#< Redundant/Unusable/Already Done >

[fishmech]

amazing to post something like this and think it's an argument for not enacting programs to help people fucked over by living in rural areas leave lol. like yeah one aspect of creating and maintaining public housing in cities and suburbs is to permit space for people who need to move in there from rural areas, like so many of their relatives did before then.

we usually like to talk about the suburbs as existing from people leaving the cities in the mid century white flight stuff - but it misses some key aspects of the ongoing rural to urban area funnel - a very large proportion of those people in cities from roughly the 30s to 50s had only recently moved there for work from the rural areas, escaping the crushing poverty that already existed as the wealthy landowners of the rural areas prospered. The cities and their old inner suburbs were the only places to go for basic aid and soon war related industry. Both things that relocated to the suburbs in small part after wwii and in larger scale after the Korean War.

And the rural people continued to move in this whole time into suburban areas in particular, not least because it was generally cheaper than the cities but to match up with where all that white flight was headed. And a lot of people left behind in rural areas then and now (because the proportion of people not in rural areas has only continued to climb) were the ones too fucked over by the rural economy to be able to afford to get out.

It's funny too. Here in the east there's a lot of rural areas where whole towns collapsed and the population has declined to the minimum it's ever going to be. And it's fine. These areas are nature preserves now largely, or privately owned but under government sponsorship to not redevelop them because they're unneeded and they're better for everyone the way they are now.

The descendents of people who used to live in those once far flung towns live better lives in generally denser surroundings or with modern scaled down agriculture and resource extraction where it still makes sense to operate at all. The Great Empty Middle of the country can get to that too - hell it's kinda already been enforced by the way many a town out there which was born the same time those eastern towns died is finally at their death rattles. With empty or barely used fields that haven't been viable agricultural output in decades anyway. With elderly people finally being moved from those homes into places like county seats and regional cities for end of life care and general retirement homes, in the places that honestly still thrive or at least get by decently.

There's a lot of talk that tries to pretend like all the agriculture being done is useful and needed and well it isn't. We've long overgrown crops to quite serious extents in this country and we often do it via really fucking up local resources. It's time to let some fucking aquifers rest by letting so much of that surplus land lay fallow for a good long while. By letting it return to more of its precolonial state and management. By not wasting so goddamn much land on grains we're only going to turn to bad fuel, or worse will go flatly unused.

It ain't like people can't stay out in those areas in general, but consolidation of where they live and what they do is going to help ensure they do end up with better life, better services, better everything.

Joining together old obsolete counties that once supported 10k people but now support only 2k? That can do a lot to benefit regional services. Maybe even have the state provide them in those outlying areas to best keep things arranged. And situations like that are very common out in the Plains and Northern Midwest and down into West Texas, vast notional redundancies but none of those government entities can provide acceptable service to their population.

All the rural towns my own ancestors lived in when they moved to this country in the late 19th century are either gone now, nearly so, or in a few rare cases won that special form of lottery where they became a boring suburban town, by sheer luck of the draw for how the cities near them grew.

The dead towns are barely scars in a Pennsylvania hillside now. The barely there ones are not much more than that but aren't too badly off for the few people still there, but they're unlikely to be lively again unless the local city really booms more than is likely. And that one lucky town is nearly coterminous with the nearest city for its county.

We used to go out there and to one certain barely there town where our last relative in that area was (she was I believe a great great aunt) , with an unsightly skin condition as a result of how badly polluted that coal miner and valley farmer's market town was in its heyday. We stopped going after her funeral in a parking lot with most plates being out of state & most in state plates on cars from the Scranton or Philly areas where that branch of the family had largely moved, while the branch that led to me had moved to a somewhat safer life in the Paterson Mills and surrounds.

She always seemed supremely lonely, but she had said she didn't feel she could leave that town where she grew up, even as it crumbled around her. I always wished one of the relatives could get her to move somewhere with more family and better care around, but she didn't want to and honestly I miss her so deeply for that.

[sapplejack]

Bloody Roar concept art

Hi guys, a while back I asked a question about whether there were still any Bloody Roar fans. Now that I’ve logged into my Tumblr again, I’ve seen some ppl chime in to say hello! Thus, to keep this fandom (however small it is lol) active, imma post some cool stuff concerning BR; concept art for the first game. *Note that all this info is from Mitsuakira Tatsuta and Shinsuke Yamakawa’s Twitters with some of my opinions and observations sprinkled in 

So, back when the first game was being developed, the character designers had to rack their brains to come up with good zoanthrope designs. Part of the team were Mitsuakira Tatsuta and Shinsuke Yamakawa and they sketched all kinds of beasts at an incredible rate (like, it was a lot). Mr. Tatsuta himself drew about 300 of them and he said there were a bull and kangaroo design he personally liked but those got rejected (we’ll get there). 

The image above is an unused koala girl whom he and the other artists found funny and couldn’t stop laughing at how terrible and dumb it looked. Tbh, they were kinda right lol. Given how slow koalas are, the image of a humanoid marsupial with boobs running towards you is fucking hilarious.

Anteater dude. Probably would have played like a mix between Bakuryu and Busuzima. Mr. Yamakawa thought it looked similar to the former. Speaking of which.......

Early design for Bakuryu. Seems like the mole was going to have ears and a tail. Actually, I’ve always wondered why the Bakuryus didn’t have tails when moles irl do have visible ones. Unless there’s a breed of mole that doesn’t, in which case I’m not aware of. The concept of a 2nd Bakuryu was also apparently already thought up at this time (idk if in the form of a clone, brother, student, etc.) even when Mr. Tatsuta wasn’t involved much in the later games so it’s nice to know that Kakeru/Kenji was not merely an afterthought haha.

