#trying to put into words how this series is at war with itself in some interesting ways

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Ask Masterpost 1/25/2025

I will be answering the BLOG RELATED asks that I have received since opening my inbox. Lucky number three this finally becomes consistent :).

I would like to state here that even though I don't respond to them (I'm persnickety about keeping ask spam low) I very much appreciate everyone's well wishes and compliments and gratefulness for this blog. I screenshot all of them and keep them in a folder. Thank you so much and I hope you keep having fun :).

@forrest-knight asked: Hello! I am here to ask for some clarification regarding the rules: “Songs from multimedia series that are primarily NOT video games (such as the Homestuck minigames, for example) will not be accepted.” I’m a bit confused with this rule, does this mean we’re not allowed to submit songs from licensed video games (aka games made for non video game media), even if the song is originally made for the game (ex. To The Moon from the DuckTales NES game). Or does this rule is intended for something completely different? *please note that I’ve never read homestuck, so this might relate to my confusion Anyways, thank you so much for doing this! And I hope you have a great whatever time you are reading this!

SO Homestuck was the only example I could think of at the time as a series that actually did this. I was specifically thinking about franchises/series/works that 100% did not start off intending to be a video game but, in the nature of being a multimedia series, added video game minigames or mobile games as it developed.

This is referring to things like homestuck (a webcomic that featured small browser/flash games within the comic), many idol gacha games** (hypnosis mic, love live), etc. This does not include series that were 'completed' (loosely used since I know many of these frequently get universe-expanding sequels and threequels and whathaveyou) and then had video game spinoffs, such as Star Wars, Marvel, etc.

** exceptions being tracks that are exclusively used in the video game itself, such as BGM.

I know this rule is probably the most complicated one and I'm still trying to figure out how to word it clearly and precisely LMAO. Fundamentally it comes down to intent, which is why I'm still on the fence some things like tracks used exclusively in promotional materials and things like that.

That being said: if the song is originally from a video game as in literally you can hear it while you are playing the video game you are totally in the clear

And according to your second ask (I won't name the songs in case you want to submit them): The one made for and coming from the NES game is fine (of course), AND the one that is the 8-bit version of the NON-VGM one is ALSO FINE, because it was REMIXED for the NES game :).

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT PUTTING DISCLAIMERS ASKING PEOPLE NOT TO SPOIL THE SONGS**

The blind listening and polling period is just for fun! If someone really likes a song and wants to know what it is/where it's from, PLEASE feel free to tell them!!! And PLEASE always enter the notes with the expectation that there may be song spoilers!!

I will ask that you keep it in the TAGS rather than the comments or reblogs (you're more than welcome to DM people the title if they ask), just for the sake of people who might want to discuss the song without spoilers. I'll put that in the pinned and the (eventual...) formal rules.

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What's up! New here so sorry if this has been asked before but has the exact same song been submitted more than once before? Like it's clearly different people but the same song keeps getting submitted over and over again?

Ever since Mod Rae cleared duplicates I have no idea anymore, BUT I know there have been a lot of different submissions for a few select Disco Elysium songs. That doesn't shock me because I know it's got a cult following here :).

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do you get a lot of the same people in ur notes or is it like. a few of the same and then it branches out to fandoms where people know the song? or do u not pay attn to your notes at all (also fair)

I do read the notes (when I remember)! I really like hearing people's opinions, and I always look through the tags on songs I know (I find it really hilarious seeing 'is this dark souls?' 'is this nier?' on any orchestral ever). There are a lot of familiar faces but I'd say the majority for any given poll are new or sparsely in the notes :).

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Would you ever consider adding two more "i dont feel strongly/have an opinion" options to the polls? Specifically, "it sounds familiar and i dont have an opinion" and "ive def heard it before and dont feel strongly/have an opinion"? Of course, if theres a specific reason why you dont add those two as options, feel free to ignore this, ty <3

I've considered this -- but honestly, that button has always existed as more of a 'I just want to click a button' option than an actual datapoint I'm looking for (I think I might have answered an ask similar to this before but I don't remember so I'm answering it again LOL). When that option dominates, I always read the notes and tags for discussion and I'd encourage anyone who is genuinely interested to do the same. Actual complex opinions, of course, cannot be captured with the limitations of preset poll options anyways LMFAO.

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@mkcannothelpyou asked: I'm beginning to wonder if spacing series severely further apart and prioritising picks further down the queue that aren't as represented would make for a more interesting order - as it is, it feels like you can more or less still track what people submitted and when, with waves of series (and closely related works within those series, at that) coming in conspicuously densely. Hearing the same style only days apart might impact poll results for the negative as time goes on.

This was mostly the fault of me allowing people to submit multiple songs at once, leading to songs with similar qualities (as they are all liked by one person with a particular taste) being grouped together, even if they're from different series. I limit submissions to one per period now so this will not be a problem in the future :').

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@the-mayor-of-space asked: how long do submissions typically stay open once they are open?

I originally wanted to have them permanently opened (thinking people wouldn't mind waiting for their submissions) until I got an insane amount of submissions, severely underestimating the popularity of this blog. I then tried to do a 24 hr submission period, and then a 12 hr submission period, but both of these still ended up with a fuck ton of submissions so the current answer is 'They're closed until I can figure out something proper'...

I don't want purging the existing submissions to be on the table, but if I get to the 1 year anniversary of this blog without a better option I might have to go that route -- in which case I'd probably publish all the unposted options so people know if theirs was cut so they know to resubmit it if they're still interested.

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT HOW FAR BACK THE SUBMISSIONS ARE**

WE'RE FINALLY IN AUGUST!!!!!!!!

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are fan/non official/non licensed versions of songs allowed? because i am 100% certain #293 is a fan made remaster and medley arrangement (im not the submitter but i know the song well - i found the youtube video the audio is from and the comments from OP confirm it is a fan remix). if they are, that's totally cool, but i couldn't find anything in the submission rules about it. i dont intend this ask to be rude or hostile at all, and either way im grateful you've created such an active community with this blog!

They're not really allowed unless they're from a mod or fangame. Since it's a fanmade remaster it's kind of towing the line, so I'm not inherently against it, but it might end up just being a highly situational thing.

Note: I'm not familiar with Fire Emblem at ALL but I knew this particular song was from an older game, which is why I wasn't opposed to posting the remastered version. In any future submissions I'd appreciate if this sort of thing were indicated just in case! I will add that to the submission guidelines :). And of course if there's a better way to go about this (i.e if the game is like, 30+ years old fanmade remasters/upscales are permitted or something like that) I will make sure that's made clear as well :).

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sorry if you've answered this before but I was just wondering, are people allowed to submit spoiler songs for the polls? like final boss songs and songs from endings and secret endings

Absolutely! But I think for all future submissions (this doesn't apply now since there's a huge backlog) I might put a hold on the submissions of OSTS from new games for like 1-2 months (i.e No Mario Kart 9 OSTs until two months after the game drops!) so people who are playing/going to play the game have time to play it before hearing the OSTs unprompted.

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@its-daisukenojobito asked: Just out of curiosity, do you prefer the more obscure submissions, or more well known? I feel like for the sake of reach, the more well known the better, but as a participant, i love being able to hear something I wasn't expecting, and knowing it!

I have no preference, but it's always fun hearing good stuff from games and series I've literally never heard of!

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@venonomnomicon asked: am i allowed to DM to check the status of a submission? it was a couple of months ago though i do respect it's probably just deep in the queue as you get hundreds of submissions a month lol

Absolutely, but you'll have to DM my main blog (@himejoshi) because apparently tumblr doesn't let you have DMs when you have more than one blog admin.

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@royvalentine asked: is the form supposed to be only submittable once?

Yes, so people would only submit one song per submission period. I intended to make a new form for every submission period... There just hasn't been one since.

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hi question, do pinball tables count as video games?

I don't think I have enough experience to answer this question... What do y'all think????

[mononijikayu]

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) — gojo satoru.

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation

WARNING/S: romance, domesticity, fluff, family, break up, comfort/no comfort, angst, trauma, implied death, hurt/comfort, character death, depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of graphic content, depiction of emotional breakdown, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief;

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

masterlist

series masterlist

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you were always reminded of how beautiful and sad wintertime is. when you were younger, you excitedly put on your winter boots and puffer jacket, hurriedly running out to play in the snow, your muffler trailing behind you. you had fond memories of those snowy days, and that sentiment only deepened as you grew older.

winter became even more special the night you met gojo satoru at his birthday party, when your friend had dragged you along. you were so happy then, to have been able to have this man steal your heart. since then, winter had been warmer, happier. but lately, it wasn’t the case.

that was what you hated about winter—sometimes, all it brought was bitterness and a putrid cold. the nights were frightening, and the breath you took felt like it punched the air out of your lungs. everything stayed frozen in time, suspended by the snow that seemed to crush the earth with its weight.

nowadays, you can’t remember if you ever waited eagerly for the snow to fall. you don't look forward to winter as you did when you were a child. it was too hard to smile at the falling snow. but you still try. you really want to. you think that maybe, if you smile, it would be easier. if you smile, maybe your face will remember only the warmth. maybe if you smile, you won’t feel the bitterness—you don’t want to turn into winter itself.

you tear your gaze away from the narrow echoes of the windowpane. and for a moment, winter tears itself in two, into that bitterness and warmth. sometimes, looking at him makes it easier, and some days, it makes it harder. you supposed you always knew he was like snow itself—pure as the driven snow and yet so brutal with the weight you bear for it.

gojo satoru shifts carefully on the mattress, and before you can think, you are instantly beside him. you couldn’t help but put his hand gingerly in yours, making sure not to jostle him too much. you never expected this. that he would be in such a state. he had been so healthy all his life, and now he wasn’t even able to stand up by himself anymore.

it's very hard not to worry over someone whom you've loved your entire life. satoru, whom you would gladly go to war for. satoru, the man you had called yours at one point. the very same satoru from the life before this. from all the lives before this one. you look at him and see not the previous version of him you've once held in your arms, but the young boy you first met so many years ago.

“how are you, 'toru?” you ask him tenderly.

there is hurt and pain in these isolated walls, this stupid little winter cabin of his. there is the looming knowledge of what is to come, too, and it is something you can’t face. you already knew the answer to the question. the doctor told you. but you didn’t care about what science says. you wanted to hear it from him.

at the end of the day, you are still hopeful. because he's here. satoru is still here with you. his usually warm hand is cold; it had never been cold when it touched yours. not until recently. but you think that it doesn’t matter. cold or warm, you still held his hand.

it was still yours to hold. and you were together. the world didn’t matter right now. your own husband, your career, your reality—nothing mattered. you wanted to be here. you wanted to be by his side. you wanted to be his world again, just as he was yours.

“it’s cold today, darlin’." satoru whispers to you, trying to squeeze your hand, as though to reassure you that he was still here with you.

he wasn’t as strong as he would have liked, you knew that well. but he still held you. he still held your hand and would not let go. you don’t realize too late that you’ve been holding your breath.

you squeeze his hand and you try to smile for him, to be happy for him. satoru opens his eyes to look at you, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. he likes it when he can see you smile for him, as you always did years ago.

you don’t think it will ever sink in. this isn’t real. this isn’t happening. you could feel the bile stuck in your throat. you already knew that this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. you have experienced much worse together. you have done much worse to each other.

you have pulled each other through collapsed barricades just to find safety elsewhere. even when you weren’t together anymore, you have managed to survive it all. because you still had each other.

that was then, and this is now. here you are, huddled together for warmth, satoru’s lips chapped and blue. your ex-husband could only try and make a front for you, one that you think he could not hold for much longer. even if he wished he could, there would come a time when it would all be over.

the room is silent except for the faint sound of the wind howling outside, the winter storm a harsh reminder of the reality you are facing. you clutch satoru’s hand tighter, as if your grip alone could keep him tethered to this world.

“satoru, love.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “stay with me.”

his eyes flutter open once more, and he looks at you with a softness that breaks your heart. “i’m trying, darlin'.” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “for you, i’m trying.”

you bite back the sob that threatens to escape, not wanting him to see you fall apart. you need to be strong, for him, for both of you. you lean closer, pressing your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the cold air.

“i know, love.” you say softly. “i know you are.”

the moments stretch on, each second feeling like an eternity. you talk to him about anything and everything, recounting memories of happier times, of your first meeting, of the countless winters you spent together. you tell him about the future you once dreamed of, the life you wanted to build together. you pour your heart out, hoping that your words can keep him here a little longer.

but as the hours pass, you can see the light in his cerulean eyes dimming, the strength in his grip weakening. he is slipping away, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. you feel a crushing weight in your chest, the pain of losing him more than you can bear.

“satoru, my love.” you say again, your voice breaking. “please don’t go. i can’t do this without you.”

he looks at you with a sad, knowing smile. “you’re stronger than you think,” he whispers. “you always have been.”

tears spill down your cheeks, and you shake your head. “not without you,” you insist. “i need you.”

his hand moves to your cheek, his touch feather-light. “i’ll always be with you." he says softly. “in here.” he taps his chest weakly, indicating his heart.

"how do i live on without you?" your tears blur everything in sight, even him. but you don't want to. you don't want it to.

"you learnt how, when we got divorced, darlin'." he smiles at you. you can tell, he was having a harder time speaking. "you'll learn again. you've always been a fighter. my darlin'. you've always been a fighter."

you nod, even though it feels like your heart is shattering into a million pieces. you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and love you’ve shared. as you closed your eyes, you could feel it tremble with tears once again.

“i love you.” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

“i love you too.” he replies, his voice fading. “always.”

you hold him close as his breathing grows shallower, his grip on your hand loosening. you can feel his life slipping away, each moment more painful than the last. and then, with one final, shuddering breath, he is gone.

the room feels impossibly quiet, the weight of his absence suffocating. you hold onto him, your tears soaking into his shirt, your heart breaking in ways you never thought possible. the world outside is a blur of white, the snow falling relentlessly, indifferent to your pain.

winter has never felt colder than in that moment.

you stay there for what feels like hours, unable to let go. you waited for the paramedics to arrive. you call his kids, to tell him what happened. and then....nothing. emptiness. the quiet. not even the snow falling made a sound.

the memories of your life together play in your mind, a bittersweet reminder of all you’ve lost. you remember the warmth of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the way he made you feel alive. and though he is gone, those memories are yours to keep. you fall in love again. and that tears you apart. it kills you whole.

eventually, you find the strength to stand, to face the world without him. you know it won’t be easy, that the days ahead will be filled with pain and heartache. but you also know that satoru would want you to keep going, to find a way to live life as you always have.

when everyone arrived, you knew it was time to go. you didn't want to leave his body. but you have no right to be there anymore. his kids tell you that it was too dangerous out. but he was gone. you say your goodbyes, you walk over to the coat hanger. your eyes red, your heart heavy - you make your way to leave the cabin.

you could feel how cold it was when you stepped out into the echoing blizzard, this unforgiving winter. the snow crunches beneath your feet, each step a reminder of the journey ahead. you look up at the sky, the falling snow blurring your vision, and you take a deep breath.

winter will continue for a long time, you think. and perhaps, you’ll only ever breathe winter snow again, as bitterly as you could. but you hope maybe, one day—you’ll think of him and be warm again. you bit your lips, tears flowing freely.

maybe if you're lucky?

you'll be reborn again.

maybe you'll love him again.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 57 Cope Posting

Not like this, dear void... not like this. The blessing/curse of Kagurabachi chapters ending in 7 being absolute banger cliffhangers continues and there is not enough copium in the world to get me through to next week. This entry is an absolute mess...

Let's start with practicing on the editor's comments again. Sorry if the colours are hard to read on brighter backgrounds, I live in Dark Mode as much as possible.

First page: ハクリが飛宗の転送に成功! そして- [Hakuri ga Tobimune no tensou ni seikou! Soshite-, Hakuri successfully transfers Tobimune! And then-] Last page: 座村, 漆羽… 事態は混沌へ… [Samura, Uruha... jitai ha konton he..., Samura, Uruha... the situation turns chaotic...] noting that the word used for "situation", jitai (事態), specifically has negative connotations (as opposed to 状況 [joukyou], which is neutral).

These comments are rarely more than fluff just to give the editors some presence in the work itself, so I don't take them as definite indicators of anything going on in the plot. But man. Man. "Bad situation" seems to be putting it lightly. I was ready to take you off the list of possible traitors, Samura! I was seriously going to do it! Whyyyyyyyyyyy

Chihiro and the Pink Menace

Fine, first up... school?

How does our cast stack up to the average student after getting home schooled in murder and cool action poses?

It was obvious to everyone that this arc would involve Chihiro learning about the unpleasant sides of his dad's legacy. So this is just a "hey don't forget" moment for us that also highlights how far removed Hiruhiko and Chihiro are from regular society. Those two (and Hakuri) should be in their last year of high school, complaining about homework or stressing about their future college/job plans right now instead of fighting to the death. Poor guys.

I don't want to presume too much about Hokazono-sensei's views, but I really like directly acknowledging that winners write history and so their wartime cruelty is often downplayed or re-framed as heroism. These kids and even Chihiro only know the revised version of what happened, not the truth of the matter.

Home schooled Chihiro confirmed! Kinda!

Anyway, some more John Plan Reveal. He wants Chihiro to learn the truth about his father's legacy and the impact it's had- that's why he hasn't been "harvested" yet. This implies that there's some terrible thing that could upend Chihiro's entire worldview to be learned. But we kind of already knew that based on everything I just said.

I hope this isn't a flag for John trying to convince Chihiro to join him. There are awful secrets that are going to be unearthed about Kunishige and the Kamunabi this arc for sure, but it's kind of a waste of our time to do the "oooh it was worse than you thought why don't you join us to set things right" rigamarole.

Obviously the Hishaku have some compelling reasons to do all this if they can get someone as loath to kill as Samura on their side to murk his war buddies. It's just never gonna convince Chihiro so I hope we don't get a moralizing yapfest to accompany John's outstretched hand. I trust the writing though! So far it's been almost nothing but excellence so... chill, me. Just wait and see.

I think that no matter what happens Chihiro will continue to forge his own path with allies who care for him at his side. He won't choose the government's path, or the Hishaku's, or even his dad's- he'll create something new. Standard stuff for a shounen series but I never get tired of seeing it!

Before moving on to the coping session, there's something neat in this scene that I want to ramble about:

Local yapper yaps while the guy listening to him literally overthinks

I'll use the JP version if I have to, but I like how Chihiro's inner monologue deliberately overruns Hiruhiko's speech bubble to show that he's not paying full attention while his thoughts are in overdrive. He's still partially listening but he's not quite as composed as he appears to be on the outside, which is confirmed by the close-up zoom into his stressed look with the sweat drops. Yet when we zoom out, he seems a bit more put-together like usual. He's still exhausted from yesterday, man! Really should have rested up... at least the author acknowledges it. (Forced bed rest soon? Hopefully?)

This is how Hiruhiko was able to get the drop on Chihiro. Chihiro's got a lot on his mind and he has trouble focusing, just like Uruha chided him for on the train. His resolve is unshaken but he's still prone to wavering in the moment as he tries to process things. He even misses the fist time Samura's name was mentioned! Clearly Chihiro needs Hakuri or Uruha or someone there to yell encouragement at the right time to stop him from getting lost in his own head. But he's got a lot to think about and work through right now, so it's understandable why he's so stressed out.

Poor Chihiro. He's coming to the conclusions that we, the readers privileged with having weeks IRL to ponder new information, came to long ago. The Master is not treated like a hero but a prisoner, and probably for very, very good reasons. Ones good enough to convince Samura to make a deal with the devil.

What Actually Happened?!

Not all the blades have themes from nature, it seems. Geisha offered many different types of entertainment to guests, from performing music to conversation to serving sake. So now we have the idea behind the name [Swaying Sake]!

First up to delay just a little longer: Kumeyuri power reveal! Seems to be based in some kind of performing arts aesthetic with the geisha that were conjured. Fitting for the guy who wears kabuki eye make-up right? ...And for the next bearer, who interrupted a kabuki performance to pick it up in a theater... I see you and your foreshadowing, Hokazono-sensei.

Fine. I'll admit it. The ending of the chapter makes it crystal clear that Hiruhiko is the new bearer contracted to Kumeyuri by having his origami butterflies come undone as he grasps the hilt in his teeth. Can't even hope it's another case of someone "borrowing" power like Kyora did with the Shinuchi of the bunch.

Magatsumi's the only blade that can be used by someone not contracted to it, hence the extra protections it needed.

So that means... yeah. Uruha's gone. Just like that.

There will be thousands of theories about what exactly happened to Uruha, why Samura made a deal with John, what the details of that deal were- we'll get the truth soon. I'm most interested in the reasoning that ties into Samura's sincere beliefs of killing being an evil act.

The burden of death weighs so heavily on him that he blinded himself in penance. But he's willing to let his own apprentice die -probably even kill him himself!- because of... what? What was so horrible about fighting with the Master and Kunishige's weapons for the good of the nation? What compelled him to help the Hishaku kill the remaining bearers and upend the peace they earned?!

Hey, Samura. Is it really so bad to be called a war hero while being treated like a prisoner in a comfortable government-provided jail facility? Is it so horrible that "alternative facts" pass for real history to bury whatever horrors you witnessed and possibly perpetrated? Is it truly awful to have people willing to die for you despite all the grave sins you've committed? That they're likely completely unaware of thanks to government propaganda and being too young to have witnessed the truth?

...I need those Seitei War flashbacks pronto.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

Wait a minute. Jail? Even the friggin' onsen?

Yup! The Master's the only one being treated like a dangerous criminal outright, but the 慚箱 [sanso] are just dressed up prisons for the Bearers. The Kamunabi ain't even subtle about it.

慚 [san] - to feel shame 箱 [sou] - box

The government put these guys in specially-constructed (or repurposed) buildings officially referred to as "shame boxes" and told them they couldn't leave. Even the name given to one of them is a bit much! 国獄温泉 [Kokugoku Onsen] translates to:

国 [koku]- country/state/national government 獄 [goku]- jail/prison 温泉 [onsen] - hot spring

Gee, I wonder if Uruha was having a good time at State Prison Hot Springs?

That said, while there may well be some bitterness between the Bearers and the Kamunabi, it's not the main motivating factor for Samura. His is definitely rooted in how they all acted during the war and how guilty he feels now that they're promoted as heroes.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

It looks like Chihiro's being summoned by Hakuri in the very last panel so we might get some perspective on Samura's reasoning next week. Probably no clear answers right away, but at least enough to see if he really was the one who killed Uruha and a bit of insight into why. And to see if Uruha's dead at all... I mean, if we don't see a body... let me be delusional, okay?!

