another

to use the exit

Only to find out

the exits a myth

But what do I know

about pain and regret

I’ll leave that for someone else

back on the deck

A ship that is sailing

on rocks at the bottom

A slight of the hand

leaving bed frames in hostels.

And down on the ground

they are getting more hostile

Eating the eagles

until we have lost hope

Empty nests

lining the treetops

Still up is the way

counting bricks as you go

Until all the chaos

has turned into smoke

And all of the people

and places

and things

are just pins on a map

made of paper and ink

Folded so nicely

and put behind your seat

Just in case you forget your destination

And finally you make it

Standing on that last rung

Realizing the top

is still 10 feet away

A voice telling you

they are proud and impressed

But unfortunately

we can not give you the key.

This door is reserved

for those who can see

That the ladder we gave you

was put upside down

So you just have to keep climbing

Up

To the ground

[deathfavor]

Water has always been an important aspect of Seiroku's life, and one of the few things he never came to hate about his past or part of his former band in a way. It's also why there was always a water theme to his original name and to his 'new' name so to speak. To them, water was their life. Rivers, oceans, lakes, Seiroku's familiar with it all. It's both something that has occurred on a skill level, but also on a biological level with his former band.

Many of his former band possessed a mutation in the PDE10A gene and the BDKRB2 gene. The PDE10A gene allows for a larger than average spleen size ; which in turns gives an oxygen reservoir for diving, allowing for a vastly longer dive time compared to the average person when it is paired with the BDKRB2 gene mutation, which is responsible for vasodilation and vasoconstriction which allow oxygen to go to only the most essential parts of the body. ( People with these mutation have been studied holding their breath 10-13 minutes and Seiroku leans close to 12 ). They've also been known to be able to dive to deeper depths without aid and drop at a quicker rate. All traits that Seiroku himself has, and only came to realize through his case studies on victims and idle observation once he'd left his original band. While he's not aware of the genes specific for this of course, he has realized it is a genetic trait that's essentially died off when he slaughtered his band. ( He never did hunt down though who'd already left the band, so there are still some around who have these traits. )

In terms of skills, he is a skilled sailor in a variety of different ships/boats/rafts and it is something he's kept up with over time. It's not as frequent as it once was, but especially since the Oni won't disturb him, he does enjoy sailing out at sea or river rafting or other traits. Because of this, he also possesses a rather extensive knowledge of aquatic life and hunting skills, and enjoys various forms of seafood. Similarly, he is quite good at astronavigation and is often more inclined to use that over other means, although he will consult maps, especially of areas he doesn't know. He's able to also craft out of fish bones should it be needed, like a needle ( although with his skill it isn't particularly necessary ) and other tools, and could probably figure it out with other kinds if needed. He's also well aware of using fish skin for burns and skin grafts as well as helping with anti-inflammatory and anti-bacterial aspects. It IS certainly a unique kind of knowledge, and I imagine it is quite new to others to see. He doesn't think anything of it - which probably made for some interesting conversations at the Date the first time he did this. It does also unconsciously hint towards some aspects of Seiroku's past without him actually intending to. He himself doesn't realize it because it IS so engrained as a basic fact to him.

While Seiroku long lost faith in anything and doesn't care for the idea of gods or goddesses, he does still recall ways he once did celebrate. And he doesn't hate it should somewhere happen to celebrate. He's inclined to participate, though he'll say it's simply to enjoy life and have fun or to bond with others if any of the other eight happen to be with him. If not though, he does still sometimes finds himself at the water during certain times when festivities would take place. He doesn't do anything special for it but sometimes is a bit more contemplative.