I'm just not able to go all-in on believing Uruha's dead. But it's not because I don't think he actually is... it just doesn't feel real after spending weeks preparing to let go of Samura. Not to mention the tried-and-true tactic of baiting out strong emotions with implied character deaths.

Normally I don't take death foreshadowing like this too seriously in shounen series. I just wait to see if the author is faking me out or not before getting stressed (unless it's Hakuri, in which case I stress responsibly). But Kagurabachi is a series that lured the MC with a child's severed leg and showed two suicide attempts on-screen, one of which was horrifically successful- right in front of someone who was already traumatized too. Hell we lost most of the anti-Kuregumo squad without much fanfare back in the Sojo arc! Only actually showing a child being tortured on-screen is too much, apparently. This series is dark as hell when the author wants it to be and Uruha's death is probably another one of those times.

There's hope in me that Uruha can still come out of this alive just because I like him so much, but I want the author to follow through on his death when it's presented as such an ominously real scenario. All signs point to Uruha being a goner, so don't make it look iron-clad then say "nah" the next chapter with some technicality that we couldn't have known about until the reveal. I would rather lose Uruha in an unexpectedly painful way than be faked out just to get the reaction out of me, y'know? Don't toy with me. Commit to crushing my heart, dammit.

But, God... oh man. I fell for the bait and got stupidly attached to a Bearer in the arc named after killing them. I even knew bad times were coming because of all the levity at the start of the arc but still went on hoping nothing would happen so soon. Laugh at me, I deserve it. I probably helped this manifest by mentioning how awful it would be if Chihiro found out a Bearer died because Hiruhiko was able to contract with one of the blades. Saying "I crave the angst that will come from this situation with every fiber of my being" in a post tag was overkill. It's just:

Author: names the arc after assassinating the bearers

Reader: gets attached anyway

Author: assassinates a bearer

Reader: ╚(•⌂•)╝

Coping Theory

May as well put my two cents in on how it could have gone down while I'm here...

I wonder if he planned to die in the raid instead so it looked like an unavoidable accident, sparing everyone else from the carnage.

This exact sequence- the Makizumi talking about honor in death for saving Samura, and Uruha's words that the Bearer's lives need to be valued above others'- is what solidifies Samura's resolve. This man is filled to the brim with guilt and self-loathing (much like another swordsman we know). He cannot save himself, but... perhaps he can take some equally bad sinners down with him for the greater good. He's not only a mirror for Hakuri, but Chihiro as well- one's resolve to save no matter the cost to one's self, and one's resolve to go to hell for what they believe is right. That's how I'm reading this until we get his own insight on the matter, at least.

It's not a stretch to infer that Samura thinks the Bearers are better off dead in large part due to the powers they command and things that were done during the war. That's still a huge mystery to be unraveled but I mean:

Seeing the bare minimum of Magatsumi in action really drives home how horrific these "heroes" could seem out on the battle field doesn't it? No wonder the clone sorcerer described the Seitei war as "hell on earth". But the public has no knowledge of this. They only got the sanitized version fit for PR purposes and feel-good stories.

The Hishaku seem to be intent on dismantling this image. Perhaps that's how they got Samura on their side? Not sure how the current Bearers dying and giving the Hishaku access to that dreadful power is better than the status quo, but that's something that will become clear with more reveals about the ideology driving the group. Maybe Samura doesn't care so much about the rest of the world and just wants to do what's best for the truth that's been buried under nearly two decade's worth of secrecy.

As to what happened with Uruha... two things come to mind. One I think is more likely, and one I want to cling to until it's ripped away as I sob and beg for just one little bit of comfort.

Most likely, I think Samura and Uruha had an exchange about ideals and the value of their lives. Samura overpowered Uruha per the plan as the "trump card" and that was that.

In delulu land, I want Samura to have been double-crossed. As in he made a deal on the condition that the lives of the people he cared about would be spared, but of course Uruha couldn't be allowed to live. So the Hishaku ensured that he'd die there no matter what. It's a bunk theory since Mr. Hatshaku left once the situation turned against him... maybe incorporate some of the datenseki mind control stuff in there somehow? I don't know. Just let me have this until canon proves otherwise.

Hakuri and Chihiro, Though?! And Miscellaneous Questions

(Ch. 46) I'm not going to be okay for a while and neither are they.

Best boys are really gonna go through it no matter what Chihiro is summoned back to. They'll be in a rough way... not only did they lose Uruha and hand Kumeyuri to Hiruhiko, but Samura betrayed them all... oof. So much for proving themselves to the Kamunabi. They're going to get an earful and be set back in the "negotiations" big time.

No doubt Chihiro will put this burden on his shoulders too, even if no one could have predicted Samura's defection to the enemy. It's his dad's legacy that's causing all this strife right now. He'll be more motivated than ever to unravel the war's true history and I'll be right there with him hoping he doesn't push himself too hard or harshly. The son shouldn't be responsible for the sins his father committed before he was even born. But that's just like, my opinion, man.

Meanwhile...

"I'm still good for it," wheezes the guy with blood gushing out of his nose at an alarming rate.

Hakuri will probably blame himself too. Depending on how things shake out, it could be for anything from accidentally arming a traitor to seeing someone die in front of him again. There's a good chance he'll (temporarily) lose the thing that makes him useful too, so that'll be an extra layer of angst for him to deal with. What value does a broken tool that couldn't fulfill it's one purpose have?

I also wonder what prompted Hakuri to summon Chihiro away from Hiruhiko. He's kind of in rough shape to do it just 'cause he misses his (boy)friend. They have cell phones to communicate with so it seems a bit abrupt to summon him back without checking first. Hakuri's also not the type to impose on someone to protect him. Nor is he the type to drop Chihiro into the middle of a life-or-death situation without a sense of mutual understanding first. So there had to be some kind of pressing need. The timeline of events means he's summoning Chihiro right after Uruha was killed, so... more soulmate stuff maybe? Their souls call out to each other and resonate when they're in distress, after all (it's canon baybeeeeee). They're in perfect harmony and all that. Sorry for the shipping nonsense I just need any bit of fluff I can get right now.

So many questions that might not get answered...

What about the Makizumi? Will they defect to serve Samura? Or will they try to help get Hakuri to safety with the Kamunabi? Samura doesn't want to kill them at all so no matter what happens they'll live at least. Hooray an elite squad that didn't bite the dust... (I think they will choose Samura because of everything he did for them).

How did Hiruhiko know when Kumeyuri was usable anyway?! Was it some signal from his mystery supporter that was lurking outside the window? And who was that- did Worst Jeanist show up?

Samura's loath to kill innocents, but does Hakuri count as one? Would losing his sorcery be enough to count him as neutralized for the Hishaku's purposes? Was exhausting Hakuri the main reason why Hiruhiko sent all the forces to the temple in the first place?

Hiruhiko wasn't surprised to see Tobimune disappear, so the Hishaku probably know about Hakuri's power. Their mole within the Kamunabi should get a bonus for the turnaround time on learning that bit of info and sending it on. Unless John's playing 5D chess and knew about Hakuri's awakening and team-up with Chihiro before they even met the Kamunabi anyway... perhaps even orchestrated it too... that would definitely need a very good explanation.

Alright. Okay. Let's wait on tenterhooks together, dear void. No waterworks until they show the body, got it?

[sob]

[ricanvvas]

Hinata Hyuga Slander and why it is obnoxiously idiotic.

I actually thought the Hinata Slander was a joke or one or two people sided with it. But I am totally taken aback to realize that it’s actually real—and a little popular—it’s real?

Prepare for a run down through Naruto Series kids, because some few fellas clearly did not watch it properly. Either that, orrr…they’re filled with unreasonable hatred for a character who should be the last to be hated. By literally anybody.

I’m going to try to keep this short (I’m lying), but there are going to be topics on Hinata I’m going to go over so it’s not a messy bunch and rather organized and you can skip to which ever you find most relevant.

Before anything, a remark, I never overly cared for Hinata’s existence and she isn’t even in my top 15 Naruto characters but that does not mean I dislike her nor do I look down at her character. Now imagine a person like me going out of their way to take time and write an entire blog for her—yeah, it’s that ridiculous.

There will be that one person—and I’m saying this beforehand—who will barely skim through this and childishly reply to my blog. Catch me caring though!

All of the topics will include manga based evidence as well as a breakdown of the scene and what they portray, therefore, canon reasonings. There are plenty of other and more evidence out there, I will only provide some and main ones that back up claims. Here are topics I will be going over:

Hinata Hyuga as an anime character/character writing

Personality

Goals & Dedications

Skills & Strength

Incessant Love for Naruto Uzumaki

#1 Character Writing

While many people believe that Kishimoto is terrible at writing female characters, I’d like to disagree. Females like Temari, Konan, Ino, and Karin all pass the main checkmarks of being an exceptionally “good” character; a solid background/past, special abilities, and set personality. What I do agree with though is that he does not know how to put them to use, and it is obvious why. These females were not the only ones tossed aside—so were good characters like Lee, Neji, Jiraiya, and so on, all because of the author’s obsession with the Uchiha as well as Sasuke’s story.

Hinata is included in the “good” character checklist, and rather exceeds. The difference between her and the rest of the women is that she is the best representation of an individualistic woman and had incredible character development.

↓ How did we go from a girl so easily shaken and brought down with mere words

↓ To the girl who had the guts to charge against an Akatsuki member,

↓ And seeked frontlines during the war?

It may look like it’s only for the sake of Naruto, but it’s not entirely the reason, only partial. Everybody was set on saving Naruto anyway, instead of fighting the war themselves because they knew Naruto was their key to winning.

Hinata’s introduction may have started with her admiration for Naruto Uzumaki, and it did play a big part, but her entire existence never just revolved around romance. She had way more to her. Hinata’s character itself promotes women empowerment despite her not being the main female protagonist.

Through her writing, we learn that women don’t need to not seek love in order to be independent and a powerful female with goals and dedications that have nothing to do with romance. Hinata is a perfect example of this.

As a side-side character, Hinata excels in character writing, and is interesting enough to keep the audience invested in her existence. The next few manga pages and break-downs will explain it well.

#2 Personality

Her personality did not revolve around her undying love for Naruto only. She was her own person, too.

↓ While shy and timid, Hinata is also a pure and kind hearted soul, as we do not know any character she actually has bad blood with, making her somebody easy to be around with. She’s very gentle, making the atmosphere around her almost tranquil.

↓ Her conflict with Neji was very one-sided, and despite his harsh treatments, she still used honorifics and respected him.

↓ Yes, she might be a soft human being, but not to the point she is unable to pick out flaws in other people.

She seems more warmed up in Shippuden than she was in Classic, and it’s fair to say that ever since Chunin exams, she had gained confidence with the help of Naruto’s cheering. Confidence in herself and her skills. (Panels above may help)

Something to keep in mind is that Neji was known to be more cold, arrogant, and stronger than Sasuke during this time, by Kakashi’s words.

↓ Yet Hinata did not back away even after being told to, multiple times I believe, even by Kiba himself.

↓ This was the beginning of her journey of trying to be more assertive about herself, as she believes she could keep on going without chickening out.

↓ And she didn't back away when someone from the Hyuga Clan told her to do so--she was persistent.

Hinata was never meant to be somebody with great leadership skills; she has always been a follower, almost, who takes a lot of inspiration from people she looks up to. The obvious person, Naruto, and Neji were mentioned.

#3 Goals & Dedications

Her goal had never been only to be a wife and a lover to Naruto. It was one of her goals, the hope to get Naruto to acknowledge her, which he did several times. But that was not it, there was more.

Hinata did not seem so close with her family, so she had no certain goals regarding the Hyuga Clan. She was almost avoiding them and was deemed to be a shinobi, which she probably preferred, participated, and found likeness to, rather than the next heir to the Hyuga Clan, simply because her father did not believe her feather-like personality was fit for it, nor did Hinata seem too interested to lead a clan with such twisted rules and laws.

Despite her father's harsh, degrading words (and Neji's), she did not let it effect her because she continued to get stronger later on.

Hinata always wanted to be self-assured, and wanted to be as confident as Naruto always has been. She wanted to be of use, somehow. Refer to #2, second last image.

↓ Here, too, we see her admitting that she never believed in herself, until she did.

"I stared liking myself a little more..." shows she had very little fondness for herself.

Hinata wanted to change herself for a very long time. She did not ever want to stay the way she used to be--scared.

Another admittance,

But then...

All of these images show that Hinata had something she was thriving for, something she was dedicated to achieve that was not just romance. So, props to Hinata (and Tenten, but that's another story) for actually having a goal/objective.

#4 Skills & Strength

All powers Hinata has been shown to use/possess:

Byakugan (Kekkei Genkai)

Gentle Fist (Specific Taijutsu)

The Eight Trigrams (Air Palm, Palm Rotation, 64-Palms)

The Gentle Step; Twin Lion Fist

The Eight Trigram; Twin Lions Surging Shots (Utilizes Hagoromo's Chakra)

Hamura Otsutsuki's Chakra

And some others I might’ve missed

I'm not going to make this section breaking down each ability, but I'm going to use this information to factually prove that Hinata has more amounts of known and used abilities than probably all female characters, as well as like 90% of overall Naruto characters or something. And she's definitely stronger than a lot of characters, logically, despite her not having been in fights very often.

During younger years, Hinata Hyuga was put against Neji Hyuga—once again, claimed to be possibly stronger than Sasuke at that time—and Hinata was actually able to put up with Neji. For a bit, or a while, it doesn't matter. For a young, scared girl who has never been in a fight before to be able to do so speaks for her skills.

Inexperienced against the nearly strongest genin, one filled with hatred, among her generation, Hinata exceeded enough.

↓ In Shippuden, we even get a scene where she protects Neji!

There's a very few people Hinata actually canonically fought, but when she did, she did plenty well for being a side-side character.

↓...And that same side-side character, Hinata Hyuga, was the only kunoichi in the entire show to actually land a hit on Pain, during Pain Arc. The inevitable praise.

Here comes the cries of, “but she was flung LOL” “hinata didn’t achieve shit from this” “he threw her like she was nothing”

Frankly, those are most ignorant things you can say regarding her actions. To stand up against an Akatsuki member? That takes a lot of balls, considering that nobody was standing up for Naruto, and practically gave up, giving into Pain’s near-victory.

The entire point was not even to defeat Pain—it was to defend Naruto. And in doing so, she stalled for a bit, preventing him from immediately killing Naruto. In that amount of time, the few who remained could’ve backed her up, they could’ve offered some sense of rescue, but because of twist of fate, and the expected, Hinata was unable to keep Pain off of Naruto. It brought her to near-death, triggering Naruto Uzumaki’s 9-Tail-Fox.

Hinata was the fiercest woman. She wasn’t stupid, she accepted she was weaker and couldn't win before she even got onto the battle field. But she tried.

The scene was never about physical strength to begin with; it was her strong mindset and dedication. She was aware of the consequences and still stepped in, demonstrating her everlasting commitment for Naruto. This entirely proves that she not only had great self-development, she had the audacity to stand against the strongest Akatsuki member (excluding Obito), who killed a Legendary Sannin.

#5 Incessant Love for Naruto Uzumaki

In the entirety of Naruto Anime existence (excluding Boruto), only one of its movies have been considered canon, that being Naruto: The Last.

While I hoped it would show us Naruto promoting to Hokage, all of it was focused on Hinata and Naruto's relationship, and we found out a lot through it. Like, a lot.

There are very few couple/characters in Naruto that actually have past together/some story and strong reasoning to start liking their love interest. Such characters being Kushina, Karin, Konan (the K's lol), and of course, Hinata.

There are filler episodes that go before The Last, but I wouldn't count them (even if they add on to the actual story), but in The Last, we figure out that Hinata and Naruto first met when he protected her from getting bullied due to her Byakugan, and he gets beaten up for it.

"Never go back on my word" was one of Naruto's internal rules that he stuck by and it made up his entire personality, almost. Hinata really seemed to respect it and use it for herself.

She tend to turn his imperfections into motivations,

Those feelings seem to get more bold in Shippuden and more confronting. So much so she did not hesitate to put her life on the line for the boy. Not "just because." Hinata gave a list of unavoidable reasonings, that we were able to point out, too.

And vice-versa, she did make a difference in Naruto's life pre-marriage. She gave him courage, motivation, and a reason to keep going. Refer to the fourth image in this section, too.

Then, our closure, he finally realized that Hinata has been there for him since the beginning of the times (also in The Last).

“…but…but…! Hinata is a stalker! She was always watching Naruto! She’s so creepy!”

Okay, but her canonically shown watching Naruto was like, twice in 700 episodes… ↓

And...honestly...it's not really...that...deep...lol? Old Japanese humor. And don't act like girls nowadays don't stalk the shit out of the boy they like--let's get real here. Just get over it. It's an exaggerated cartoon.

People have different views when it comes to love. But one thing I heavily disagree with are weak or false reasonings to fall in love with somebody. You’ll screw yourself over. Seeing a guy walk through the door and finding him physically attractive should not be your reason to “fall in love” and keeping that reason forever; you’re falling in love with his body, not him. It could be the start of your interest. Taking your time to get to know what kind of individual they are, and then accepting their personality, and falling in love with that person is guaranteed success. Reasons are important.

And Hinata understood that well, unlike someone who didn’t (I’m throwing shade!)

(A very quick addition and counter-argument I might get is that Hinata was the cause of Neji's death. I didn't want to put this into an entire section because it'll involve mentioning Neji's own character. But to be frank, Neji chose to protect Hinata and died that way. And I idiotically love Neji far more than Hinata. You don't need somebody's permission to protect them, nor did Neji do it just because he was the lower branch of the Hyuga Clan. Neji and Hinata’s relationship was beyond that. Way beyond. Reread the manga, or even rewatch the anime, and listen and figure out why he did what he did. It had nothing to do with Hinata being a higher rank than him, at least not entirely at all.)

__________________________________________

I was going to add another section titled, "Comparison", but because of image restrictions and as well as the thought that this blog is only about Hinata, I scratched it out.

I don't even praise Hinata. She isn't my favorite Naruto female, either. Personally, for me, she just existed as a character. But I'd be damned if I threw any dirt on her for any reason.

If anything, I believe Hinata Hyuga's character is underappreciated in the way she should be appreciated. She's not just some...loyal, attractive girl (hell, Kishimoto never canonically even drew her with tight/exposing clothing, they were always baggy. So, screw the anime studio.) She was a figure of a powerful woman, better written than any other female in Naruto, and a strong individual, with more story than several, several other characters.

So when I heard "Hinata Slander" was a real thing, truly, I was baffled. I'll admit my blog was quite messy despite my effort to keep it organized with main claims and obvious evidence, but there are still multiple more panels that back up everything I've mentioned that make up Hinata's character.

After all this, I really don't think there's anything that can be said against her in the context (and lie) of "she is a horrible character." And there aren't a lot of characters she can fairly be compared to, anyway. She's just awesome.

As a person, and a side-side anime character, Hinata Hyuga undeniably exceeded.

"Hinata Slander" is fake. Find something better to do than embarrassing yourself.

[saintsenara]

the war of the roses - a snippet

sirius black/severus snape explicit

here’s a wee look at the next chapter of the war of the roses to tide you over before the weekend...

featuring tonks being a bonafide baddie with a terrible taste in men, sirius moping [as per], and me shoehorning in my "everything in the series connects to contemporary anglo-irish history" agenda....

Tonks has a black eye (courtesy of Augustus Rookwood) and a grey complexion (courtesy of being dragged back to work weeks earlier than she should have been). She looks exhausted. She’s lost weight. She has dark circles under her eyes and hollows under her cheekbones and he finds it almost terrifying to look directly at her.

Not because growing thinner has made it all the clearer how much she looks like Bella - he knew that; he can handle that - but because her specific brand of wan and worn-out looks so much like the one he remembers his mother putting on during his childhood - a cloak of pale skin and mourning robes and staring at the woven roses on the rug and not leaving the house - and never taking off.

Only the fact that her hair is electric blue and her aura opalescent and her appetite undiminished quells the shiver working its way down his spine, stopping him from panicking that there’s been some rip in time and the old bitch isn’t dead anymore.

‘- started quacking like a duck,’ she says, cheeks bulging out like a hamster’s with pasta bake, her luminescence - a gemstone sheen that no Death Eater’s curse could rob from her - so magnificent that even Molly smiles indulgently at her lack of table manners.

(Sirius wonders how long it took Andy - she was hardly as much of a prig as Cissy, but she’d nonetheless never gone in for eating like she lived in a pig-sty - to give up on trying to drum some decorum into her.)

‘The Muggles all thought he’d lost his gobstones - obviously - but the portrait in the PM’s office alerted the Accidents and Catastrophes lot just before they could cart him off to see one of their - oh bollocks, what do they call them? Y’know - the healers for the mind?’

‘Sike-trists,’ says Kingsley.

‘That’s the word I was looking for!’ she squeals, waving her fork in his direction with transparent glee. ‘I was going to say “suck-tits”, but I knew that wasn’t right…’

Kingsley chuckles. Moony chokes on his beer.

And Tonks stares at him, her dark eyes - Bella’s eyes; his mother’s eyes - gleaming, the dancing flames from the fireplace reflected within them. She looks thrilled, triumphant. Like making Moony shed his stiffness - the meek and restrained act he’s been perfecting since he was eleven - and reveal himself to be capable of spontaneity, of looking dishevelled and coming undone, was her goal.

Moony blushes. Tonks waggles her eyebrows extravagantly at him and then collapses into giggles.

(Sirius wonders what Andy would say. There’s no way she hasn’t warned her daughter to beware the hungry glint which lurks in wolfish eyes, betraying the monster which coils beneath an affable, moderate veneer, ready to strike. After all, she’d seen a similar heart-shaped face staring rapt and worshipping.)

‘It’s no laughing matter, Tonks,’ says Arthur, sternly, gamely diving into the fire which seems to have sprung up around her and Moony. ‘We’re very lucky that Herbert Chorley had a bad reaction to the Imperius Curse… If it had taken, the Prime Minister would be dead.’

Tonks doesn’t look remotely chagrined.

(Sirius wonders if Andy would say that passion’s flame - no matter how dangerous; no matter how quickly it burns itself out - is better than the alternative. He remembers his mother and father, drifting past each other on the stairs like ships in the night. He remembers Bella sitting awkwardly beside her new husband at her wedding breakfast, and how he and Reg had spent the next seven years - until he’d fled, for Godric’s Hollow and its fields of golden wheat - convinced that Rodolphus was genuinely incapable of smiling.)

But Kingsley is possessed by the spirit of irritation at government incompetence which all civil servants must indulge. ‘The worst thing is,’ he spits, ‘we didn’t have a fucking clue the Prime Minister was at risk until this Imperius was buggered up. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to anyone that they might not confine their attacks on Muggles to this shit with the giants… Scrimgeour told me that I’m going to be the first ever liaison we’ve had in the Muggle government. The fucking first! Voldemort probably has dozens!’

‘Why would he bother with all that, though?’ asks Tonks, still shovelling food into her mouth. ‘He wouldn’t get any credit for offing the PM. The Muggles would just blame it on their own terrorists.’

‘Exactly,’ says Arthur. ‘The Muggles would blame their own terrorists, which would give You-Know-Who the cover to keep attacking them on the pretence that the terror threat was escalating, which would involve him doing more and more magic in plain sight, which would keep the Ministry busy scrambling to cover everything up.’

‘And it hurts the Ministry’s standing with the Muggles,’ says Kingsley. ‘The relationship between the Minister and the PM is sold to them on the basis that we don’t affect their affairs in any way. We’re on thin ice with them as it is - the PM took a lot of shit about rising crime rates in February, after the breakout from Azkaban; it’s hit his polling hard - and I guarantee Voldemort knows it. It’s why he’s going after Muggle targets in the way he is. If the PM stops talking to the Minister, because he’s pissed off that he’s having to look unpopular for things which are our fault, then the Death Eaters have a clear run at creating chaos in the Muggle world.’ He picks up his fork again, jabs it with an irritated stab into a piece of pasta. ‘D’you remember in the last war, Arthur, that massacre in Belfast -’

‘- where he had all the Death Eaters dress up like Muggle soldiers. Of course I do. The Prime Minister was furious. There were genuinely worries he was going to renege on the terms of the Statute of Secrecy. We were working overtime for months to sort it all out.’

‘It killed Eugenia Jenkins’ career.’

‘I remember that Mad-Eye used to be convinced that it was Voldemort who got Mountbatten,’ says Moony, his gaze still fixed on Tonks.

‘I’m pretty sure Mad-Eye’s still convinced of that,’ mutters Kingsley.

‘Yeah,’ says Tonks, with a roll of her eyes, ‘but since Mad-Eye’s also convinced that You-Know-Who stopped the Kestrels winning the league in ‘79, I take everything he says with a pinch of salt.’

Everyone laughs, dragged back to levity by her refusal to take anything too seriously. She’s basking in it - their adulation - being cocky and cheeky, so sure that nothing truly evil hides in the lengthening shadows on the other side of the walls that they can almost believe she might be onto something, and let themselves forget the slog which grinds them down and makes exhausted bodies - horses fit for the knacker’s yard - out of young men.

She doesn’t realise that her swagger makes her susceptible, Sirius thinks. She hasn’t noticed that her eyes are glassy with something which could be fever, as she watches Moony watching her, neither of them pretending he isn’t. Sirius has never seen him so overt in his desire, so unwilling to merely pine from afar.

He wonders if something lupine in him has caught the scent of easy prey.

She takes a swig of beer, lips lingering for just a little longer than necessary around the bottle-top when she draws it away.

‘Scrimgeour’s putting liaisons everywhere,’ she says. ‘Ankunda’s going to be guarding Tony Blair. I asked if I could get the gig protecting Princess Diana.’

‘And did you?’ Moony asks. A purr has come into his voice, something low and sultry, like the embers of a fire.

Tonks chuckles. ‘Nah. Scrimgeour thinks that it wouldn’t do to have me pictured near her.’ She gestures at her hair. ‘Says it might ruin her mystique… It’s gone to Savage. He reckons he’s going to have a crack at her.’

‘Poor woman.’

‘Oh, I dunno.’ She winks at him. ‘She’s done worse.’

[tobiasdrake]

Dragon Ball Daima 01x07 - Collar

Well, that's an episode title. Guess it's time to talk about that collar that Third Worlders have to wear.

...hehe...

...hehehehehehe....

...a lot of time, you say?

<.< >.> There's a room for that. Right here in this temple. Room meant for just such a scenario as this.

It's a perfect solution. Take the ship into the Room of Spirit and Time! Bulma can go in there, immediately implode from the intense atmosphere pressure, and then this is all-a y'all's problem now, fuckos. Wish me back when it's done.

Don't worry, Bulma. This feels primed to become important to the story later down the road, after we've been to Daimakai once and conveniently picked up the missing element.

It could just have been a goose chase to give these characters something to do while waiting for their turn at the plot, but I'm going to give it the benefit of doubt and assume the ship's been set up as a Chekhov's Gun.

At some point we'll be back here like "But we need to get back to Daimakai! How do we do that? Oh, I brought this neat rock back with us...."

The way Vegeta takes one step to the side as he turns, with audible footstep as the only sound that breaks the silence. Moving positions specifically to shield Bulma from whatever fresh Hell this is.

He only has one job around here but he is going to fucking do it.

Bulma: If I had a nickel for every time a Majin conveniently showed up right here in a spaceship to take us to King Kadan while I was working on this ship, I'd have two nickels....

WHO'S READY FOR ANOTHER EXCITING ROUND OF DEBATES ABOUT GOKU'S FATHERHOOD LET'S GO

What. XD Why isn't Popo looking after the temple? When did it suddenly become Kibito's job to do housekeeping for terrestrial deity Dende?

Did Popo pull "Pecking Order" the second Kibito was left alone with him for the first time?

Daima is going so hard to assure the audience that it remembers all of Goku's abilities. Trafficking him through a surprise inspection by remembering that he can just fucking teleport. XD

While also once again marking itself as not existing in continuity with Super. "Goku can't sense God Ki" is not a thing in this series.

It's funny that, despite the clever scheme to avoid suspicion, we end up having to beat up the soldiers anyway. Sometimes plans go awry. That's just how it is.

And the worst-case scenario happens!

STOP. WRECKING. THEIR. PLANES.

GUYS. GUYS.

WE SHOULD STEAL ONE OF THOSE.

GOKU YOU CAN TELEPORT

WE LITERALLY JUST WENT OVER THAT YOU CAN TELEPORT

TELEPORT ONTO THE PLANE AND CLEAR IT OUT SO WE CAN HAVE IT FOR OURSELVES

no

okay

BUT NOT FOR LACK OF TRYING

Incidentally, "Gendarmerie" is a weird way for the subtitles to translate 憲兵 kenpei. It means "Military Police". Gendarmerie isn't incorrect, but it is a weird French word that nobody says so I'm not sure how many native English speakers even know what that means.

Like. Imperial Stormtroopers are a Gendarmerie. But if you said "You know the gendarmerie from Star Wars?" nobody would have any idea what you're talking about. What the fuck is a gendarmerie?

I'm pretty sure this happened because if you stick 憲兵隊 kenpeitai or "Military Police Squad" into Google Translate it comes out:

Thanks, Google. That's French, but sure.

That is probably not what they're going to be called in the dub.

You know, I was wondering about that. If you put an indestructible collar on an infant it's going to strangle them eventually. The size has to be adjustable in some way or another or else the logistics just don't work out.

I'm glad they didn't drag the collar drama out too much. Panzy had it for just long enough to establish what it is and explain how much it fucking sucks, and now it's gone.

KAIOSHIN OFFICIALLY HAS A REAL NAME

Bootleg Bulma has a Bootleg Dragon Radar. She uses it for something else but still. The audacity. They aren't even trying to hide that she's derivative.

Okay he says that, and I'm sure Goku will abide by it because Goku's an athlete first and foremost. He's in it for love of the game. He wouldn't have it any other way than a 1v1 match.

But. Like.

What actually enforces that? That's a weird thing to have as a rule. The way this works is there's a big scary robot man with a Dragon Ball in its chest, and you have to defeat the robot man to get the Dragon Ball, right?

What's to stop three guys from jumping the Tamagami, beating the shit out of it, and taking the Dragon Ball? I mean, if they can win that, then... I mean, a win's a win. You're beaten to a bloody pulp; You aren't exactly in a position to contest the victory.

What stops "cheaters" from taking the Dragon Ball? Will the Tamagami file a formal complaint with the Wish Dragon Committee?

I dunno. I get the concept of "There are these insanely powerful warriors who are so OP that no one has ever matched them, and they guard the Plot Tokens." What I don't get is how there would be traditional Rules of Engagement for challenging such entities, or why anyone not named Son Goku would abide by them.

I love how Panzy's scarf initially disguised the fact that she was wearing a collar, and now it disguises the fact that she isn't.

Oh, this is definitely related to Glorio.

Some of the lines in the subs have this weird conversion artifacting that you'd expect to see from poorly encoded fansubs but not in an official product. Between that and the Google Translating I caught them doing, I have concerns.

It's fun when characters use powerful characters as yardsticks without realizing that our protagonists surpassed them a while ago. Remember that time Kaioshin tried to convey how strong he was to the Super Saiyans by comparing himself to Frieza? Same energy. XD

Dabra's a more relevant yardstick than Frieza was at that time. But still, what Panzy doesn't know is that the only one of the Saiyans Dabra was a threat to was Gohan, and only because he was out-of-practice.

I was not prepared for these things to have personalities and I am so, so happy that they do.

This is gonna be fun.

Ahh, what a fun episode. This one kept things moving and never felt dull. We learned some interesting new details about the characters. Panzy got her collar off. And now Goku's going to fight his first Tamagami. Looking forward to the next.

Also Team Bulma is finally in Daimakai. I wonder when they'll catch up to Team Goku? It'd be kinda funny if they just remained in pursuit for the entire series. XD

[queer-scots-geordie-dyke]

I talk about Mira a lot, and I’m doing so again 🤷🏻‍♀️

She was a beautiful woman, and a powerful and talented actor and writer, no doubt, but much more importantly, I feel, she was also a woman of vast and deep integrity - she fought against injustice and nationalism/racism all of her life and her principled and public stance against the war and ethnic divisions in Yugoslavia cost her dearly and yet, it was a position she never ever moved away from and believed in profoundly. It is very easy to have principles when they are not being tested, and another thing entirely to stake your very life on those principles.

Even when her stance cost her her home, her career, and her friendships, and the enormous amount of threats against her life forced her to leave her country, she never once backed down from her belief in unity and cooperation.

The anti war essay she wrote and published as she fled is still one of the most powerful pieces of writing I’ve ever read and I am going to post it here in its entirety because it is fierce and amazing:

Letter to my co-citizens

I hereby wish to thank my co-citizens who have joined so unreservedly in this small, marginal, and apparently not particularly significant campaign against me. Although marginal, it will change and mark my whole life. Which is, of course, totally irrelevant in the context of the death, destruction, devastation, and blood-chilling crimes within which our life now goes on.

This is happening, however, to the one and only life I have. It seems that I’ve been chosen for some reason to be the filthy rag everyone uses to wipe the mud off their shoes. I am far too desperate to embark on a series of public polemics in the papers. I do, however, feel that I owe myself and my city at least a few words. Like at the end of some clumsy, painful love story, when you keep wanting, wrongly, to explain something more, even though you know at the bottom of your heart that words are wasted; there is no one left to hear them. It is over.

Listening to my answering machine, to the incredible quantities of indescribably disgusting messages from my co-citizens, I longed to hear at least one message from a friend. Or not even a friend, a mere acquaintance, a colleague. But there was none. Not a single familiar voice, not a single friend. Nevertheless, I am grateful to them, to those noble patriots who kindly promise me a “massacre the Serbian way”; and to those colleagues, friends, and acquaintances who, by remaining silent, are letting me know that I cannot count on them any more.

I am grateful also to all my colleagues in the theatre with whom I played Drzic, Moliere, Turgenev, and Shaw, I am grateful to them for their silence, I am grateful to them for not even trying to understand, let alone attempting to vindicate, my statement concerning my appearance at the BITEF Festival in Belgrade, the statement in which I tried to explain that taking part in that production at that moment was for me a defense of our profession which must not and cannot put itself in the service of any political or national ideas, which must not and cannot be bound by political or national limits because it is simply against its nature, which must, even at the worst of times, establish bridges and ties. In its very essence it is a vocation which knows no boundaries.

I know that all this talk about the cosmopolitanism of art seems inappropriate at a moment like this. I know that it may seem out of place to swear to pacifism, to swear to love and to the brotherhood of all peoples while people are dying, while children are dying, while young men are returning home crippled and mangled forever.

How can I say anything which won’t sound like an ill-fitted nonsense at the moment when, for absolutely unfathomable reasons, Dubrovnik is being threatened, the city where I played my favorite role, Gloria?

But I have no other way of thinking. I cannot accept war as the only solution, I cannot force myself to hate, I cannot believe that weapons, killing, revenge, hatred, that such an accumulation of evil will ever solve anything. Each individual who personally accepts the war is in fact an accessory to the crime; must he not then take a part of the guilt for the war, a part of the responsibility?

In any case, I think, I know and I feel that it is my duty, the duty of our profession, to build bridges. To never give up on cooperation and community. Not the national community. The professional community.

The human community. And even when things are at their very worst, as they are now, we must insist to our last breath on building and sustaining bonds between people. This is how we pledge to the future.

And one day it will come. For my part, until recently I was willing to endure all manner of problems in transportation, communication, and finances to trek the 20 hours across Austria and Hungary between Zagreb and Belgrade. I was willing to use risky, even dangerous modes of travel, just to keep holding my performances in the two warring cities, to appear at precisely 7:30 on stage with my Zagreb or Belgrade colleagues and to alternate Corneille and Turgenev for the sake of professional continuity, for the sake of something that would outlive this war and this hatred which is so foreign to me. Time and time again I was willing to make my life a symbol of a pledge to the future which must be waiting for us, until that day when some ardent patriot finally does slaughter me as so many have promised to do.

I was willing and I would still be willing to undertake all and any efforts, if the hatred hadn’t suddenly overwhelmed me with its horrendous ferocity, hatred welling from the city I was born in. I am appalled by the force and magnitude of that hatred, by its perfect unanimity, by the fact that there was absolutely nobody who could see my gesture as my defense of the integrity of the profession, as my attempt to defend at least one excellent theatre performance. I had no intention of acting further in performances outside the BITEF Festival, as I stated in my letter. BITEF as an international theatre event attended by the English, Russians, French, Belgians, and even one Slovene seemed to me worth participating in, especially because any decision not to participate would have meant betraying a performance I had worked on under the most difficult circumstances during the March 9th Belgrade tanks, daily threats of a military coup, etc., etc.

It is terribly sad when one is forced to justification without having done anything wrong. There is nothing but despair, nausea, and horror.

I no longer have any decisions to make. Others have decided for me.

They have decided I must shut up, give up, vanish; they have abolished my right to do my job the way I feel it should be done, they have abolished my right to come home to my own city, they have abolished my right to return to my theatre and act in my performances. Someone decided that I should be fired from my job. Thank you, Croatian National Theatre; thank you, my colleague Dragan Milivojevic, who signed my dismissal slip. I know that lots of people are losing jobs, that I am just one of many, simply part of a surplus work force. I constantly ask myself whether I have any right, at this moment of communal horror, to make any demands of my own. One thing seems certain: I plan for quite some time (how long?) not to perform on any stage in this crumbling, mangled land. Perhaps they needn’t have hurried so in firing me. Perhaps this would have simply taken care of itself. With more decency. And dignity. Not so crudely. Of course, this is not a moment for tenderness. But won’t someone out there have to be ashamed of this? And will this someone necessarily be me, as my fellow actors try to convince me in their orthodox interviews? Can the horror of war be used as a justification for every single nasty bit of filth we commit against our fellow man? Are we allowed to remain silent in the face of injustice done to a friend or a colleague and justify our silence by the importance of the great bright national objective? I ask my friends in Zagreb, who are now silent, while at the same time they condemn Belgrade for its silence.

It is hard to write without bitterness. I would like to be able to do that, because we should “Love Our Enemy.” I wish we all could. Herein perhaps lies the solution for all of us. But I fear that we are very far from the ways of the Lord. His is the way of love. Not hatred.

To whom am I addressing this letter? Who will read it? Who will even care to read it? Everyone is so caught up by the great cause that small personal fates are not important any more. How many friends do you have to betray to keep from committing the only socially acknowledged betrayal, the betrayal of the nation? How many petty treacheries, how many pathetic little dirty tricks must one do to remain “clean in the eyes of the nation?”

I am sorry, my system of values is different. For me there have always existed, and always will exist, only human beings, individual people, and those human beings (God, how few of them there are !) will always be excepted from generalizations of any kind, regardless of events, however catastrophic. I, unfortunately, shall never be able to “hate all Serbs,” nor even understand what that really means. I shall always, perhaps until the moment the kind threats on the phone are finally carried out, hold my hand out to an anonymous person on the “other side,” a person who is as desperate and lost as I am, who is as sad, bewildered, and frightened. There are such people in this city where I write my letter, the city my love took me to, a feeling it seems almost indecent to mention these days. Nothing can provide an excuse any more, everything that does not directly serve the great objective has been trampled upon and appears despicable, and with it what love, what marriage, what friendship, what theatre performances!

I reject, I refuse to accept such a crippling of myself and my own life. I played those last performances in Belgrade for those anguished people who were not “Serbs”; but human beings, human beings like me, human beings who recoil before this monstrous Grand Guignol farce in which dead heads are flying. It is to these people, both here and there, that I am addressing my words. Perhaps someone will hear me.

The punishment meted me by my city, my only city and my theatre, my only theatre, the only theatre I felt was mine, is a punishment I feel I do not deserve. I was working in the way I have always felt I had to work, believing in people and our vocation which is supposed to bring people together, not tear them apart. I will never “give up my Belgrade friends”; as some of my colleagues have, because I do not feel that these friends have in any way brought about this catastrophe which has afflicted us, just as I will not turn my back on my Zagreb friends, not even those who have turned their backs on me. I will try in every way possible to understand their panic, their fear, their bitterness, even their hatred, but I plead for the same dose of understanding for me, that is, for a story which is different than many others, for a life which has deviated, due to the so-called destiny, from the expected and customary. Why must everything be the same, so frighteningly uniform, leveled, standardized? Haven’t we had enough of that? I know this is the time of uniforms and they are all the same, but I am no soldier and cannot be one. I haven’t got it in me to be a soldier, soldiering just isn’t my calling.

Regardless of whether we will be living in one, or five, or fifty states, let us not forget the people, each individual, regardless of which side of this Wall of ours the person happens to be on. We were born here by accident, we are this or that by accident, so there must be more than that, mustn’t there?

I am sending this letter into a void, into darkness, without an inkling of who will read it and how, or in how many different ways it will be misused or abused. Chances are it will serve as food for the eternally hungry propaganda beast. Perhaps someone with a pure heart will read it after all.

I will be grateful to that someone.

Mira Furlan,

From Belgrade and Zagreb, November 1, 1991.

[brevityisnotmywit]

Soldiers Of The Fall Series (RvB)

General Warnings: Locington, Angst

3 Fics

WAR

CW: Nightmares, Coping,

The first note is discovered when Locus is going through his current alias’ mailbox. The paper isn’t crisp, but there’s a clear exactness to the way it’s folded over itself. The same can be said of the cryptic contents within.

[‘Do you remember standing on a broken field

White crippled wings beating the sky

The harbingers of war with their nature revealed

And our chances flowing by’]

-We need to talk.

The writing is, at a glance, flawless. When Locus looks more closely, there’s a delicate tremble running throughout the pen strokes. The only thing that’s clear cut is that the bulk of it is made up of song lyrics. Probably some locals pulling a prank. A small part of him wants to save the letter, for some reason.

Locus elects to burn it instead.

---

He’s on another Earth-controlled planet when the datapad is slipped to him. The man hardly gets anything at this place, so he’s not ‘blown away’ when the text flickers to life. Unprepared, yes. Awestruck, no.  

[‘If I can let the memory heal

I will remember you with me on that field

When I thought that I fought this war alone

You were there by my side on the frontline

When I thought that I fought without a cause

You gave me a reason to try ’]

-Not as hard to track as you think you are.

Well, if they found Locus predictable, they were going to learn just how elusive he could really be if he put his mind to it. The ex-mercenary leaves everything but his armor and vanishes into the night.

---

Locus has come to the understanding that his enigmatic letter writer is equally equipped to roam the universe as he himself is. The song gradually winds its was towards its end, be it on paper, digital media, or in one instance a singing-telegram service. (The poor sap almost pissed himself when Locus came to the door.)

If he can’t put a stop to it, Locus might as well put forth some effort in deciphering the meaning of it all.

While it was simple to find the song that contained the lyrics, Locus is doubtful it will help him in the long run. He’d started to pick up on a trend running through the whole debacle. Locus pulls out a pen, noting the underlined words and which notes they belonged to.

1st) WORDS- Remember, Crippled, Nature revealed, chances. NOTE- We need to talk.

2nd) WORDS- Memory, Will remember, Thought, Frontline, Thought, Try. NOTE- Not as hard to track as you think you are.

3rd) WORDS- Something new, Torn, Stunted view, Dogs, Memory heal, Remember. No note, just an outdated map of North America.

4th) SINGER- Kid handed me the directions he was given. WORDS- Thought, Alone, My side, Impossible, War, Without, Reason why. NOTE- Having a good trip through the stars?

Then the fifth arrived on a flashdrive. It was a clip of the rest of the song set to footage of Chorus. The words were superimposed over top of the video, underlines still present as in all before it.

[‘With no-one wearing their real face

It's a whiteout of emotion

And I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall

When the love in letters fade

It's like moving in slow motion

And we're already too late if we arrive at all

And then we're caught up in the arms race

An involuntary addiction

And we're shedding every value our mothers taught-]

Suddenly the video shifts to the footage of Felix monologuing to the-...no. There’s no way they could have pulled this off...could they?

[‘-So will you please show me your real face -]

Then it shows a scan of the North American map he’d been given. As the last of the words flash by, it slowly zooms in. By the time it stops, Locus feels like a fool for not connecting the dots sooner.

[-Draw the line in the horizon

Cos I only need your name to call the reasons why I fought.’]

The ending goes unheeded by Locus because the map is centered on Washington State. The theme of emphasizing terms relating to thought and memory all makes sense now. As if he was unsure if Locus had finally come to the solution himself, an all too familiar steel and yellow gauntlet slides a datapad into the feed of the map with clear coordinates. Below is a final, rather slyly worded note.

-Memory is the Key, Locus. Don’t keep making me wait.

---

When Locus approaches the rendezvous spot, he notices that someone (Presumably Washington.) had taken great care in selecting the site. It wasn’t in the middle of a field where snipers like himself would feel on edge. Yet, it isn’t caged in by the region's well-known mountain ranges. It was a fairly young forest, with trees unsuitable for gunners to take as vantage points.

Leave it to ever paranoid Washington to be sure he had at least some form of advantage, regardless of however minor it may be. Anything to compensate for that perceived lack of skill.

Speaking of the agent, Locus hears a shrill whistle and whips around. Washington is beckoning the cloaked man over, seemingly uncaring if it looked like he was waving at thin air to anyone who didn’t know better.

Locus hesitates before dropping his invisibility and it takes a shamefully large amount of restraint to suppress a childish pout. “I am unsure why I even bother at this point, if you just continue to spot me.”

"Can't be sure myself. " Washington’s voice sounds rough, like the bad end of a faulty transmission. It couldn’t just be the helmet to blame, not when Locus had witnessed the crimson spraying from the agent’s throat first hand.

Locus was pushing A’rynasea as fast as it could manage with one hand. The other was occupied with trying to keep pressure on Washington’s wounds. The agent lets out a wet sounding whine, struggling to move. Before Locus can push him back down, he makes out the man trying to speak.

“Mn? Mhn?” There’s not much beyond that, as the hospital looms ever closer in Locus’ line of sight

-

Locus hid, unseen by the staff and listened to what the doctor was going to report to the Reds and Blues.

“So he’s getting the hang of that new vocalizer I whipped up for him, now that he’s coming around from the anesthesia. Hey, Parker, did you catch the one that dropped him here?”

The medi-vac pilot glances at her like this was a frankly silly thing to ask, and shakes his head.

“Well that sure is a shame, huh? He keeps asking for us to go find Maine and wants to know what the deal with his new armor is!”

Locus freezes.

“Buuuut, he’s also having an ‘Autotune fight with the Autobots’ in his words, so it’s probably nothing!”

“Hey, Earth to Locus? You went all quiet. Not even your broody kind, either.” Washington has moved right up to the edges of Locus’ massive personal space bubble.

The former mercenary clears his throat, still coming off a touch sheepish. “My apologies, Agent Washington-”

“You know it’s okay to use Wash, right?”

Locus huffs a bit, looking off into the forest. “Why are we here?”

“Because you saved me.” The freelancer leans on a tree trunk, visor not hiding how he intensely watched Locus’ every move. “I’d like a chance to say thanks.”

“You tailed me across the cosmos to say that?”

Washington laughs like a worn down toy’s voice box. (Likely because he now spoke with one.) It wasn’t like the old footage Locus had snatched from the PFL servers. Before he would laugh in this breathy way that sounded like sunshine felt. Locus tries to shake that comparison from his mind, frowning.

“Of course I didn’t. You forgot to yank the standard issue GPS out of that new helmet of yours. Simmons gave me a hand in tracking it. I’d send you something once you stayed put for more than a month.”

“Fuck.” Locus hissed to himself. He was getting lazy now that Fel-...hmph.

Washington shrugs. “I’ve also got an offer for you.”

Locus waves in a ‘well don’t let me stop you.’ way.

“I’ve got a place you can use. I don’t stay there, so I want you to have it.” The agent kicks over a rock at his feet.

Locus scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t need your charity. I’m not poor by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Did I call you poor?” the older man challenges. “I’d feel better knowing you’re nearby.”

The ex-mercenary sighs, turning on his heel. “Is that all, Agent Washington?”

“For now. Here.” Washington chucks a ring of keys to Locus. “I know you have my contact info, so keep in touch, yeah?”

“We will see. Goodbye, Agent.”

“See you soon.”

---

Locus found the cabin convenient. He had no other reasons for why he stayed as often as he did. (He had many reasons.) It was well stocked with dry firewood, electricity, and a spacious kitchen to make it comfortable for extended use. The first time Locus wandered into the house, he was taken aback that the fridge was brimming with his favored foods.

Locus likes to think he’s not a fool. He’s mulling over the discovery in his mind when he hears the distinctive crunch of tires on snow. In an instant, he’s cloaked and slinks out the back.

There’s a beat up SUV out front and it doesn’t take a sniper's eye to spot Washington in civilian clothes sliding out of the cab. Locus silently stalks around so Washington is sandwiched between himself and his cabin. Locus knows better. Locus knows the agent is too aware of his surroundings, but still he reaches out for the freelancer’s throat as he checks his phone.

Just before he can make contact, “Evening, Loc’s.”

Locus goes still on the snowy drive. Silence reigns for many long moments. “Why are you doing this.”

Washington glances over his shoulder at the invisible sniper. “Because I’ve been there, Locus.”

“Not your problem.”

There’s a scoff, wispy clouds escaping Washington’s teeth. “I don’t care. You need someone on your side. I know I did.”

That gives Locus pause. His silhouette shimmers before fading into nothing. With some thought, he settles he hand hovering near Washington’s chin onto his shoulder. This soldier was watching out for him, the sheep standing guard over the sleeping wolf.

Locus finds the attention is not unwelcome.

---

Washington turns up a few weeks later, one small bag at his side. “I just need some time off from the Reds and Blues. Let me go set up the futon, can you get the fire going? A storm’s rolling in sometime tonight.”

Locus nods quietly, trying to stamp out the panic bubbling up into his throat. ‘Washington isn’t going to care about seeing your face.’ He scolds himself. ‘You get to see his face, it’s only fair.’

There’s a pathetic, rusty shriek of hinges when Washington pulls at the frame of the longer of the two couches. After a minor struggle, it gives up, flopping open  The freelancer rasps out a chuckle. “Y’know, this is the only thing I have from before I enlisted. Kept it in a storage unit we all shared during PFL.” Something shifts in his tone so subtly it almost went over Locus’ head. “Everything here used to be in it. I couldn’t stand to see it rotting away in there.”

Locus glances around with a deeper understanding, and things make a bit more sense. “Are you willing to elaborate?” He asks while striking a match to set the tinder alight.

The futon creaks loudly when Washington sits on it. “Yeah, I can. The stuff in the kitchen came from pretty much everyone outside of Tex. Even the freelancers the Director didn’t give a shit about, Like West and Indi’s crew. The table was C.T.’s that’s why it’s covered up. She used to stab the shit out of it when she was learning knife skills. The butcher block is hers too, but she took good care of it for obvious reasons. The bed’s Carolina’s, didn’t even remember we had that unit when I asked to go get everything from it.” The older man smiles softly, staring up at the ceiling.

“York had the barstools, the chairs at the table were Wyoming’s. Florida had the other couch, and a few of the quilts. The deck chairs were from Illinois. North had a couple bookshelves. South had the footlockers and the old ass TV.” Washington's voice wavers, going faint. “...Maine had the rest of the blankets and the dressers.”

Locus resolutely focuses on arranging the logs, watching how the sparks swirl throughout the hearth.

“You look like him…” is whispered, as if the freelancer is scared to admit to it. “...but your skin is darker, less scars, more hair. Your eyes, they’re the biggest difference. His were like those little bits of amber they sell at museums.” Washington's voice trembles. “Sorry…”

Locus shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s quite apparent he meant a great deal to you, so I consider it a compliment.” He sneaks a glance over his shoulder.

Washington has thrown an arm over his eyes, but the corners of his mouth draw up into a wistful smile. “That’s what I was going for with it.”

The fire pops, and the conversation ends.

---

Locus is startled awake by a panicked, broken scream. When he throws open the door, pistol in hand, he sees Washington arching off the futon, fingers clawing at the back of his neck.

“Agent Washington.” The ex-mercenary tries, stalking over to the freelancer. “Agent Washington!”

The noises that tumble from Washington can’t be classified as words. In the dark of night, it’s all too clear how lasting the damage had been. Locus can’t let this continue, lest Washington lose what little recovery he had. The man strides forward, grabbing an arm as it swings out without a thought.

Washington’s eyes fly open, still foggy with sleep. He expertly breaks Locus’ grip before twisting the younger man’s arm violently.

On reflex, Locus jerks away, thankful that Washington didn’t have the leverage or brute strength to snap his wrist. “ Wash! ”

The freelancer stills, blinking up at him in confusion. “Who?” He sounds even more off than before.

“You. I was speaking to you.”

“Use my name then, dipshit. You the new rookie, or something? Name’s Church, so get it right next time.” Washington scowls at him in a way that is very unlike himself.

Locus wished he was less understanding of what was going on, but the freelancer wasn’t the only one with wicked night terrors. In that mindset, anyone could lose themselves. The key difference was that Locus didn’t have someone else's memories to sift through. Maybe he could help somehow.

“No, I’m not a new recruit, and your name is not Church. You go by Washington. You are in your cabin in the middle of a snow storm.” Locus is treading carefully, wary of how the older man would react.

Washington just searches him with a haughty air of suspicion. “I’m just expected to buy into that?”

On a hunch, Locus points to the mirror hanging behind the living room. “Look at yourself, if you don’t.”

Washington tsk’s, lazily throwing a look over his shoulder, then double takes. “I-what the fuck?” Then he looks at his hands, flexing them many times, like they’re a puzzle in need of solving. Eventually, Locus can see the haze dissipate from his eyes. Once more he searches Locus for something only Washington knows.

“I had a nightmare, didn’t I?”

Locus nods, stopping Washington, predicting his reaction. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m glad I could help out.”

In the dark cabin, Washington looks so very small. His eyes are watery, catching the barest hints of light. “...Will you stay with me?”

There’s not even a fraction of hesitation before Locus says, “Of course.” He sits carefully at the edge of the futon, not expecting a trembling hand to close around his arm.

“Thank you.”

Sharing a bed with Washington is so fundamentally different from sharing a bed with Felix, it gives Locus emotional whiplash. Felix usually needled him relentlessly, only stopping when he had what he wanted from Locus. (Sex, usually.) When he eventually did sleep, Felix as always jabbing with an elbow or a knee, all points and hard edges.

Washington allowed Locus the space he always craved. All he seemed to require was to hold onto Locus’ hand until he fell back to sleep. That was some how intensely more intimate than anything Felix had ever done to Locus. Maybe it was that Washington let Locus decide for himself. It bothered Locus too much to think about it.

---

Locus learned many things from the year that followed.

Locus always felt the cabin was too big when Wash wasn’t visiting.

Wash showed up every other Sunday with fresh food.

Locus worried more than he should about Wash’s safety.

Wash had a caffeine problem.

Locus had adjusted to civilian life better than Felix said he could.

Wash liked to sit on the same couch as Locus, but didn’t touch without his permission.

Locus liked how Wash curled against his side when he did give permission.

Wash wanted to help him get better, but allowed Locus to decide if he was alright with going to a therapist.

Locus realized he might have gotten in too deep when he stopped calling Wash ‘Agent Washington’ in his head.

Wash liked Locus for the ways he wasn’t Maine, rather than liking him for the ways they were the same.

Locus liked Wash. He liked him quite a lot.

CHILDREN OF THE SUN

To say Locus was apprehensive about meeting the Reds and Blues was technically accurate. Accurate in the same way that a rocket could be called a big firecracker. There was a reason the ex-mercenary left after making certain that Wash was safe. He wasn't a foolish man by any means. After the clusterfuck of Chorus he had no intentions of ever contacting them. Life had other ideas, clearly.

Locus isn't sure why his ship started malfunctioning when it had, but it led him to Grif babbling like a lunatic to a set of sports equipment painted in a childish manner. When they'd taken off, the endless stream of questions about Locus’ intentionally secretive life began. Things the man never wanted to think about again under normal circumstances.

They meet at a coffee house that is a favorite haunt of Wash. He'd cashed in a favor and after it had officially closed for the night, the Reds and Blues were huddled inside to avoid the brutal January weather. Outside, Locus can see them from the window, able to mostly guess on their identities. Sarge was fairly obvious with his bright red polo and buzzcut. The tall one with thick, messy curls must be Caboose. Simmons arm gave him away, despite the long-sleeved sweater doing it's damndest to hide the well oiled chrome, though the long braid trailing over his shoulder was a surprise. Tucker was the one who tried to spend as little time as possible in his armor, so Locus was quite familiar with his cropped hair and dimples. Carolina was almost exactly how she had been in Freelancer. Shorter hair, but still red as fire. Grif was snoring away on a couch, with who Locus thinks must be the medic and some fellow in a pink parka.

He's startled from the old habit of memorising people's faces by a hand slipping into his. Wash glances up at Locus with one of those tired, lopsided smiles he seems prone to.

“C’mon. Let's get this done.” The older man inclines his head to the door, gently tugging Locus along.

The door chimes when Wash opens it and everyone's attention is on the pair in an instant. Locus’ lingering doubts snap at him. Mentally he chides himself, “ You agreed to this. You promised no armor, remember? Wash is right there, you’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck , why is Locus a trashy romance novel beefcake?!” Tucker balks, nearly spilling his drink over the table.

The room erupts in a mix of cackling and irritated demands for silence. Locus clutches Wash’s hand firmly, his desire to remain hidden growing into a nigh unbearable need. A sharp whistle slices neatly through the din.

“All of you shut up and pay attention.” Wash rasps irritably. “Locus isn't here for you to gawk at. You asked to meet him, so get on with it.” The Freelancer's calloused fingers tighten around Locus’ palm. At some point he had placed himself between the ex-mercenary and his comrades.

The sheep diligently watches over the wolf.

“Fine-” Tucker sniffs dismissively. “-how about what the hell were you thinking, running off like that?”

“I don’t-” Locus tries before Sarge snappily adds on.

“It ain't rocket science, kid. Y’ could’a stuck around fer a few days, at least. Hell, what if we needed yer help with Susie Spec’ Ops’ over there?” He grumbles, nodding to Wash.

The man in question looks offended, opening his mouth to interject when Caboose cuts him off.

“Oh oh! Can I also have another hug??”

Everyone throws dirty looks at the Blue trooper.

“So Tucker can call him a book but I don't get a nice hug?” Caboose pouts dramatically.

They drop the subject. Grif rolls over, unkempt hair flopping into his eyes. “Sup Locs. Sorry I went nuts on you before... actually I'm not, but whatever.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You probably do owe Simmons a 'good job’ since he helped Wash track your dumb ass.”

Locus glances over at Simmons, finding he isn't the only one who wasn't thrilled with the whole situation. The thin soldier wrings the tail end of his braid, practically jumping out of his skin at the mention of his name.

“I-It was no big deal, don't worry about it!” He stammers rapidly, shoulders hunching, giving the impression that he was sinking back into his turtleneck.

“It was a big deal, nerd!” Grif retorts, pushing away from the lumpy overstuffed sofa, arms folded across his chest. “You kept bitching about how it was gonna be a pain with our old tech!”

Before another squabble can break out, Wash lets go of Locus’ hand to intervene. There’s a clear exhaustion threaded along the bow of his spine. He’s holding his arms out, glaring at both of them. “Don’t start. I need everyone to cool it.” The Freelancer drags his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Let Locus get a word in too. This isn’t an intervention, it’s a conversation.”

The medic pipes up from the far end of the sofa. “This is pretty normal for us, remember?”

“Of course he remembers, what a stupid question.” Locus thinks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He’d grown used to Wash’s personality when it was just the two of them in that cabin. He wasn’t like the overly intense facade Locus had observed in the limited recordings of his time chasing the Meta. Not the intimidating soldier that had been sent after Epsilon, or the (admittedly lovable) goofball from the Freelancer era. He was quiet but shouted at the appliances when they didn’t work well. (The oven had been the target of many rants.) He didn’t sleep well but would pass out on Locus’ lap when they occasionally watched movies. He made dry-jokes, chuckling to himself quietly. He certainly wasn’t a pushover. They had argued like anyone with their histories would. Wash could be a force to reckon with if he was so inclined.

Yet here in this little room, he seemed to wilt. It was as though the intensity of these people made him lesser somehow. He didn’t feel able to fly his true colours. A memory flickers, triggering many more.

“I just need some time off from the Reds and Blues.”

“Hey, sorry, needed a bit of quiet time.”

“I’m fine, Car’s just...y’know.”

"I can't sleep, can we go do something?"

"I needed a peaceful place."

It’s just enough to push the ex-mercenary to speak.

Locus clears his throat, squaring his shoulders. Wash’s head snaps up, eyeing the ex-mercenary cautiously. “Normal changes sometimes. It isn’t exactly...efficient to argue all the time.”

“Part of our charm, numbnuts.” Tucker snorts, a snide smirk on his face. “Did you miss the memo?”

Locus wants to punch something.

He takes a breath instead. “It’s not the most charming habit, if you want my honesty.”

“Yeah, because killing people totally charms the underpants off’a folks!” The one in the pink parka taunts.

That thread holding Wash in check snaps in an instant. “Donut!”

The blonde jumps, upending his mug onto the floor.

“All of you can say what you want but Locus is trying. He’s known war just as long as we have, if not longer.” The Freelancer starts pacing (A nervous habit.) around an empty table. “We’ve all been assholes to each other so what makes him any different than me?”

“You weren’t a mercenary.” Carolina coldly states from the booth she’s taken over.

“I-” Wash stumbles over the tip of his boot, eyes a fraction too wide.

“You didn’t perpetuate a planet wide civil war, or spring a prison ship-” She calmly adds a finger for each reason, ignoring the way Wash tries to interject. “-You didn’t plot an elaborate trap to kill our troops, didn’t murder them, and you didn’t betray your own-”

The sheep had kept the wolf safe for so long now. Time to return the favor.

Locus steps between the two, putting a hand on Wash’s shoulder. “If I recall properly, Project Freelancer had just as bloody a record as I myself did. You may not have sent a government into death throes as was done to Chorus, but you did ruin countless lives. Wash and yourself are evidence of that fact.”

Carolina levels him with a glare, cheeks darkening. She starts to speak, but Locus isn’t exactly invested in hearing out her predictably fragile argument.

“From my research of the footage, you raided many innocent cargo vessels without thinking twice. Orders are orders . Right Agent Carolina?” Locus drones, brushing hair from his eyes. “While it was by no means as elaborate as what you’re alluding to, you and Wash have both done harm to these simulation troopers. If you want to argue that I’m wrong, I have numerous instances I can bring up. Though they weren’t fully successful, I have a remarkably clear clip of Wash shooting one of the Red troopers point blank in the stomach.”

“Oh yeahhhh, you did try to kill me Washy! I almost forgot about that…” Donut chuckles, scratching at his belly through the down coat.

Locus wasn’t sure why he didn’t remember this being the same soldier but it does give his words a solid weight with which to fight. Felix used to claim the best way to win an argument was when someone on the opposing side willingly vocalized you had a point.

“A point-” He claimed. “-is how a knife so easily slides into a beating heart.”

Not everything Felix had taught him was bad, it seemed.

“Maine.”

All eyes are on Wash again. Carolina blinks owlishly, tilting her head. “Wash what-”

“I betrayed Maine. I had a chance to save him, and I didn’t. I saved myself.” Wash glances over at the Reds and Blues. “I saved them. Not before I betrayed them, though. I took the offer that I was given for a chance at freedom. I turned on them, and…” He bites his lip, gaze drifting aside. “In all honesty, I didn’t feel bad about doing it. It gave me an insight into how the world really works. Everyone can be good and bad. They’re not a mutually exclusive thing. The Reds and Blues aren’t heroes, but they changed a lot of things for the better. They can be douchebags but also save a planet. I can be the mean Freelancer but also try and support these troops because I don’t have to pick one. I just have to adjust to what they need me to be. Maine wasn’t a monster but he made a choice at the end. I made my choice.”

Wash exhales, the very sound itself laced with deeply repressed hurt. “We promised we’d stop looking back Car’. That we would better ourselves. That’s why we all left. We needed time to be ourselves again. Not just soldiers, or war heros, or guns for hire. Just...us.” He looks up at Locus, a fleeting smile crosses his face. “ All of us deserve another chance.”

Locus stills, glancing to Carolina. He’s not expecting how steady his voice is when he starts. “I’m here to make amends. If that means you choose not to speak to me after this, that’s acceptable. All I need from you is to promise me you won’t intentionally prevent my goal from being reached.”

The room is by no means silent, Grif ‘whispering’ to Simmons, Caboose humming absentmindedly, Tucker sighing, Sarge grumbling a string of curses. It’s the quiet  that Locus has come to associate with these troops. They always had something going on, but the fact that they thought to lower their typical volume meant quiet to them.

Carolina huffs softly, thumb running over a small metal object tucked into her palm. She looks up, sharp green eyes catching the light from the lamps overhead. “Fine. If you really want to do better, I won’t be the one to mess it up.”

On a rare impulsive whim, Locus asks, “I’d also like it if you tried to work on your relationship with Wash. He seems to almost cower when it comes to you. He deserves better than just playing dumb to avoid your temper.”

Wash startles under his palm, stammering. “I mean I-I don’t think you’re...I don’t-...uh…” He fidgets with the edge of his jacket until Locus gently nudges him forward, yet still keeping a protective grip on his shoulder. “I mean, playing dumb is kinda harsh, but Locus has a point.”

Hopefully the point hit home for once.

“We’re equals in this Car’. I’m all too quick to just give you the right of way because of the Freelancer days. I shouldn’t roll over and let you take responsibility for all our choices because that’s not how communication works. There’s only so much I can do, though. We should all feel free to ask for things. That we can speak up when we feel we’re being neglected. Car’...it’s time to let us grow up. We’re not kids any more.”

There’s an overly dramatic gasp from Caboose. “Whaaat?! You two were brother and sister this whole time?” His voice turns smug. “I knew it allll along, I said you know they don’t look it but I’m telling you Washingtub is Carol-Timer’s baby brother!”

Wash yelps, “Wait, what?! No! It was a metaphor, we’re not related! Also I’m older than her by a long shot!”

Caboose just keeps grinning and repeating, “I called it.”

The rest of the night went better, by the end Simmons had rigged a monitor to run some terrible movie called Thankskilling which had the room erupting in horrified laughter and repeated cries of ‘WHAT?!’. Wash ended up taking Caboose aside to make hot chocolate and they emerged with a stack of paper and a fistful of crayons from the depths of the kitchen. A clever ploy to avoid traumatizing the Blue soldier.

By the time the credits rolled, Simmons wrestled the controller from Grif threatening to break his arm if he didn’t let them change channels. Considering the power in his cybernetic limb, it wasn’t the emptiest of promises. Wash drifted back over with Caboose in his wake. The young man excitedly shows Locus a crude (yet oddly charming) scribble of what he claimed to be all of them. The ex-mercenary takes it gently, taking it all in.

The biggest was Caboose who was the only one who had hair of them all. He was labeled as both the ‘best!!’ and ‘me!’. To his right the medic and Red team. The medic (Locus really needed to get his name at some point) was in his signature purple, smiling with an outdated headband that Locus is fairly sure was worn by dentists rather than doctors. He was described with ‘nice!’. Then Donut, grin breaking from the confines of his face and hands thrown over his head, the descriptor this time is ‘hapy’. Shouting next to him must be Sarge in fire engine red. His head is square for some reason, and he’s noted for being ‘angry’. At the bottom right corner are Grif and Simmons, the former of which looks like he swallowed a balloon, the latter with one green eye. Surprising attention to detail there. When he takes another look he realizes Grif seems to be kissing Simmons. If they thought they were being subtle, they failed to fool even Caboose’s notice. Grif is simply stated to be ‘fat’ and Simmons is ‘smart!’.

The rest are to Caboose’s left, starting with Carolina. She’s got a rather grumpy look on with exaggerated eyelashes and her hands on her hips. At her feet is the word ‘mean’. Then to her left is Tucker who is either doing his recently named “finger guns” or flipping someone off. Hard to tell. In faint crayon above him he’s credited with being ‘dum’. With his grey body and yellow limbs, Wash looks almost depressed compared to the rest of the bunch. He’s just named ‘tub!’ rather than any actual description like the others. Oh, Locus was part of this too. His arms and legs are a forest green along with the detail of his scar. The rest of him is grey with an irritated look on his face. Above him in grey is the word ‘scary’. Below him in green however, it says ‘hug’.

When he squints he realizes he’s holding Wash’s hand. Maybe Caboose was more observant than he gave him credit for. “You...you did a good job.” Locus says finally.

Caboose lights up light a firecracker, bouncing on his feet before delivering a crushing hug to the ex-mercenary. He can hear the room burst out into laughter, even catching the wheezy edge of Wash’s own chuckles.

“Okay, Caboose, he needs some air now.” Wash swallows another giggle fit, patting at his shoulder.

When he’s released Locus knows everyone’s staring. They keep staring and they don’t scowl like they did before. With an unusually nervous chuckle he shrugs at the rest.

“It’s not exactly the first time he’s done that to me.”

FALSE KINGS

CW: Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts

To say Locus was apprehensive about meeting the Reds and Blues was technically accurate. Accurate in the same way that a rocket could be called a big firecracker. There was a reason the ex-mercenary left after making certain that Wash was safe. He wasn't a foolish man by any means. After the clusterfuck of Chorus he had no intentions of ever contacting them. Life had other ideas, clearly.

Locus isn't sure why his ship started malfunctioning when it had, but it led him to Grif babbling like a lunatic to a set of sports equipment painted in a childish manner. When they'd taken off, the endless stream of questions about Locus’ intentionally secretive life began. Things the man never wanted to think about again under normal circumstances.

They meet at a coffee house that is a favorite haunt of Wash. He'd cashed in a favor and after it had officially closed for the night, the Reds and Blues were huddled inside to avoid the brutal January weather. Outside, Locus can see them from the window, able to mostly guess on their identities. Sarge was fairly obvious with his bright red polo and buzzcut. The tall one with thick, messy curls must be Caboose. Simmons arm gave him away, despite the long-sleeved sweater doing it's damndest to hide the well oiled chrome, though the long braid trailing over his shoulder was a surprise. Tucker was the one who tried to spend as little time as possible in his armor, so Locus was quite familiar with his cropped hair and dimples. Carolina was almost exactly how she had been in Freelancer. Shorter hair, but still red as fire. Grif was snoring away on a couch, with who Locus thinks must be the medic and some fellow in a pink parka.

He's startled from the old habit of memorising people's faces by a hand slipping into his. Wash glances up at Locus with one of those tired, lopsided smiles he seems prone to.

“C’mon. Let's get this done.” The older man inclines his head to the door, gently tugging Locus along.

The door chimes when Wash opens it and everyone's attention is on the pair in an instant. Locus’ lingering doubts snap at him. Mentally he chides himself, “ You agreed to this. You promised no armor, remember? Wash is right there, you’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck , why is Locus a trashy romance novel beefcake?!” Tucker balks, nearly spilling his drink over the table.

The room erupts in a mix of cackling and irritated demands for silence. Locus clutches Wash’s hand firmly, his desire to remain hidden growing into a nigh unbearable need. A sharp whistle slices neatly through the din.

“All of you shut up and pay attention.” Wash rasps irritably. “Locus isn't here for you to gawk at. You asked to meet him, so get on with it.” The Freelancer's calloused fingers tighten around Locus’ palm. At some point he had placed himself between the ex-mercenary and his comrades.

The sheep diligently watches over the wolf.

“Fine-” Tucker sniffs dismissively. “-how about what the hell were you thinking, running off like that?”

“I don’t-” Locus tries before Sarge snappily adds on.

“It ain't rocket science, kid. Y’ could’a stuck around fer a few days, at least. Hell, what if we needed yer help with Susie Spec’ Ops’ over there?” He grumbles, nodding to Wash.

The man in question looks offended, opening his mouth to interject when Caboose cuts him off.

“Oh oh! Can I also have another hug??”

Everyone throws dirty looks at the Blue trooper.

“So Tucker can call him a book but I don't get a nice hug?” Caboose pouts dramatically.

They drop the subject. Grif rolls over, unkempt hair flopping into his eyes. “Sup Locs. Sorry I went nuts on you before... actually I'm not, but whatever.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You probably do owe Simmons a 'good job’ since he helped Wash track your dumb ass.”

Locus glances over at Simmons, finding he isn't the only one who wasn't thrilled with the whole situation. The thin soldier wrings the tail end of his braid, practically jumping out of his skin at the mention of his name.

“I-It was no big deal, don't worry about it!” He stammers rapidly, shoulders hunching, giving the impression that he was sinking back into his turtleneck.

“It was a big deal, nerd!” Grif retorts, pushing away from the lumpy overstuffed sofa, arms folded across his chest. “You kept bitching about how it was gonna be a pain with our old tech!”

Before another squabble can break out, Wash lets go of Locus’ hand to intervene. There’s a clear exhaustion threaded along the bow of his spine. He’s holding his arms out, glaring at both of them. “Don’t start. I need everyone to cool it.” The Freelancer drags his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Let Locus get a word in too. This isn’t an intervention, it’s a conversation.”

The medic pipes up from the far end of the sofa. “This is pretty normal for us, remember?”

“Of course he remembers, what a stupid question.” Locus thinks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He’d grown used to Wash’s personality when it was just the two of them in that cabin. He wasn’t like the overly intense facade Locus had observed in the limited recordings of his time chasing the Meta. Not the intimidating soldier that had been sent after Epsilon, or the (admittedly lovable) goofball from the Freelancer era. He was quiet but shouted at the appliances when they didn’t work well. (The oven had been the target of many rants.) He didn’t sleep well but would pass out on Locus’ lap when they occasionally watched movies. He made dry-jokes, chuckling to himself quietly. He certainly wasn’t a pushover. They had argued like anyone with their histories would. Wash could be a force to reckon with if he was so inclined.

Yet here in this little room, he seemed to wilt. It was as though the intensity of these people made him lesser somehow. He didn’t feel able to fly his true colours. A memory flickers, triggering many more.

“I just need some time off from the Reds and Blues.”

“Hey, sorry, needed a bit of quiet time.”

“I’m fine, Car’s just...y’know.”

"I can't sleep, can we go do something?"

"I needed a peaceful place."

It’s just enough to push the ex-mercenary to speak.

Locus clears his throat, squaring his shoulders. Wash’s head snaps up, eyeing the ex-mercenary cautiously. “Normal changes sometimes. It isn’t exactly...efficient to argue all the time.”

“Part of our charm, numbnuts.” Tucker snorts, a snide smirk on his face. “Did you miss the memo?”

Locus wants to punch something.

He takes a breath instead. “It’s not the most charming habit, if you want my honesty.”

“Yeah, because killing people totally charms the underpants off’a folks!” The one in the pink parka taunts.

That thread holding Wash in check snaps in an instant. “Donut!”

The blonde jumps, upending his mug onto the floor.

“All of you can say what you want but Locus is trying. He’s known war just as long as we have, if not longer.” The Freelancer starts pacing (A nervous habit.) around an empty table. “We’ve all been assholes to each other so what makes him any different than me?”

“You weren’t a mercenary.” Carolina coldly states from the booth she’s taken over.

“I-” Wash stumbles over the tip of his boot, eyes a fraction too wide.

“You didn’t perpetuate a planet wide civil war, or spring a prison ship-” She calmly adds a finger for each reason, ignoring the way Wash tries to interject. “-You didn’t plot an elaborate trap to kill our troops, didn’t murder them, and you didn’t betray your own-”

The sheep had kept the wolf safe for so long now. Time to return the favor.

Locus steps between the two, putting a hand on Wash’s shoulder. “If I recall properly, Project Freelancer had just as bloody a record as I myself did. You may not have sent a government into death throes as was done to Chorus, but you did ruin countless lives. Wash and yourself are evidence of that fact.”

Carolina levels him with a glare, cheeks darkening. She starts to speak, but Locus isn’t exactly invested in hearing out her predictably fragile argument.

“From my research of the footage, you raided many innocent cargo vessels without thinking twice. Orders are orders . Right Agent Carolina?” Locus drones, brushing hair from his eyes. “While it was by no means as elaborate as what you’re alluding to, you and Wash have both done harm to these simulation troopers. If you want to argue that I’m wrong, I have numerous instances I can bring up. Though they weren’t fully successful, I have a remarkably clear clip of Wash shooting one of the Red troopers point blank in the stomach.”

“Oh yeahhhh, you did try to kill me Washy! I almost forgot about that…” Donut chuckles, scratching at his belly through the down coat.

Locus wasn’t sure why he didn’t remember this being the same soldier but it does give his words a solid weight with which to fight. Felix used to claim the best way to win an argument was when someone on the opposing side willingly vocalized you had a point.

“A point-” He claimed. “-is how a knife so easily slides into a beating heart.”

Not everything Felix had taught him was bad, it seemed.

“Maine.”

All eyes are on Wash again. Carolina blinks owlishly, tilting her head. “Wash what-”

“I betrayed Maine. I had a chance to save him, and I didn’t. I saved myself.” Wash glances over at the Reds and Blues. “I saved them. Not before I betrayed them, though. I took the offer that I was given for a chance at freedom. I turned on them, and…” He bites his lip, gaze drifting aside. “In all honesty, I didn’t feel bad about doing it. It gave me an insight into how the world really works. Everyone can be good and bad. They’re not a mutually exclusive thing. The Reds and Blues aren’t heroes, but they changed a lot of things for the better. They can be douchebags but also save a planet. I can be the mean Freelancer but also try and support these troops because I don’t have to pick one. I just have to adjust to what they need me to be. Maine wasn’t a monster but he made a choice at the end. I made my choice.”

Wash exhales, the very sound itself laced with deeply repressed hurt. “We promised we’d stop looking back Car’. That we would better ourselves. That’s why we all left. We needed time to be ourselves again. Not just soldiers, or war heros, or guns for hire. Just...us.” He looks up at Locus, a fleeting smile crosses his face. “ All of us deserve another chance.”

Locus stills, glancing to Carolina. He’s not expecting how steady his voice is when he starts. “I’m here to make amends. If that means you choose not to speak to me after this, that’s acceptable. All I need from you is to promise me you won’t intentionally prevent my goal from being reached.”

The room is by no means silent, Grif ‘whispering’ to Simmons, Caboose humming absentmindedly, Tucker sighing, Sarge grumbling a string of curses. It’s the quiet  that Locus has come to associate with these troops. They always had something going on, but the fact that they thought to lower their typical volume meant quiet to them.

Carolina huffs softly, thumb running over a small metal object tucked into her palm. She looks up, sharp green eyes catching the light from the lamps overhead. “Fine. If you really want to do better, I won’t be the one to mess it up.”

On a rare impulsive whim, Locus asks, “I’d also like it if you tried to work on your relationship with Wash. He seems to almost cower when it comes to you. He deserves better than just playing dumb to avoid your temper.”

Wash startles under his palm, stammering. “I mean I-I don’t think you’re...I don’t-...uh…” He fidgets with the edge of his jacket until Locus gently nudges him forward, yet still keeping a protective grip on his shoulder. “I mean, playing dumb is kinda harsh, but Locus has a point.”

Hopefully the point hit home for once.

“We’re equals in this Car’. I’m all too quick to just give you the right of way because of the Freelancer days. I shouldn’t roll over and let you take responsibility for all our choices because that’s not how communication works. There’s only so much I can do, though. We should all feel free to ask for things. That we can speak up when we feel we’re being neglected. Car’...it’s time to let us grow up. We’re not kids any more.”

There’s an overly dramatic gasp from Caboose. “Whaaat?! You two were brother and sister this whole time?” His voice turns smug. “I knew it allll along, I said you know they don’t look it but I’m telling you Washingtub is Carol-Timer’s baby brother!”

Wash yelps, “Wait, what?! No! It was a metaphor, we’re not related! Also I’m older than her by a long shot!”

Caboose just keeps grinning and repeating, “I called it.”

The rest of the night went better, by the end Simmons had rigged a monitor to run some terrible movie called Thankskilling which had the room erupting in horrified laughter and repeated cries of ‘WHAT?!’. Wash ended up taking Caboose aside to make hot chocolate and they emerged with a stack of paper and a fistful of crayons from the depths of the kitchen. A clever ploy to avoid traumatizing the Blue soldier.

By the time the credits rolled, Simmons wrestled the controller from Grif threatening to break his arm if he didn’t let them change channels. Considering the power in his cybernetic limb, it wasn’t the emptiest of promises. Wash drifted back over with Caboose in his wake. The young man excitedly shows Locus a crude (yet oddly charming) scribble of what he claimed to be all of them. The ex-mercenary takes it gently, taking it all in.

The biggest was Caboose who was the only one who had hair of them all. He was labeled as both the ‘best!!’ and ‘me!’. To his right the medic and Red team. The medic (Locus really needed to get his name at some point) was in his signature purple, smiling with an outdated headband that Locus is fairly sure was worn by dentists rather than doctors. He was described with ‘nice!’. Then Donut, grin breaking from the confines of his face and hands thrown over his head, the descriptor this time is ‘hapy’. Shouting next to him must be Sarge in fire engine red. His head is square for some reason, and he’s noted for being ‘angry’. At the bottom right corner are Grif and Simmons, the former of which looks like he swallowed a balloon, the latter with one green eye. Surprising attention to detail there. When he takes another look he realizes Grif seems to be kissing Simmons. If they thought they were being subtle, they failed to fool even Caboose’s notice. Grif is simply stated to be ‘fat’ and Simmons is ‘smart!’.

The rest are to Caboose’s left, starting with Carolina. She’s got a rather grumpy look on with exaggerated eyelashes and her hands on her hips. At her feet is the word ‘mean’. Then to her left is Tucker who is either doing his recently named “finger guns” or flipping someone off. Hard to tell. In faint crayon above him he’s credited with being ‘dum’. With his grey body and yellow limbs, Wash looks almost depressed compared to the rest of the bunch. He’s just named ‘tub!’ rather than any actual description like the others. Oh, Locus was part of this too. His arms and legs are a forest green along with the detail of his scar. The rest of him is grey with an irritated look on his face. Above him in grey is the word ‘scary’. Below him in green however, it says ‘hug’.

When he squints he realizes he’s holding Wash’s hand. Maybe Caboose was more observant than he gave him credit for. “You...you did a good job.” Locus says finally.

Caboose lights up light a firecracker, bouncing on his feet before delivering a crushing hug to the ex-mercenary. He can hear the room burst out into laughter, even catching the wheezy edge of Wash’s own chuckles.

“Okay, Caboose, he needs some air now.” Wash swallows another giggle fit, patting at his shoulder.

When he’s released Locus knows everyone’s staring. They keep staring and they don’t scowl like they did before. With an unusually nervous chuckle he shrugs at the rest.

“It’s not exactly the first time he’s done that to me.”

FALSE KINGS

CW: Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts

Locus knows something's a miss when he hears the rusty shriek of the brakes on Wash’s SUV that Monday morning. The freelancer should be at his job by now. Wash was well known to never miss a day.

The engine cuts off and the car door slams. Heavy work boots crunch over the gravel that makes up the driveway. Wash shoulders open the screen door, glancing around the cabin. (The habit of checking for threats still stuck with the stout man.)

With no words, the older man strides over to his well loved coffee machine. He gets it set up to brew espresso, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

The stormy silence reigns until the shadows on the porch grow long, hints of starlight peeking through the blue sky.

“I lost my job.”

Locus glances up from the fruit he’s slicing for a pie. “...How?”

“Had a flashback. Thought my supervisor was the Director. Broke his jaw.” Wash grumbles, opening a tin of pain relieving gel.

Locus makes his way over, taking the container before the freelancer can dip his fingers into it. The ex-mercenary drags a thumb over the surface of the balm to work into the shoulders of his boyf-

The thought skids off the rails. He had never considered Wash as a boyfriend, a partner, even with the clear relationship they had. Was Locus allowed to think like that? It makes his chest ache as he returns to the task at hand.

Rough fingers massage scarred, tense shoulders. The distinctive smell spreads throughout the cabin.

They don't speak for the rest of the night.

---

Wash has a whiteboard because his therapist insisted that it was a good idea for Wash to write his thoughts after an episode. The only times Locus saw it being used was when Wash woke from nightmares. (Often writing as if he was someone else.)

The words he finds this morning sends a stab of familiarity through his heart.

[Getting lost singing their song.

Caught up in, all I've done.

It's all I know , but not what I need.

Cut by my love, cut till I bleed. ]

Locus takes a photo of it on instinct. The next time he walks by, the board is clean. The ex-mercenary gets the feeling that this was just the start of something new.

---

A month passes, and Wash gets a new job. He’s there for two days before he’s fired again. The company refuses to pay him, and Locus knows all too well that the seething freelancer won't take the matter to court.

That night, Wash wakes up, referring to Locus as Maine for three hours.

The whiteboard gives up more when Locus gets up at noon to make pancakes for lunch.

[So I want to run to your shelter tonight.

Run to your shelter tonight.

United in silent resistance,

Of bowing to false kings.

So let me run to your shelter tonight.

Run from this meaningless pantomime.

I'll swallow my pride, give up the pretense,

Of bowing to false kings .]

Locus takes another picture and starts his motorcycle.

The tall man seeks out Tucker, because he knows the man's crude jokes are a thin veil for how deeply he cares about the freelancer.

The sim trooper gnaws at his thumb as he reads. “Loc’s this is like...this shit scares me.”

For once, Locus wholeheartedly agrees with Tucker.

“I need you to help me find a decent place for him to work. Some place that helps veterans. You know the town better.” Locus pleads softly. “I need- no, Wash needs all the assistance we can offer.”

Tucker nods, eyes glinting with steely determination. “I've got this.”

---

It's a week before the next part shows up.

[ Bought their smiles, liquid and smooth.

Took their words, for the truth .

Edge of light and shade.

My broken soul , once more enslaved -]

It trails back into the chorus, and Locus goes looking for a pen. He still has his notes from the first time Wash used music to relay a message. He already knows that the tone had taken a far darker tone this time.

Lost, All I've done, I know, what I need, I bleed.

Want to run, tonight, run, tonight, silent, false kings, run, tonight, run, I'll, give up, false kings.

Bought, took, the truth, edge of, shade, soul, enslaved, let me run, tonight, run, I see, I see, end.

Alarmingly when Locus walks into the living room, there's more scrawled across the windows. His heart sinks like a stone.

When, cold blood runs, without grace, do I, soar? Need, your, new ways, end, wars, I'm yours.

Want to run to you-, run, tonight, united, kings, let me run, from, my pride.

Locus abandons his notebook, going to search the bedroom. He can hear Wash's rattling snores from where he stands, fear lacing through him like puppet strings that compel him to check Wash's vitals. Regardless of the knowledge that the freelancer could, and would likely see him as a threat in Wash’s sleep addled mind. The ex-mercenary doesn't care if he gets busted up as long as Wash is safe.

The instant the door latch clicks, the snoring stops. Rough muttering is muffled by the bed clothes.

Locus goes to draw back the quilt and can't quite avoid a strike to his face. It's a glancing blow, but it still stings like a bitch.

Wash pauses, blinking a few times before squinting at Locus. Guilt sinks into his frame. “Shit, I'm sorry Loc’s…”

Locus shrugs lamely. “I'm well aware of the risks of startling you. Especially from sleep.”

“Oh...why did you wake me up?”

The ex-mercenary takes a breath to soothe the tremble threatening to creep into his voice. “The writing.”

Wash sighs in a way not in line with a man being confronted over dark thoughts. “Did I do more?”

Locus nods. “You moved to the windows this time.”

“Son of a bitch.” Wash grouses, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry, I'll go clea-”

“I didn't wake you up to make you clean up. I'm worried that…” the tall man stills, biting his lip. “The words you underlined this time paint a... significantly darker picture than before.”

Wash stops mid-stride. He stares up at Locus, so intense it's overwhelming. The younger man looks away from the other. “...You think I'm gonna kill myself.”

There's no question to be found. A cold, hard statement of facts.

Locus holds out the notebook, still unable to meet Wash's eyes.

The freelancer skims the page, shoulders slumping. “...Locus, you know I'd never go through with it.”

“What I know, is that nothing is certain. I... I love you too much to just ignore something like this.”

Wash's cheeks flush darker, head ducking down. “I-I mean, when you put it like that... yeah, it makes sense.” With a tiny snippet of static from his vodacoder, the older man adds, “Thanks for looking out for me. I love you too. Sorry if I’m bad at showing it.”

“You’re not bad.” Locus insists. “You show affection how you feel is right. You’re fine.”

Wash hesitates before holding out his arms to ask for an embrace.

Locus pulls the freelancer close, holding fast to him. Wash’s hair smells like the regulation toiletries that he must have stashed from the years of military service. Maybe he even ordered it online for the sake of consistency. The older man tucks his head under Locus’ chin, evening out his breaths. His ribs expand and contract smoothly under Locus’ palms.

It’s a nice sort of calm that settles over them after that lingering fear. Then Locus’ phone shrieks out some bland, royalty-free nonsense.

Jolting, Locus extracts himself from their embrace. Glaring at the screen, it kindly informs him that Tucker is calling. Locus swipes the answer button, responding with a snappy, “What is it.”

“I found Wash’s dream job, and they’re hiring.”

---

Leave it to Tucker to find the one cafe Wash didn’t know about. It goes by the title of Research Roasts. Apparently some big-shot Smithsonian scientist bought the building where the cafe was now located, then badgered her friend into taking his coffee house idea seriously. Low overhead in a high class part of town would do that to most people. Totally free overhead would get just about anyone to bite.

The real kicker for Locus was they only hired veterans. Especially ones suffering from mental issues after their experiences with the war. It sounds better with every word out of Tucker’s mouth.

They get Wash an interview with the promise that Locus would get to accompany him as well. Whatever it took to pull Wash from his most recent spiral was perfectly acceptable.

The place is what one expects at first. Posters with microscopes and technobabble, the table of elements and beakers. Science stuff. Yet when Locus takes a closer look, he also sees diagrams of many standard issue firearms from the war.

The man behind the counter is slender, with fluffy dark hair piled into a messy bun. He’s got what Locus likes to call ‘Felix Syndrome.’ Basically, when someone looks perfectly normal, attractive, or otherwise harmless. Yet something gives away a glimpse of something altogether dangerous, if not downright lethal.

“You’re the ones that called, yeah?” Even his voice is perfectly soothing, but leaves a lingering sense of paranoia. Sibley (that’s what his name tag says.) nods towards the back. “Go on. Boss knows you’ll be dropping by soon.”

Wash mutters a nervous thanks, whereas Locus gives a simple nod to the mysterious cashier as they pass.

Everyone they pass by either has Felix Syndrome, or looks like they’d fit right in with Wash and Locus’ crowd. Tired eyes with exhausted smiles. They were, however, pretty clearly happy. Happier than Wash had been for many months.

They reach the door mentioned in the email and Wash’s hand hovers an inch or two away from the wood. He swallows around the lump in his throat. Locus takes his free hand and squeezes it.

“I’m here.” He offers gently.

Wash knocks.

Instead of being told to come in, Locus hears the squeak of a chair, leading to uneven footsteps. The door swings open, and Locus’ spine stiffens.

Siris. Mason fucking Wu himself is looking back with an equally startled expression.

“I-...Locus?” Siris whispers just loud enough for his former teammate to hear.

There’s a nod that straddles the line between polite acknowledgement and nervous tick. “Siris.”

Wash looks justifiably baffled, but Siris just brushes the hair from his eyes and beckons the two in. When they do, the door clicks shut.

“We worked together.” Locus answers Wash’s question before his partner can even ask it.

“Oh.” Is the only reaction Wash gives, taking a seat in the nearest chair.

“You…” Siris starts, trying to focus. “You must be Wash.” He extends a hand. “Mason Wu. I’ve been accused of running the show here.”

That does earn a weak chuckle from Wash, though it doesn’t get a smile. He does take Siris’ hand, shaking firmly. “Hope the rumors are true.” He offers dryly.

Siris smirks at that, sitting at the chair behind the plain desk. He’s still warily keeping Locus in sight. In all honesty, Locus is doing the exact same thing.

As they get down to brass tacks, Locus actually finds himself desperately hoping Wash gets this job. He knows Siris. Siris is the sort of man who would get through to the paranoid freelancer just by chatting. He was who taught Locus many of the essential tools that he used to keep Wash happy and healthy.

Two wolves circling the sheep. Both know their own motives. They haven’t a clue of the other’s thoughts.

They speak.

---

It seems to go well. From where Locus sits that is. He’s almost certain Wash got the job. Before they can go, Siris grabs Locus’ arm.

“I’m trusting you, Ortez.” he whispers sternly. “Don’t make me regret that.”

“Funny. I was going to say something similar.” Locus realizes that that may have come off as sarcastic. He scrambles, tacking on, “Wash means a very great deal to me, so-”

Siris snorts, patting Locus’ arm. “I know what you meant, kid.”

Locus’ cheeks darken with embarrassment. “I’m not that much younger than you.”

“Ten years isn’t something to sneeze at.” Siris grins slyly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Locus sees Wash trying to hide a matching grin of his own behind his palm.

It’s a good start.

[sokkastyles]

Hi, what do you think about the whole "Zuko never felt sorry for burning down Suki's village" argument? Because it didn't feel to me like the place was destroyed at all, no more than Aaag, Katara and Sokka destroyed Omashu.

Well, we are shown the damage that Zuko's bending caused and Suki does confront Zuko with it later, so we are supposed to treat this as damage Zuko caused that he should feel sorry for that is distinct from the gaang accidentally destroying things with cartoon shenanigans. Zuko came to Kyoshi to capture Aang and he didn't care about the damage he caused to the village as long as he got what he wanted. He's the bad guy there.

That said, there is a limit to how much the show can take this seriously and that's why they don't, and it is absolutely ridiculous how some people will demand that Zuko needs to further atone in some way or that he doesn't care or that what he did was worse than it was.

It's not like Zuko went there and razed the village, which is an intentional war crime. He only cared about capturing Aang and the fires were caused by reckless bending. It's still bad, and fits in very nicely with the responsibility of firebending that is part of both Zuko and Aang's storyline, plus Zuko's arc of learning personal accountability and having a more balanced perspective on things vs only thinking about himself at the beginning of the story. But it's not akin to knowingly destroying an entire village - something which Jet tried to do, in contrast - and I've even seen people insist that Zuko burned down "multiple" villages and like...lol where?

It also can't be treated like it's similar to razing villages in the real world because the fire gets put out by Aang riding a giant sea monster. Like in the Omashu situation you mentioned, there's an extent to how seriously you can take this when the show itself treats it like cartoon shenanigans. And if you DID want to hold these characters accountable in that way, then you have to treat every instance of the gaang destroying something like it's serious business. And that's completely ignoring that ATLA is a fantasy comedy action cartoon created for children. It is not a serious drama about war, even if it deals with those topics at times.

That's why Suki herself doesn't bring up what Zuko did to her village beyond that one humorous exchange. The other reason is because he's clearly changed by the time he meets her again. It would be really strange for her to constantly hold this against him when he's currently trying to break her out of prison. And I don't know where people are getting that he "never felt sorry." Zuko has shown enough regret for his past actions that he doesn't need to speak about every single one to prove he's sorry. What, you think Zuko is sorry for all the things he explicitly apologized for in the series, like trying to capture Aang, hunting the gaang, attacking the Water Tribe, hiring Combustion man, and betraying Katara and Iroh in Ba Sing Se, but he's not sorry for attacking Suki's village because he didn't explicitly say those words onscreen? Be serious. Accountability is not about constantly self-flagellating, and if risking his life to rescue her from the most secure Fire Nation prison is good enough for Suki to forgive and trust Zuko and think he is genuinely sorry, it's good enough for me.

[quitefair]

From Sea to Shore: A Josephine Montilyet lore/meta project

Start reading here!

Hi, hello. I suppose introductions are in order.  

My name is Meera and I am a fan (derogatory) of Dragon Age. Have been since 2014, the moment my ears heard the Dragon Age Inquisition theme. (I’m a sucker for soundtracks, I can count on my hand the number of interests I’ve dived into solely because of the soundtrack.)

The reason I’m so fascinated with Dragon Age, as with many people on this site and beyond are, is because of the rich and complex lore that is contained within the world of Thedas. Whether it be within the games themselves, or the massive catalogue of supplemental media – books, comics, short stories published online, the massive hardcover bible of The World of Thedas, etc.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Dragon Age is known for… well. Not putting shit into their game. Which is arguably, the most important part of Dragon Age. Yknow. The games? Couple this with the fact that the writers are known to retcon things left right and centre… leaving fans with a, if you don’t mind my language, piss poor understanding of anything beyond surface level.

Now I’m not going to argue semantics about topics that I am clearly not qualified to talk about. I’m still learning things. So while I do read some absolutely delightful discussions on the Mage-Templar war, Tranquility, the Dalish, the Qun… I’m not qualified enough to write proper discussions on these serious and interesting topics.

Instead, I’m armed with having read too many books and watched too many shows. So, what I can do is to look at characters within Dragon Age that I have an unhealthy obsession with, and try to make sense of their stories.

And guess who I’ve decided to start talking about first?

[source]

I’m gonna start off by mentioning that I haven’t done anything like this before. My only credentials are having been unhealthily obsessed with this game franchise for coming onto 9 years now, and owning The World of Thedas 2. Which I haven’t read in its entirety. (Bioware please… put your motherfucking lore in your games, im beggin…) But I have been researching a lot of things recently while planning a frankly quite complicated Dragon Age fic, and after reading a lot of very well written meta on tumblr, and also realizing I enjoy writing my own, I thought I’d take a stab at it myself.

One of the main things I’ve been researching is Josephine and her backstory. On a surface level, it is easy to love her. She’s kind and sweet and absolutely adorable. Her romance fuels my entire existence. She is my Wife and I love her character to the ends of the earth.

But as with a lot of the characters newly introduced in Inquisition, she suffers from a scattered plot, a very superficial stance in the political scheme of things (despite being the political ambassador of Inquisition??? hello???), and is often reduced to several one-dimensional tropes that grate on my nerves.

I’m not discrediting people who enjoy her character as it is. Hell, I spent years loving her story as it is. But I am doing this as an aspiring writer and lover of stories, and a lover of complex, nuanced characters. I see Josephine as a character, much like many others in Dragon Age, who has so much potential to be more. I also see her story in the base game as being quite solid in itself, but is presented in a very scattered, messy way, that you as a player character, might not understand the full impact of.

This series is going to be equal parts laying down the lore of Josephine and the Montilyet family, in a way that people can easily understand and build their own meta and headcanons off, and also for me to speculate and build on my own meta that I’ve been working on. I’m not sure how many parts it’s going to be, we’ll take things as they come.

If you’ve made it this far, kudos for listening to this dude ramble for a thousand words. The real shit comes in a bit. Hope you enjoy.

(Josie in this picture is so me coded when I’m ranting in my Word document so I had to leave this here.)

[aurim-fact-daily]

Aurim worldbuilding day 20!

no explicit world building of aurim right now, i just briefly want to talk about the history of it!

the initial idea for a world building project started about 5 or 4 years ago, intially starting as a "beastiary" that people could plug into already existing games.

more spesifcally they were little tid bits of lore in books about suprisingly normal subjects. the first idea was for a book to put it in was an encyclopedia of plants in a fantasy world! though there wouldve been other books like travel guides and etc etc all written within the cannon of the world.

in fact the few ideas i had back then still kind of apply to this, mostly kings fruit and deathblooms.

there was also this god of the library, who took every book he can. in fact the series of books were going to be named after him!

there was even some lore with him too!

early in aurim history i wanted to explain why there was so much time between progress (of course theres a much better explanation now) and at the time i had this organization called the occult (creative i know), where they would seek scientific and magical progress at any costs. and by the time people discovered steam engines, theyd be about our modern level.

ofc they found out that gods could be created through belief (which is where the idea came from actually) and they wanted to create a god. so they found a tomb of the four horsemen of the apocalypse and woke up famine, and then put him immediately back to sleep.

(btw the designs for the horsemen were actually pretty cool. plague was a sentient swarm of bugs, war was actually a mamal that flew, and a bird that was stuck on the ground and they were constantly fighting. and death was... i dont remember)

and what they did was they somehow turned his physical hunger into a hunger of knowledge or something? and then SCP style implanted the idea that he was always a god into peoples heads.

now i should explain: THE OCCULT NO LONGER EXISTS IN AURIM. in fact its so old that aurim was still called ennisis at the time. (aurim is technically a rewrite of ennisis)

the occult was my attempt to give the world building of ennisis a "story". to force it to create a narrative. of course this is not the direction i want to go with aurim anymore, aurim doesnt have a villian.

lets talk more about my design process for aurim itself actually.

as aurim exists now, i try to world build for it "naturalistically". in other words, everything in aurim conforms to the rules aurim has set, and its nature. i think arcano curcuitry is a really good example of this, as though i say its a different casting system, its actually just a different more understandable method of the SAME spell casting system.

this is also why i dont create a map for aurim, nor its countries quite yet. because aurim is more a set of rules then an actual place. aurim is a world built to allow me to tell any story i want within its boundries.

oh who wants to hear about the very first incarnation of ennisis?

this comes from a story called the celeste invictus, it was a story based on spelljammer, and was firmly set in the dnd world. but i changed alot of what was in between different solar systems.

but the idea was that there was this pink blue yellowish gas out in space (this is where the colors for sourile comes from) that had a very spesific flow (IDK MAYBE LIKE SOURILE DOES???), it always flowed away from this giant center storm in space (idk ever head of OFAN STORMS??).

and the interesting part about it is how it interacted with solar systems! because solar systems were surrounded by this oily black crystal with little holes in them (which made up the night sky). as this material (called phlogiston at the time) made its way through these holes, it dispersed into this energy almost that could be used to cast magic (HM?????). in fact its only because that energy was there is why gods could exist in the first place (HM?????????)

back to that storm, in the center of it WAS ennisis, but a very very old version i remember nearly nothing about, besides the fact that there was a giant dragon that took up half the planet.

i think thats about as much misc things aboht aurim i can remember now. but its nice to look back on the past of aurim and see what changed and where inspiration for my modern ideas comes from. ig it makes me wonder how much of todays aurim is going to be thrown out in the future? but yeah thats all rn

[disgruntledexplainer]

AI

i think a lot of people really misunderstand what the actual threat that "AI" poses is. AI is not going to try to wipe us out for any reason intrinsic to it, because AI is not capable of having intrinsic motivation (thankfully). rather, AI is a problem because it increases the power of those already powerful, and further marginalizes anyone who isn't powerful. In other words, the problem with AI isn't AI itself, the problem is those who use it, who are altogether too human.

Two major threats come to mind, both of them incredibly obvious when you think about it.

First, corporations will naturally favor any innovation which cuts costs or gives them an edge over their competition, regardless of the consequences to both their workers and their customers. Those in charge of the corporation will always seek to automate any part of the company that isn't them to cut costs, even if it is significantly less efficient or more infuriating to work with. This means that, as with the agricultural revolution and the various periods of automation during the industrial revolution, we are on the cusp of a massive loss of employment across all sectors as humans are replaced with machines.

however, this will be worse than previous periods, because while in previous centuries the removal of some jobs would introduce new jobs to replace them, such will likely not be the case for jobs replaced by AI. Further, certain occupations which we had assumed would be safe have turned out to not be safe from automation at all. Nobody seemed to care about how automation will destroy jobs until "AI art" became a thing, and do you know why? because everyone assumed that creative work was safe. and while algorithms cannot truly match an actual gifted artist in skill and creativity, it doesn't need to, because it's just more convenient, and much more cost-efficient to generate an image procedurally rather than commission it.

maybe next time the art community will take the threats posed to the working class by automation more seriously smh. But i guess it's too late now.

And when I say that corporations will replace humans regardless as to it's efficiency, I mean it. Have you noticed that almost no major company has an actually useful customer support system any more? it's all automated, and it's all useless. Some companies are flat out just not hiring humans for customer support any more, instead relying on a series of generic automated response trees that do nothing to solve the problem and just make the customer angry. What's to stop them from doing the same thing, but with everything from marketing to janitorial work?

AI will continue to replace jobs over and over again until the only jobs left will be the ones that are actually doing the replacement themselves. In other words, at a certain point we will reach a point where the only jobs are government jobs, high-level corporate jobs, and the engineers who are designing the AIs. And if any engineer is stupid enough to design an AI that can design other AIs, that job may be gone too.

the other major problem with AI is what happens when it gets into the hands of government agencies. Which it already has, to an extent. We have been using simple, dumb AI in drone targeting systems for quite awhile now. Despite the fact that it doesn't really work and gets civilians killed more often than not, governments still use this software because it doesn't put their own men at risk. Likewise, the government will almost certainly begin employing robotic soldiers as soon as they become available, even if they don't work very well, because it means they aren't putting their own people at risk. But often in war you need people to be there, in order to make judgement calls. What if a lazy commander tells the machines to "kill everyone in that bunker", but the bunker turns out to be a civilian residence and now dozens of civilians have been killed? The issue here is that AI WILL obey whoever orders it to do something, regardless as to if the order makes any sense or has been negated by unforeseen circumstances.

all this to say that if AI destroys civilization as we know it, it will be because humans told it to. in order to survive, we must restructure society, remove the focus from profit and place it on human dignity. We must deliberately employ people even if it would be cheaper not to do so, because not doing so will have horrific repercussions. Also because it's the right thing to do.

while we're at it, it would probably be best to decentralize government and corporations so they don't get the chance to do something like this. *cough distributism cough principle of subsidiarity cough*

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 17: Hypothermia

Summary: Fives, Kix and Rex arrive at the medical facility first, which doesn't help them all that much considering they have no idea what they are looking for.

Warning: N/A

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

"It's freezing in here..." Rex hissed between chattering teeth, immediately regretting having taken off his bucket as soon as they entered the Umbaran medical facility.

The Captain was right too. The quick preliminary scans that Fives had done upon the trio sneaking in, revealed that the entire building was at almost sub-zero levels of cold. For what reason, he couldn't be sure, but it probably had something to do about storing bacterial culture samples or whatever the hell it was that natborn doctors did with the stuff they collected off their patients during tests.

He had already lived through a lifetime of medical tests performed by plenty of Long-Necks and Droids, that didn't particularly care about his or his vode's comfort during said procedures. He didn't really need to know what the nattie docs got up to outside of the war efforts.

"Put your helmet back on." Kix ordered as he uneasily looked around the hall they'd ended up in, after climbing out of the dusty ventilation system. "Your armor's thermal regulation system should keep you from freezing your shebs off."

"Tell me something I don't know..." The blond grumbled as he put his bucket back on, sighing in relief as the bitter cold was chased away in mere instants. "Much better... But moving on, we need to find a floor plan for this place..."

A wise idea, as they couldn't waste time running around blindly. If they got their hands on a map of the facility's various floors, they'd be able to find what they were looking for much faster, rather than risk getting lost in a maze of recovery areas, operation theaters, or even storage closets.

There was no telling how long they'd have before General Kenobi and the 212th could no longer stall for them, and with no word from Coric's group things were starting to look a little grim.

Getting to the facility itself had been a struggle. Between hiding from the Umbaran scouting parties, avoiding the aggressive wildlife, and keeping an eye out for the infected, the journey had been a constant uphill battle where they couldn't even resort to using their blasters. Unwilling to bring unwanted attention to their positions.

Given that they hadn't encountered the other medics, they assumed the others were struggling just as terribly. If not worse. They had no idea if they'd escaped from the base unscathed. For all they knew, Coric, Pitch, Twitch and Sponge had already been caught. Or worse...

And with only a vague idea that they needed to access a database to seek out some critical (but not very explicitly elaborated upon) information, the trio really wasn't all that prepared for this sort of excursion.

One medic would definitely not be enough, should they find a cure. That much they figured, considering the number of infected troopers in the 501st alone. Kix wouldn't be able to tackle the issue on his own.

"You think the others are ok?" Fives asked as he looked around, somewhat unsure if the way they'd chosen to go first would get them anywhere of use. He was walking slowly, steps as light as the bulk of his armor would allow, keeping an ear out for trouble.

"They're tough." Rex nodded slowly. Trying to be optimistic, considering he knew how frighteningly stubborn the medics could be, but still coming off as somewhat unsure in the end. The circumstances weren't easy ones after all. "They're probably just being careful, like we were..."

"Yeah... Yeah probably." The ARC nodded back, before motioning for the other two to stop near a corner where the hallway turned. He had a very quick look, and then gave them the all clear. Moving just a bit quicker now that he had a goal in sight.

Down the hall was a flight of emergency stairs. Besides it, attached to the wall as per standard safety regulations, was the digital emergency floor plan. The three rushed forward to have a look, barely containing their elation as they realized the interactive floor plan had pages that displayed the other floor layouts.

Thumbing through the available information, they saw exactly what they were looking for. The main datahub, which would contain all kinds of data-banks stock full of useful medical information.

"Basement floor." Fives groaned. "Of course the dang thing is in the creepy basement..."

"Not so much creepy, as probably absolutely frozen over..." Kix shook his head in disbelief. Sounding somewhat put-off at the possibility of facing even lower temperatures. "The entire basement of this huge building is dedicated to computers and the server banks. The amount of heat generated would need to be mitigated by considerably frigid mini-climate..."

"Kix, it's already pretty cold out here. I doubt the basement will be much worse..." Rex pointed out. "That said, if it IS worse, we should be as quick as possible. Even if our armor will protect us from the bitter cold, it won't do us any good if we stall and end up overworking the thermo regulation system. We'd freeze on the spot."

"Wouldn't want a case of frostbitten tootsies." Fives nodded, sounding morbidly amused at the idea. "Or hypothermia."

"If there ever was a place to catch your death, I suppose a hospital isn't the worst of options..." The medic responded with his own amusement.

They carried on, hoping their fellow troopers would meet with them soon. They could really use some help looking for the correct data at least... Hopefully the cause for their delay was indeed caution.

[sparrow-in-boots]

this is my Bill Miles rant.

this is it. this is what you're about to read, yipee hurray! i'm about to rawdog this pustule of a man on a table, and i'm dissecting why he's such a tentative yet counterproductive evolutionary reaction to a shitty situation that ends up causing more problems than it fixes. yknow, like a pustule.

this is gonna be long and rough (honestly the innuendos just write themselves don't they), about 3.7k words long to be precise. this thing needed headings ffs. so take your time with it is what i’m saying xvx

also if you haven't already, I'd recommend checking out my previous Daniel and Lucy posts for further context as i'll bring back stuff from them in here. call it a series what the heck.

now, onto the Billiam

I could do a whole thing here where i explain and contextualize where he's coming from, and how the way he's worked for the brotherhood and later raised his son ultimately made sense from his point of view, etc etc. but i think we're all familiar with that exercise. 'Understandable' doesn't make it right or even smart, and anyone with some understanding of generational trauma and dealing with an emotionally stunted parent already knows the drill here. I'm not gonna break any new ground delving into it so i won't bother. We got bigger fish to fry here.

I will establish though, Bill is a man of action, few words and even fewer expression of emotions. I can draw a direct parallel to the Levantine brotherhood and their strict hierarchy and the ultimate authority of their grandmaster. Not mentor mind you, that's a title for later in the brotherhood's history. Al Mualim is the master, the leader, the head of the order, and his word is law and the tenets and maxim are sacred. If he tells you you should die for his will, then you will do it and gladly, because you're serving the brotherhood's higher purpose. I'm not here to argue the morals and ethics of that, just saying it like it is.

Bill may not be as strict as all that, in fact he's very much not and he couldn't if he tried (and i gotta say, i don't think he would try), but he certainly reflects that resolute certainty in the brotherhood's beliefs and what is needed to face their enemy. The templars are everywhere, they have their grasp in everything, and so you must be willing to give everything to push them back.

In his eyes, all the hardships that he put Desmond through in his youth were necessities. For the brotherhood, they are at war, and as such he saw it as an act of love and care to prepare Desmond for the worst. But he was so lost in a world of casualties and soldiers that he forgets all too often that people are, people.

Soldiers are human beings first and foremost, and to strip them of humanity may be argued as a necessity of war but it strips the brotherhood of its most fundamental goals. Human lives, human worth, humanity itself, are worth preserving and protecting in all its forms, that's the freedom they fight for. It's messy and complicated but it's beautiful and it's to be celebrated, not suppressed. To deny humanity for the sake of neat and clean order and hierarchy is what the templars want, and you can't fight that by becoming it. You fight it by opposing it. That's why Al Mualim turned, and that's why Altair had to kill him and rework the brotherhood from the ground up, even if he hadn't been twisted by the Apple. And that's why I wanna draw out the parallel between Al Mualim to Bill first.

BILL HAD A FARM EEAH EEAH YOH

In AC1 we're served a narrative that the templars and the brotherhood are not so different and they both want the same thing, "peace, in all things", but they have opposing views on how to achieve it and that's where their conflcit lies. Simple enough premise, and they do a pretty good job of showing how those two militaristic orders view the world and how to achieve their goals, and in what form those orders now exist in the modern world. Back then it made sense for the Farm to be an isolationist cult, it was a perfect mirror for the isolated Masyaf fortress and their secretive nature, but as the narrative developed in the next games, that contextualization just grew more and more flawed. The brotherhood had grown, branched out, coexisted in various time periods and cultural contexts, and it no longer made sense for them to be a remote cultish commune in the middle of nowhere.

Which leads me to believe that it was pretty much Bill's idea from the start. If you'll allow me to extrapolate some character beats, it's no secret that he's got a deep respect for the brotherhood, and I'd assume that includes Altair and Ezio given how their mentorship stirred the entire brotherhood into new eras. They are legendary figures in their history, they got statues of them in the brotherhood headquarters, it's really not subtle.

As such, one can see him trying his best to lean on their teachings, if not try to emulate them a bit. He's secretive, resolute, stubborn, all qualities we see of Altair and Ezio in the Animus and were likely exagerated over the centuries. In The Fall (comic), we see that the brotherhood had a whole secret library worth of knowledge before it was ransacked during the Great Purge, and it's not too far to assume that Bill spent some time digging through those archives in his youth. He was born in the brotherhood after all.

Grueling training, blind trust in your betters and the creed, secretiveness, emotional distance. All things we see in both the Farm and the Levantine brotherhood, a holdover from the smaller scope of AC1 that leads me to think this was a bit of Bill's bout of hero worshipping to maybe recreate the conditions that created the assassins of old. We don't know what the rest of the brotherhood thought of the Farm exactly, i can't find or recall any particular bit of lore that addresses it except from an outside perspective; all we get is Desmond's own comments on his experience based on his memories in ACR. Even when he speaks of it to others, they give no opinion of their own on the matter.

Bill might be so focused on the environment that created an assassin like Altair, that he forgets that the man then went over to rework the brotherhood to keep what happened to him from happening again. He fostered curiosity and understanding in his order, leading to many changes that carried on through the ages to the modern day. It was Altair learning to question and doubt his master, the man he'd follow blindly and without question once, that led to the survival and growth of the order. In fact, Altair puts his trust blindly in his assassins to protect him when he goes to confront Abbas, to keep him safe and help restore the order once again. Not the other way around. And when he saw that same curiosity and doubts in his son, he sought to stamp it out instead of seeing it for what it was.

Desmond left not just because he was terrified (his words not mine) of the training, the harshness, and the bland food. If we're being honest, he's found that in spades in the outside world too. No, he left because the Farm asked for blind trust and respect that was not shown to him in return. When he asked questions, they ignored or waved him away, and so as they dismissed his interest in truly understanding what was being taught, he gave them the same.

I'll give credit where it's due, he does apologize and offers a truce to Desmond. Grated, he doesn't get much of a chance to show how much he's changed exactly, especially in the minutiae of daily life with the team, and it's a rather wishy-washy apology overall. But it's something and more than most people get in real life. Desmond is gracious enough to take it and even does his best to give him a chance, which is more than most anyone would, and that says more about him than Bill.

Regardless, I want to chalk up this apology as rushed writing rather than Bill being actively manipulative by saying what Desmond would like to hear. I don't want to give the writers credit for writing some 4D chess mind game powers onto him. I'm not even a fan of the "two Bills on Lucy's emails" thing, that's just poor retcon to fit the "Lucy is a templar" plotline.

the tangent - YOU GOT MAIL

Speaking of, i wanna get into that for a moment. As far as i could dig up, we had no confirmation of why Lucy had to die besides fan theories, and then the ACR dlc dropped. It was further commented on AC3 and most importantly, several retcons that included Lucy being a sneaky templar were released in the Initiates web project. That included much of the Project Siren lore, reactions to her death among the templars, her leaving the memory core for Vidic's goons to find, and of course the retcon that she was in contact with two separate Williams. All this to say, we can't say for sure if the writers knew how they wanted to handle her cliffhanger death in ACB even when ACB itself came out. So this?

That was meant to be our introduction to Bill's character. Those are the words of a man who sent a 16yo girl into the world to fully fend for herself on her own against a corporation so powerful it's almost impossible to comprehend. And now that she's back among the community that dropped her into such a grueling situation, this is his reaction to her showing care and concern for another human being, who by the way is his own son?? Holding up all that she's suffered through over her head like compassion would invalidate all that?? I sincerely lack the words.

Well, actually Desmond said it best.

Right then, Bill really isn't better than them. He's just another cold calculating asshole who's so set on a nebulous future victory that he refuses to see the lives he's trampling on to get there. He's done it to Lucy, to Clay, to Desmond, and even to Shaun and Rebecca to an extent, and they are just the ones we know of. The Great Purge is no excuse for this behavior, that's not the time to grow apart, but closer and show sympathy and kindness to his fellow assassins. Some distant war general figure moving faceless pieces on the board is the last thing they want right then, or might even need.

We can see in this one email just how dire the situation is with how Rebecca even refuses to put a subject on the email. Opening up and being vulnerable is something to be done in quiet and secret, almost like it's a burden to show how much things are affecting you, and that's so messed up. Even in the army, you can see gallows humor and dark jokes to cope with the horrors soldiers go through, but we don't even get that amongst the team. When you approach Lucy as Desmond, it's often him showing her kindness and comfort and reassuring her through her doubts and fears, and she doesn't hesitate to share them with him and I think it has a lot to do with how they are both apart from Bill's influence. Lucy has her own cans of worms to deal with, but between her and Desmond, there's a measure of closeness and trust you don't see with the others.

I know, your boss is not exactly the person you might want to pour your heart out to, but come on! How powerful and rallying would it be to see your leader across the room and feel comfortable and safe enough to just sit together and talk?? It can't be overstated how much it matters that any movement that places itself against the current system must prove itself as... different from that system. It's the literal bare minimum here. If you say you care about humanity but you won't care for the humanity of your members, then... what are you even doing?

tangent done - BACK TO THE BIG PICTURE

I wanna take a quick step back for a bit. AC3 portrays Bill as a man who sees his actions as justified, who sees that his ends justify the means. It leads us down a doomed horseshoe theory that coupled with the deeply complicated historical time in the ancestral plotline, makes for a very murky and confusing narrative. The more you look at it, the less clear or discernible the themes get. It raises a lot of complex points but never closes or even shows where they are going with them.

Now, horseshoe theory is an erroneous concept that has been critiqued to hell and back, and to use it as a way to tie the modern and ancestral timelines in an attempt to create a "'we're all the same" theme is... the worst possible way to go about it. Doubly so when it’s often appropriated by right-wing pundits to vilify their political opponents. You can't make the protagonists ponder on how to hold hands and sing kumbaya with a death cult to avoid Armageddon while the writers are going "bUt ThEy ArE bAd ToO" because of one guy (who you're also attempting to redeem) who deems the inherent human need for connection as "being too weak". Even that is enough of a mess, but add to it the whole deconstruction of the war of independence and the sheer horror that the colonies were for the indigenous people back then and all the way up to this day... Where are the writers even going here??

We get more conversations about how allying with the templars is not a possibility than any proper address on Lucy or the entire situation that led to her turning, much less who's to blame, how can they avoid this in the future, how the protagonists even feel about all this. Just excuses for why it had to happen, there was no other way, let’s move along now, nothing to see here. In AC2 and ACB we got some neat and tidy convos that made sense to be bite-sized, concise little bits of characterization and presenting themes and concepts for the worldbuilding. But in AC3, we get convos that could have been entire cutscenes, whole dialogues amongst the characters to reckon with all that's been happening. Instead we waste cutscene time with fucking Juno and the Isu failed attempts that don't fucking matter to the story they should be focused on telling.

Which is why I want to talk about Haytham.

THE HUMAN PROBLEM

I bring him up because AC3 clearly wants to parallel his and Connor's relationship with Bill's and Desmond's. Which, personally i think it gives off the feeling that it's supposed to be a "hey it could be worse" at Desmond. I think we can agree that's a sucky attitude to have towards anyone who's suffered family trauma like Desmond did, and it also kind of diminishes the weight of the colonial era storyline. But since the game wants to talk about it, then let's talk about it.

Haytham is one more indoctrinated assassin-to-templar character, which is it's own mirror to Daniel and Lucy, but this is not about them. Haytham is cold, pragmatic, relentless and so calculating. He was warmer and kinder when he was younger, even a rather gray character, but all that is lost the longer he spends as the templar grandmaster. He did care for Connor in his own way and wanted to bring him to their side if only so that he wouldn't have to kill him, but if it came to it, he would have as we see in the game multiple times.

And as far as the game is concerned, that's also Bill. They are both two men who got worn down into their respective roles and lost sight of what's truly important. Except, we don't know that. We see it with Haytham plain as day in the prologue, but we don't know how Bill was in his younger years. We know about a few missions he took that involved the Animus project, but besides that we don't know what kind of man or even child he was. We don't even know what his dynamic with other people is, how he is with his wife, does he have family? Siblings, parents, cousins, anything? Does he even care? What about friends and colleagues? Hell, we don't even know what he's like in action, the Cairo mission happens off-screen and Desmond handles their escape with the Apple. All we see of him in AC3 is how he's an emotionally stunted bossy guy, and anything else is told, never shown.

Haytham however, gets a prologue and several missions in-game, and even a whole side novel from his point of view.

As such, I'm reluctant to extrapolate the kind of man Bill is based off of Haytham alone, because again they not only exist in very different times and contexts, but there's a severe imbalance in screentime. What I can do however, is compare their "ending" as it were.

Haytham dies by the hands of his own son. He had the chance to put his ego aside and listen to his son, maybe put his cards on the table and explain the misunderstanding about the attack on Connor's village, but he didn't. He decided to hold that information until it was the most convenient to him, and then try to use it to manipulate Connor into switching sides. He refused to put aside the grandmaster role and step up as a father, or even as a man who cared about someone else's feelings. Whatever his feelings for Ziio and his son, they came second to the templars and their goals, and that was his death sentence. To his dying breath, he held true to that mentality.

Bill however, despite apologizing, hasn't shown much of the work to change. He and the brotherhood remains stagnant and withering, and in the face of the person he's hurt the most and is still alive to make amends to, he remains distant and reticent. All the efforts to connect and deepen whatever there is between them needs to come from Desmond, and every attempt to reach out to the outside gets shut down. It's Desmond refusing to give up on him that saves his ass even! Given the state of their relationship, that fucking SUCKS.

It shouldn't be up to Desmond to fix what Bill wrecked back at the Farm, and portraying otherwise, like Desmond is the one who messed everything up, is ass backwards. The brotherhood and Bill should be bending into knots to convince him to stay and that things aren't as they were once, but Desmond decided to stay long before. Because one the templars suck, two Desmond got the proof he always had asked for as a child and three, Lucy showed him kindness and understanding. One might even go so far as to say that it was living Altair's own rebirth period is what reassured those questions he had and gave him true understanding, but Lucy gave him hope in a hopeless situation.

That's powerful not just as a narrative point but as a theme for the assassins as a whole. The games continue to portray the brotherhood as a beacon of hope against the oppression and tyranny of the templars (even for the modern days through the glyph puzzles in AC2 and ACB) but Bill, the face of the brotherhood as the de-facto mentor, is himself as a tyrant.

One would expect AC3 to show him either follow Haytham's fate or change himself to avoid it, but we're denied that kind of development. Even in the Initiates web project and subsequent games, Bill's change is kind of handwaved. He lost the will to fight and vanished but then he saw the desecration of his son he barely showed to give much of a shit for, and now he's back and Mentor again? He's awkward and trying to be approachable in Origins but he's still rather overconfident and posturing too much for his own good.

(I mean, sitting within range of Layla's blade before she's even out of the Animus? Bold fucker.)

If they truly wanted to grapple with Bill and his place and role in the story they spun us, which I assume they do since he's the one who does the intro to the AC3 game, then they should have DONE THAT. Make him face the consequences of his choices and actions, and make the team hold him responsible for it. Make him soften and change, not just give us a pitiable hug and a meek little "Son..." just before Desmond sacrifices himself. Seriously, what gives?

One of the biggest failures in AC3 is their horrid sense of narrative prioritizing with the modern timeline. They tried to close too many threads at once with not nearly enough screentime, and wasted time on needless fluff. But most importantly, I think that the games after ACB have a human problem, in that they refuse to acknowledge the humanity in the modern timeline.

Bill could have been an incredible display of change, that the templars aren't the superior mentality that can turn anyone who spends long enough around them like some brain-corroding virus. Show that the brotherhood still has a chance and that no one is above humbling themselves or beyond bettering themselves, and most of all that the brotherhood can indeed bring hope in a hopeless situation, and community and understanding can make a difference. And since they are so touchy about murder all of a sudden, also show that the assassins are capable of doing more than just killing people.

But we don’t. We don’t get any of that. We’re once again denied of any development that would make any kind of statement that would shift the status quo and make them pay attention to the modern timeline and what they’re doing with it. And worst of all, we're denied any development that would bring us closer emotionally to these characters and make us ponder our place in the world and in history. Cus god forbid the series that has “history as its playground” learn anything from it.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I wish to hear about the knd oc

>:3c

Give us the lore Silly!!!!

Sososo sorry for taking so long to get to this! Admittedly I was putting this off simply because theres so much lore! I'll be adding a cut to this because with me summarizing stuff, it's still a lot! I'll try to break it up in sections, since there are different.. chapters... for lack of a better word.. this ocs entire life is plotted out! From early childhood to present day when the show takes place! That's a lot of lore considering the character is well into adulthood by the time the main series happens!

Apologies if it's all over the place and some points are.. whack.. this is my first time putting everything into writing! I'll also need to talk about other ocs so this main one can make sense, mostly it'll be talking about their sector, in regards to other ocs! Also its 3am at the time of writing this + my stomach is being MEAN

With all that said, let's hope this doesnt turn into a novel!

Also also** lore may contradict what's in canon, maybe.. I'm not sure! I'm still not done reading the comics and I havent touched anything GKND so I'm unsure if theres any extra info that in unaware of that would complicate things

Feel free to send any questions about the oc!! Lore stuff, interactions with canon characters, ect!

cws: mentions of controlling/toxic parents but i dont go too in depth about it but just know that this is a part of her story. mentions of sexism as well, obligatory its there because "admin uses his ocs to process his experience with his gender as well as being afab and other stuff" but i dont go toooooo deep into it

Name; Rose Wood

Pronouns; she/her

Age; obviously since we're sliding around all over her time line I'll let you know based in the section... but shes in the same age group as Benedict and Monty

Appearance, present day; short, rocking a chubby mom bod! Red hair that's a little faded with a prominent streak of grey. Green eyes. Very curly and fluffy hair! Not sold on a length, but currently it's just last her shoulders! Often wears cardigans or sweaters, though I'm yet to make an "official" outfit for her... her default outfit! Short :( she stopped growing in her early/mid teens height wise, about 5'5

Appearance, KND era; assuming this is in the later half of her time as a KND operative shes tall by kid standards (assuming like. 4'6 is the average for girls as google is telling me). Lanky!! Very long hair, hair is more vibrant but that's really just a design choice rather than an in universe thing. Hair changes length, it starts at mid back but she cuts it to her jaw a few months before shes decommissioned. No default outfit but she swaps between her school uniform and baseball uniform (sports kid before her dad made her stop!!)

Personality; very sweet and kind, patient.. however shes no nonsense, though that develops slowly over time and really roots and shows itself in her young adult years. Lots of internalized feelings, as a child and teen, she feels she had to suck it up and put on a happy face because to do anything else would be "unbecoming", at least according to her parents. As an adult shes oblivious to the whole child vs adult war and doesnt realize how serious it is, shes just vibing

Occupations, past and current; knd operative (decommissioned), teacher (current)

Family; she doesnt talk to her parents all that much however she keeps in touch with her grandfather (very old, think 80s, rose was an oops baby + so was her dad LMAO), and 2 younger sisters. She does have other family members however they're not very fleshed out currently. She does have a son who is a teen by the time the main series takes place! Maybe I'll make a short follow up post on him!

Former Sector teammates, numbers and names; Numbuh 246 (Rose Wood), Numbuh 165 (Jamie Robinson), Numbuh 162 (Kimberly "Kimmy" Wilson), Numbuh 527 ("Sammy" Jones), Numbuh 129 (Davis Peterson) (the leader of the sector)

i'll probably make a separate post for her teammates, this post is already pretty long LMAO

KND days;

she joined within the very early days of the KND, after monty started it. i would go further and say shes a "first generation" knd operative, being there when they fought and overthrew grandfather. she didnt actually join a sector until the last year or two of her time as an operative, working solo prior on missions and helping built up the operation. thanks to her experience, she was sent to go basically work and "pass off her knowledge" before shes decommissioned.

a actually wrote in parallels between her sector and sector v for thematic reasons but i wont get into that here; but if i had to make a comparison shes like the numbuh 5 of the group. fairly level headed and in tune with whats going on as well as being able to step up when it counts to push through on a mission

"if she was sent to basically pass her experience, why wasnt she made the leader?". tight schedule on her part, parents cared a lot about keeping up appearances and they worked rose like a horse by having her sign up to a bunch of extra curriculars + her having her share of chores as well as her parents being strict. she just did not have a lot of time to spare. a lot of her ark is her slowly becoming more and more independent as time passes, but as of now shes pulling herself between being this model student to appease her parents and fighting for the knd's cause. ironic given the whole fighting against adult tyranny thing

there was some friction in the beginning when she first joined the sector, shes the second newest member the newest being 527 (Sammy). a lot of coming from 165 (Jamie), actually throws her failures in her face if they ever fumble a mission because of her whole history. they do eventually become buddies though, but its a slow burn!

she does get what she was sent to do done before she turns 13, her decommissioning is your standard decommissioning albeit with some pizzazz; she was a first gen operative but she was one of the last remaining ones at that time so its like. a whole chapter ending in their history with only a handful of others remaining. she doesnt get to be a secret operative

Teenager;

probably the most underdeveloped part of her story, i mostly focused on her childhood as well as the present day.. so this section and early adulthood is a little under baked. a lot of the themes as before are still here, overbearing and controlling strict parents completely dominate her time so she doesnt have much time to just. be. she does end up reconnecting with some of her old teammates, but theyre all of course decommissioned at this point in time. the only one who is still an operative is sammy, but thats due to them being so young in comparison to the rest of the sector and even then theyre at the end of their time as an operative. due to the whole "operatives arent to mess with the lives of ex operatives" rule thats mentioned, sammy doesnt interact much with rose or the others unless they approach them first.

main thing to note is that rose and davis have a short fling that quickly burns out due to teens being dumb: short explanation davis was insecure and jealous and rose did not want to deal with that on top of everything else going on with her. good for her for looking out for her health

she was not an evil teen, though, far too deep in her studies to really do anything rebellious as well as being afraid of falling behind and disappointing her parents

around this time, not long after her and davis break up her and her family moves out of town

Young adult;

she went NC with her parents not long after she turned 18, moving out soon after. she does keep in touch with her younger siblings, though. the breaking point was really her parents confirming that theyre disappointed with her existence. literally all but saying they wish they had a son instead of a daughter as a first born, lots of old values/views there that finally pushes rose over the edge. noting now that rose did have some feelings about her gender but never really explored it due to feeling the need to conform + this takes place pre 2000s so... but moving forward she does start to embrace herself and slowly take the time to get to know herself now that shes got the time and space to do so. i do like the idea of her experimenting between now and present day, and while she does eventually lean more towards presenting feminine there are instances where shes presenting more masc/feels more masc

while at college she meets someone, obligatory "i havent given him a name yet", they get together. everythings good, they have a kid. they break up. im still cooking up a reasoning for why they split but for now its just "they changed because they got married young, and now theyre older"

Present day;

a few years before the events of the show she moves back to town, i was going to say she moves in during the current events but i decided to be nice and give her a chance to get accustomed to being back in her hometown. i havent decided how it happens but she ends up getting in with the villains but like. not in the way that shes a villain too, in the "shes like the nice lady from down the street who makes some killer brownies so we all vibe with her". kind of just started as a joke that i turned into the canon for her because i can... kind of see that happening... this leads to her meeting benedict, blah blah she vaguely remembers him, they catch up and it leads to them getting together

i actually didnt originally ship them because "ooooooooouuugh father kinda...." actually it was because "the delightfuls need a decent parent figure because GOD!! i love father and my take on him does soften him a bit with time but GOOD LORD" and then it mixed with that and the "ooooooough hes kinda..." LMAO

not much to say other than shes the cool mom at the PTA meetings and just gets along with everyone, probably thinks the delightfuls and sector v are friends. which drives both of them up the wall they HATE it LMAO

Post series finale;

Dead/j

Okay well, that's just a concept. Admittedly I dont know what to do with her after the series finale takes place. Logically one can assume she just continues on with her day to day because shes not really involved in the fight against children, shes quite literally. Vibing and staying in her own lane asides from when she gets dragged into things by the people around her; even then shes still.. oblivious.. not much different than how Monty reacts to the knd stuff, when hes not recommissioned. Simply thinking it's this elaborate game of sorts, ESPECIALLY if she were to get dragged in through the delightfuls (who are. You know, effectively her step children thanks to her relationship with father)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hurricanes / Hummingbirds: X

Series Synopsis: As the years go by, you find that it is incredibly difficult to survive wars and fight storms, especially when the only thing you have by way of a cursed technique is the blessing of a tiny bird.

Chapter Synopsis: Kashimo takes you to meet a person that might be able to help you in your battle against Ten.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x Female Reader; slight Kento Nanami x Female Reader; slight Satoru Gojo × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warnings: swearing, enemies/rivals to lovers, character death, canon-typical violence, angst, gore, original characters included

A/N: kashimo stans how are we doing...😔

You and Kashimo were exact opposites. He was the god of lightning. You were blessed by the hummingbird. There was no universe in which you and he could coexist. Perhaps this was where his drive came from, his natural determination to see the end of your existence: you were not meant to live at the same time. There could only be one of you, and yet for so many years it had been both of you, taking up space and jousting for dominance over a sky that hated you both equally.

The truth — and this was a secret that you had never told anyone — was that you wanted to fight him as badly as he wanted to fight you. It was the most thrilling, illicit thing you could imagine, your guiltiest pleasure, picturing a battle that you fought for no other reason than because you wanted to, a battle that you might not win, one where your life was truly on the line instead of a routine exorcism that meant nothing in the long run. It would be a break from the monotony of your life, and an escape from the crushing obligation of having to defeat Ten in exchange for the power the hummingbird had lent you. Maybe that was what you fantasized about the most; not the clash itself but the freedom that it would bring you.

At night, you had been dreaming of him. Hisashi could never know this, but ever since you had intruded upon Ten’s domain, your nightmares about your parents had vanished. Now, it was Kashimo you saw. The visions varied: sometimes, your sword would drive into his heart, his hot blood spurting out and covering you in red, and on other nights, his lightning would dance through your veins until you blacked out from the pain, the most sensation you had ever felt in your life. The commonality between the dreams was him, always him, only him. You could not close your eyes without seeing his cold expression, and after two weeks, you resolved to seek him out once more and demand him to leave your mind.

There were dark shadows under his eyes when you happened upon him, bruises like roses blooming on the face of the invincible man. Who could’ve caused such wounds? Was it your imagination, or had he been easier to find this time? As if he knew what you must be thinking, his fingers flitted to his face, tracing the outline of the purpling.

“I’ve come to see you,” you said finally, when it became clear that he was not going to say anything. He dug his nails into his skin, though lightly, not hard enough to draw blood.

“Have you, now?” he said. “I know you have not defeated Ten yet, so there must be some other motivation for you to be here. Is it to torture me?”

“It seems there is no need for my intervention in that regard,” you said. “Seeing as someone else has beat me to it.”

He raised his eyebrows, his hands falling to his sides again, his shoulders slumping. You had never seen him in such a way, his weapon-like body faded into a shadowed copy of itself, frail and trembling and easily breakable.

“No one else could ever beat you to it,” he said. “No one else could ever beat me.”

“But I have not even seen you in so long,” you said. “How, then, can you put this recent turn of events upon me?”

“I am sick,” he said.

“Is it a fever?” you said.

“No,” he said.

“Your stomach?” you said again, narrowing your eyes, trying to discern what ailment he had.

“It is not that,” he said.

“Then a cough, perhaps?” you said.

“It is you,” he said.

“I am no disease,” you said.

“You might as well be,” he said icily. “I find no joy in anything but the thought of killing you. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. But — but what if it is not me? I cannot stop thinking about it. What if someone else does it first?”

He paused, looked up at the sky. The clouds covered the stars, and you frowned slightly. Perhaps it was strange, but you found you missed them. It was hard to believe that they were there when you could not so much as see them.

“I don’t want that,” he said. “I don’t want another person to be the one that gets that right. It should only be me.”

“No one will get that right,” you said carefully. “It will not be you, nor Ten, nor anyone else.”

He reached out for you, and to your surprise, you let him. His grip was strong enough to crush a weaker person’s wrists, but it did nothing to yours, despite his best efforts. You gazed at him steadily, waiting for him to speak.

“Draw your sword,” he said. “Please, draw your sword.”

“No,” you said.

“Kill me,” he insisted. “If I cannot kill you, then I want you to kill me. I want to know what it’s like to triumph — but if I cannot have that, then at least once I would like to lose.”

“I dream about it sometimes,” you said, then paused. “No. All of the time. I promise — I promise that in the end it will be us two. You will have to wait until such a time comes to pass, however.”

“Ten,” he said, dropping your wrists and exhaling. This time when he looked up at the sky you understood what he meant by it.

“I have challenged him,” you said. “It will not be long. Even now I can feel it, feel his restlessness, how he wonders if I will make good on my promise and kill him or not. He will come for me soon.”

“Then you will need a better weapon than that sword of yours,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“That Gojo clan trash,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It’d snap in an instant if you put any actual amount of cursed energy into it. Most cursed tools aren’t strong enough to withstand the amount of power needed for sorcerers like us to go all out, the way you indubitably would need to against Ten. You should forge your own sword; it’s what I did with my staff to ensure that it could handle my lightning.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue how to forge a sword,” you said. The sword you currently used was one that Hisashi had gifted you, a plain, workmanlike tool that did what you needed it to do. Sometimes you dreamt of a blade more suited to you, one that shone with the power of the hummingbird, but for your current purposes, Hisashi’s sword served well enough.

“You needn’t forge it yourself,” he said. “Your purpose is to imbue your cursed technique into it as it is created.”

“You act like such things are commonplace. The forgers of cursed weapons have never been ubiquitous, and in recent times have grown rarer than ever — largely in part to people like you,” you said, to which Kashimo only smiled slightly.

“I suppose you believe the rumor that I murdered the man who made my staff so that no one could ever have a weapon equal to mine,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be out of character for you to do such a thing,” you said.

“Perhaps, but in truth I did not,” he said. “I left him alive in case I ever needed him again. What good fortune that I did, as that hour has finally come.”

“You don’t need him,” you pointed out. He actually laughed.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he said. “However, don’t you?”

“I suppose that is the case. How long will it take?” you said.

“Maybe months. Maybe Ten will not be patient for that long,” he said. “You ought to begin as soon as possible, lest you keep your lord waiting.”

“He is not my lord,” you said. “He is my parent’s killer. He is the one I was born to defeat.”

“Yet he rules over your life regardless, and so cannot be called anything but,” Kashimo said. It was that same wry humor that he employed whenever speaking of yours and Ten's eventual clash, that half-disdain, half-envy, as if he found your devotion ridiculous and, at the same time, wished you were that devoted to him instead.

“He is the lord of the sky,” you said. “If anything, he is your lord, o god of lightning.”

Kashimo’s face grew strangely pale, as if you had something particularly blasphemous, something that offended his sensibilities to the max. Well, to be fair, you certainly had — he was the independent deity who hated to think of anyone as above him, and yet here you were implying that he was nothing more than a pawn in Ten’s game.

“Never say such a thing again,” he said. “No matter who they are, I will never fall to my knees for another person.”

“Hm,” you said. “Maybe that’s true. Though it doesn’t matter; I know you hardly even believe in Ten. How could you kneel to something that does not exist?”

Kashimo frowned. “Of course I do not believe in him. But you do.”

“And so?” you said. He extended his hand, palm facing the moon. You stared at it for a moment before setting your own atop his, suppressing a flinch when sparks pinpricked your skin.

“And so he must definitely exist. Somewhere, somehow, he is real, or I will make him be so. This waiting, this torture you force upon me…if Ten does not exist, then it isn’t worth it. Then this entire charade is worthless on your part. Therefore, I have to have faith that he is an actual being,” he said. “Because you are many things, Y/N L/N, but I find that the one thing I cannot think of you is worthless.”

Then his fingers closed over yours and he took off at an impossible speed, one you could only hope to match with the Hummingbird’s Blessing active. But you did not even need to run, his hurtling momentum carrying you along behind him effortlessly, so that your feet were pushing at air instead of striking against the ground.

Almost as soon as it had begun, the breathless flight was over, Kashimo skidding to a stop in front of a large camphor tree. You slammed into his broad back, which he took no heed of, his glittering eyes trained on the camphor’s boughs, mouth tugging upwards into a smile.

“You can come out now,” he said. “I haven’t come to kill you. In fact, I’ve brought someone I need you to help.”

It was the kindest you’d ever heard him say anything — a request, not a demand. There was a shuffling sound and then a ripple in the air in front of us before a sharply-dressed, dark-haired man blinked into existence, scowling at Kashimo, who fairly beamed at him.

“Hajime Kashimo,” the man said. “To what do I owe the honor of the so-proclaimed god of lightning paying a visit to my humble abode?”

“I told you already. I have someone who needs your help,” he said.

“And since when has it been in your nature to try and help others?” the man said, arching a neat brow at Kashimo.

“It’s self-serving either way,” you interjected. “He only wants me to have a better weapon so that I may defeat Ten and then fight him. Don’t think that altruism is a virtue he’s suddenly gained.”

“Who might you be?” he said before pausing. “No, wait. If Hajime wants to fight you, then there’s only one person you can be: the Hummingbird.”

“At least, I am blessed by such a creature,” you said, as graciously as you could.

“Of course,” he said. “Y/N L/N. The sorcerer who’s received the Hummingbird’s Blessing. Ah, forgive me for my lack of manners; my name is Daisuke Hinode.”

“Daisuke Hinode!” you repeated in surprise, for the name was one you recognized. “You don’t mean to say you’re —”

“Yes,” he said, interrupting me before you could finish. “That Daisuke Hinode.”

Daisuke Hinode was a man that had been erased from the history books, or at least Kichiro Kamo had been doing his very best to ensure that that was the case. His sly technique and deadly weapons made him Kichiro’s bitterest rival, an enmity only matched by the one Kashimo held for you. But unlike you and Kashimo, there was no equality between Kichiro and Daisuke; in fact, in any match the two had, Daisuke would come out the winner. So, instead, Kichiro endeavored to destroy Daisuke in another way, the way that really mattered: from the memories of posterity.

How sad it was, you thought to yourself as you scrutinized Daisuke — who you found to have a sort of unassuming charm about him — that in a few decades, he would be forgotten completely. Would he ever have descendants? Would there ever be anyone else who carried on his name? And what of his technique, that secretive, elusive thing? Would it be lost to the ages?

“I hid him,” Kashimo said proudly. He was strange around Daisuke. Gentler. As if Daisuke was someone he could genuinely consider a friend instead of just another person he had to fight.

“He did not,” Daisuke said. “I hid myself with my technique. He just suggested a place that would work the best. Will you tell Kichiro Kamo?”

“I shan’t,” you said. “Not if you can help me the way Kashimo is convinced you can.”

Daisuke hummed. “I have no reason to trust you, you know.”

“Of course not,” you agreed readily, though you were altogether put out by the development. Your association with the Big Three Sorcerer Families was generally helpful due to the respect the clans commanded, but in times like this, it was actually a hindrance.

“Bar one,” he continued. “If Hajime brought you here…”

Kashimo himself shrugged. “Her trustworthiness was of little concern to me when I did so. She needs a sword, Daisuke.”

“A hummingbird’s sword,” Daisuke said. “I wonder what such a weapon could be called. It would be such a magnificent thing…and so I demand payment.”

“Payment!” you said. Kashimo snickered.

“Of course you do,” he said. “How do you aim to collect, Daisuke?”

“It is twofold,” Daisuke said, holding up two fingers. You frowned, wondering what absurd requests he would make of you.

“Go on,” you said warily.

“There is a girl,” he said. “The daughter of a prostitute and a European tradesman. We were friends in our youth, and I wish — I wish to meet her again. If you can find that girl and bring her to me, then I will consider the first request fulfilled.”

“Very well,” you said, though in truth such bastards were not exactly a rarity, and there was no guarantee that the girl whom Daisuke spoke of even remembered him. “And the second?”

“Aid Kichiro in his quest,” he said. “Erase me from the pages of history. Make it so that Hinode is a name no one knows of; I wish to vanish as verily as if I had used my technique.”

“Why is that?” you said. “Isn’t the aim of every man to be remembered?”

“Being remembered and being loved are not the same, Y/N L/N,” he said. “I would take the latter over the former any day. If Kichiro cannot wipe all evidence of my existence, he will surely slander me in every story that is told. I wish to spare my descendants the humiliation that bearing my name will hold if such an event is to occur, and so I repeat: make it so that I disappear, so that there was never a man named Daisuke Hinode. If you can do that, then I will give you a sword that can shatter the heavens.”

“Fine,” you said. “I will do my best.”

“I will help,” Kashimo said imperiously.

“What help would you be?” you said, raising a critical eyebrow at the warlike man, who you had never known to offer help to anyone. He shrugged as if it was something he did everyday, like he was a regular patron of the needy.

“Do you know the girl Daisuke speaks of?” he said. You scowled, because of course you did not, so you found that it was altogether rude of Kashimo to tease you for it.

“No,” you said.

“I do,” he said. “When we were young, the three of us…spent some time together.”

You realized you knew frighteningly little about him. You supposed he was aware of that, which was why he was dangling the information in front of you, frustratingly out of your grasp but close enough that you kept reaching for it like a fool.

“Well, won’t Daisuke tell me who she is?” you said.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Kashimo said. “What sort of payment would it be if there is no difficulty to it? And you have been blessed by the Hummingbird, so if you know her identity, it would be so easy for you to find her that Daisuke could never feel sufficiently reimbursed.”

“Wouldn’t it be the same if you tell me who she is?” you pointed out.

“As if I would just tell you!” Kashimo said, like that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. You pouted, though it was a childish gesture. You had been hoping he would just tell you who she was, so that you could get it out of the way, obtain your sword, and then get your fight with Ten over and done with.

“You’re right,” Daisuke said. “I was actually planning on telling her, but if she is as strong as the rumors say, then it wouldn’t make sense. Surely she can figure it out with her supposed power!”

“Kashimo,” you hissed. “If I did not know that threatening to murder you would only excite you further, I would do so right now.”

“I promise I won’t even try to fight you until Daisuke has forged your sword,” he said, every word sparkling with the utmost of sincerity, ignoring your threat completely. You snorted.

“We already agreed that we would not fight until I defeat Ten, or have you forgotten already?” you said. He opened his mouth and then closed it, repeating the process a few times before exhaling in defeat.

“I suppose that that’s true,” he said.

“So it’s not some great concession the way you’re making it out to be,” you said. “In fact, this is all for your benefit. The sooner I can get my sword and defeat Ten, the sooner I can fight you. Don’t act as if you’re going out of your way to aid me.”

You had figured out during the course of the conversation Kashimo’s true motives in wanting to help you find the woman. There was no affection nor empathy in it; it was the same reason he had taken you to meet Daisuke in the first place. He wanted to fight you. He would do anything to fight you. But before you would fight him, you had to defeat Ten, which meant that for the moment, you both were temporarily aligned in your goals.

The only thing that you couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t tell you who the girl was, but you decided to attribute this to a mischievous streak you had not known about until now.

“Whether or not it’s a concession on my part, the fact remains that you need my help if you want a sword from Daisuke. Unless you feel confident about your current weapon of choice?” he said, nodding at the sheathed sword which hung from your hip.

“Fine,” you said, though you were loath to do so and knew Hisashi, if he ever heard of it, would be furious. “Then we shall help each other.”

“How will you help me?” he said.

“I will forge the sword,” you said. “And I will defeat Ten. Then, I will defeat you.”

“You are a vain woman, to think yourself capable of defeating our very own god of lightning,” Daisuke said, before squinting and looking at you. “Well. Maybe not. I wish you luck, Hummingbird.”

With that, he turned and walked into a ripple, which formed in the air like it was fabric. In an instant, he was gone, a phantom that left behind nothing but a soft wind whistling through the branches of the camphor tree.

It took an entire day for you to gather the courage to tell Hisashi your plans. Even then, it was a doctored version, with Kashimo’s and Daisuke’s involvements edited entirely out of your recounting.

You pretended like the woman was someone who knew a sword forger — naturally, this was true, but that was not exactly why you were seeking her out — and could point you in their direction so that you could have a suitable cursed tool to face off against Ten. You thought that he might be averse to it and ask you to instead continue using his sword, but he did no such thing. He only nodded and agreed that it would be best for you to have something that you could use to channel your cursed technique, and that was the end of it.

“I am surprised the white-haired one did not come with you,” Kashimo observed when you reined your horse to a stop by where he leaned against a fencepost. You bristled at the insult to Hisashi, though it was barely even an insult.

“He would’ve,” you said. “If I had asked. He would go anywhere if I asked.”

Kashimo considered this before untying his own horse and swinging atop its back, kicking it forward and gesturing for you to follow him. You did so reluctantly, though every step the mare took away from your home with Hisashi felt like a betrayal to the man you were meant to marry.

“He wants your technique,” he said.

“His father coveted it, yes,” you said. You knew the reason why you had been engaged to Hisashi: the power of the Hummingbird, which the Gojo clan believed could smooth over the Six Eyes’ disappearance in recent years.

“How long have you known him?” Kashimo said. It was idle small talk, but there was a deeper purpose. In asking these questions, he was learning you in a way that you could never learn him. Perhaps it should’ve been a frightening proposition, the thought of Kashimo knowing you so intrinsically, but you found it to be more soothing than anything.

“Since I was a child,” you said. “Very young. I was promised to him the night that my parents were killed, right before the man with the stitch-scarred forehead came to meet me.”

For a little girl, the kind prone to romantic flights of fancy, a boy such as Hisashi Gojo was akin to a dream come true. The heir to a clan and possessing lovely, fine features, you had believed him to be a hero come to sweep you off of your feet.

Of course, such heroes did not exist, and so the early years of your engagement were devoid of much happiness. Hisashi did not hate you, but neither did he love you; he was a boy three years your elder, and so for the most part he thought of you as a child come to bother him, following behind him when he would rather be playing with Kichiro and Naoki.

When you two grew to be teenagers, he began to tease you incessantly, and so the roles were reversed in that you were the one frequently irritated by his presence. Naturally you did not realize that he was doing this because he had, in some way, grown to be fond of you, but that was the truth of it. He was becoming a man, and you a woman, and unlike you he was at the same time growing aware of this development. You believe it made him uncomfortable, the entire concept of the girl he had once known wearing the pretty face of an unrecognizable stranger, and so he lashed out at you in the only way he knew how.

He was never cruel. Hisashi at his heart has always been gentle, and even at his worst he didn’t know how to hurt you. You always thought his father might detest him for it, at least a little, that in such a violent existence he was still kind, but even if that was the case, it did not stop him from his softness. Maybe it was his own form of rebellion against the world.

You kissed Hisashi for the first time when you were —

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kashimo said. You snickered at his disgruntled expression, which he took no heed of. “I don’t need to hear about that part.”

“You asked,” you said.

“I distinctly did not,” he said haughtily. “It was a question that did not necessitate an entire story being told to explain its answer.”

“What else do we fill the time with?” you said. “Unless you’d like to tell me about your life.”

“No,” he said. An awkward silence stretched over the two of you. You gave Kashimo a telling look, and he frowned. “Fine. Tell me another story from your life. But — but not one with Hisashi Gojo in it. I care little for him and his gentleness.”

“Certainly, you only respect strength, so the value of a kind person would be lost on you,” you said. “Alright, what if I tell you about the man with the stitches on his forehead?”

Kashimo hummed contemplatively. “Fine.”

The night your parents died was the same night you met that man, the one who would define your existence forevermore. He had no great demands; indeed, he was overly generous to the point of suspicion. When you asked him the reason for his kindness, he told you that it was because your father had offered him something in return, made a Binding Vow to ensure your protection. And what authority did you have to question him? You were alone. Your parents had left you and you did not know where they had gone or why they had done it.

He was a handsome person, with an angular face and dark hair tied neatly back, as was customary for the time. The single blemish on what was an otherwise artistically perfect image was the row of stitches engraved into his forehead, standing out angry and red against the pale skin. You remembered this the best about him; even so many years later, when the shade of his eyes and the pursing of his lips had faded into the recesses of your memory, the stitches stood out as clearly as they had on the day you had met him.

That man — and he refused to tell you his name, claimed ‘names had power for creatures such as hummingbirds’ — was the one who gave you the book Tales of the Hummingbird. He also told you what it meant for you to be blessed in the way that you were.

The eternal conflict with the lord of the sky. He was the one who told you about it, who told you about Ten. Perhaps if it had not been for him, you never would’ve known that you had to fight that great being. Well, that’s likely not true; if you were born to do it, then you would’ve found out eventually regardless. The man only sped along the process, made it so that you knew your life’s purpose from the moment you could think deeply enough about your existence to begin wondering what it might be.

You asked him what your father’s Binding Vow had been, but he never told you. He only patted his lap, bade you to sit upon it and then stroked your hair as he spoke. You remembered that there was a warmth lacking from the gesture, though this could be put down to your fascination with the grotesque appearance of his brow leading to a lack of appreciation for the comfort you were sure he was trying to provide you.

He told you that the day would come when you, too, would make a Binding Vow with him. You said you would not, that you were not in the business of making Binding Vows with just about anyone, but he only chuckled and told you that things would change in the future and one day you’d beg him to do it, beg him to give you the chance to get what you most terribly wanted.

Even now you didn’t understand what he meant by that — after all, how could a Binding Vow with a mere man grant your deepest wishes? The only theory you had ever come up with was that somehow the nature of his technique was as such, but it felt a flimsy explanation.

When you asked Hisashi and Kichiro and even Naoki if they knew the man of whom you spoke, they shook their heads and told you that they had never seen a person like that. So he remained a mystery, one you never again encountered but thought of frequently.

“That was a little anticlimactic,” Kashimo said.

“Whatever do you mean?” you said. He shrugged, reaching up to hold a tree branch out of his way and then letting go so that it sprung back and would’ve slammed into your face if you had not ducked in time.

“So a man made a vow with your father and gave you a book. I don’t understand why you’re so impressed by that. If I give you a book, will you think of me frequently?” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“No,” you said. “And you cannot make a vow with my father, as he is dead, so think of some other way to occupy my mind.”

“Really, though, he was probably just some relative of yours or another that took the chance to mold you into the perfect, powerful little sorcerer that would do as he asked in the wake of your parents’ death. He was probably lying about all of it,” Kashimo, ever the practical one, said. You let out a heavy exhale.

“It’s possible. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that there was something odd about the entire situation,” you said. “After all, why did he have that book? Until that point, it was not even certain if I had a cursed technique or not.”

“If you look for fantastical explanations, then they will manifest. Conversely, if you look for the reasonable methods, then they will surely make themselves apparent,” he said.

“That’s true,” you said hesitantly. Kashimo blew out a huff of air.

“You tell boring stories. I suppose that’s that, then; I’ll have to tell you one about myself,” he said.

“Will you, now? Which one?” you said. There was so little you knew about Kashimo that you could not help how his statement piqued your interest. He grinned, a smug, self-satisfied expression that was so at home on his face it was a wonder he did not wear it more often.

“I’m sure there is much you’d like to know, and before I kill you, I will tell you it all and tell you it well, but in the meantime, we should begin with a more innocuous story,” he began.

“Get to the point, Kashimo,” you said. “What are you going to tell me?”

“You won’t indulge my theatrical desires when I am going so far out of my way to help you? Cruel woman that you are, I guess it isn’t too much out of character for you to do such a thing,” he said.

“As I said earlier, you are not going out of your way. You all but forced your way into helping me, when I would’ve been able to find this woman perfectly easily without your interference and your egging on of Daisuke,” you said.

“Well, you wouldn’t have even found Daisuke without me…but that’s beside the point!” He hastily cut himself off when he saw you open your mouth to argue. “The story I’m going to tell you is actually related to both the woman and Daisuke. In fact, it is the story of my childhood and how it is that an orphan, one who was born with nothing to his name, came to be known as the god of lightning, making up for his lack of blessings by becoming a deity in his own right.”