Here are 2 very early concept art of Alice. In the 1st one, she looks more mature and edgy. The design/aesthetic may have been recycled into Nagi’s in BR4 (especially the tube top). In the 2nd one, she doesn’t have pigtails since her hair is short and instead wears a giant bow to emulate bunny ears. Very shoujo-esque.

This is the rejected bull design Mr. Tatsuta mentioned and next to it an early bat zoanthrope. The artist had already thought up some ideas on how they were going to fit in the game. The bat was of course used as the basis for Jenny’s beast form later on. There is also the bull zoanthrope’s human form. The character would be Native American it looks like. Bull guy here had been shown before in concept art included in the BR1 game.

A black panther woman (literally lol). It looks like she could have been a black character (probably the first and only in the series unless you count Greg). Also, if this character was approved, we’d have gotten even more cats in the roster.

Squirrel girl, elephant man, and goat lady. The first one looks kinda like a monkey girl (which would be super cute), elephant obvs became Ganesha later, and the goat lady looks more like a demon/satyr to me. This would actually be cool and does fit in with the mythos as shown in the games and the “BR: The Fang” manga i.e., fantasy creatures such as mermaids, dragons, and phoenixes. 

Kangaroo zoanthrope. Mr. Tatsuta imagined him using the Muay Thai fighting style. Eventually rejected as Roger, another kangaroo fgc, had already appeared in Tekken 1-2 years before.

Something veeeeeryyyy interesting. This is a pretty detailed design for a character that was going to be Alice’s brother. This guy was also included in the concept art feature in the BR1 game but it was not mentioned who he was supposed to be. I actually thought he was a proto-Yugo or something. Well, if he made it this far into the character creation process (past the rough sketches and onto colored concept art), then there must have been a conceptual storyline for him somewhere along the line. Judging from his appearance and fashion sense (heh), he’s definitely related to Alice.

Additionally, the red eyes and rabbit-like face probably means that he too was going to have a rabbit beast form; maybe even a hare. I guess he was scrapped since having 2 bunnies would’ve been redundant. I wonder how Alice’s backstory might’ve been had her brother existed. Would she have been adopted into the Nonomura family? Was there going to be some plot where she would be looking for him, thinking she lost her family? Who knows. One thing I do know however, is that he’d butt heads with Yugo since he wouldn’t be keen on his sister dating a *gasp* predator.

Now, I think it would be awesome if this character is introduced in a potential reboot/new installment! They could say Alice didn’t know he was alive, or that he stayed away to keep her safe, seeing as she was already happy with the Nonomuras and relegated himself to watching over her in the shadows. Seriouslyyyy the potential is enormous and I’m hoping something will be done with scrapped concepts like this. (Plus, this guy reminded me of the genderbend Alice fanart I did so long ago. I guess male Alice wasn’t too far off after all).

And lastly, Alice in her sailor fuku (human and beast form). Mr. Tatsuta said this was how he imagined she looked like in that costume.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

That’s all for now! It’s really interesting to see all this concept art and trace back where some designs carried over into later installments of the series. After going through all of them, I yearn even more for another Bloody Roar game! A reboot would be great and some of the rejected designs could be used too. Or continuation with new characters and a bigger roster; that would be even more amazing. Anyway, I thought I should share these sketches by some of the original Raizing/Eighting staff and keep the interest in BR going. We may get something; in regards to Konami trademarking the brand name last year, we just have to wait and see.

[cerastes]

Imagine W's ultimate show of trust to the Doc, if she ever decides to bring herself to that point somehow., being inviting them to share a ration with her out in the field. Or sort out some munitions over a chat about the places she's been. Or, as you said, indulging in the peace of just peeling some potatoes. I blame you for infecting me with W enlightenment.

! Yo. That’s some actual 200% Trust stuff right there.

W vaguely, casually inviting Doc out for a walk, telling them that if they decide to come, to give word that he’ll come back later. Doc says they’ve got a lot of work to do. W insists that Kal’tsit won’t give ‘em hell since she’ll explain. Never once has Doc seen Kal’tsit actually reprimand W, or W fail to finesse her way out of a lecture, so sure, why not? W’s reply is simply a smile, one that looks infinitely similar to her usual mocking smirk, but somehow, this time, it reaches her ears, and yet, it feels like it could deflate any time. Doc has seen this emotion before, and while they can’t put a name to it, they know it to be mutually exclusive with joy.

The ensuing chat is meaningless, but not unwelcome. Something about the Penguin Logistics girls being really good in a brawl for mailwomen and tour guides, something about the music room being quite lively, what with Vigna, Courier and Blue Poison habitually going there to play the guitar, with the “kiddos”, as she calls them, looked with admiration, Frostleaf trying to mimic them with her air guitar as Ifrit headbanged, something about how it was funny to see Aak and Warfarin wheel a very unwilling Fang into the infamous Doctor Blood’s lab, right before Dobermann and Kal’tsit caught them red-handed and dole out the appropriate pay docks and, worse still, lectures that seem unending as they are redundant, but ah, see, that’s the thing with Kal’tsit, she may say the same thing for the course of 3 hours, but she somehow keeps using different words, never sounding too redundant, it’s just like that time years ago when Kal’tsit caught raiding the pantry in the wee hours of the morning. How could Doctor not remember that one, it was a classic in Babel! A legendary pursuit that lasted two hours and was followed by four of lectur--

And then W stops.

That’s meaningless. 

They don’t remember that funny anecdote.

And if they did? Then she surely wouldn’t be walking down memory lane with the “Doctor”. She surely wouldn’t be here right now. 

It’s because they’ve lost all of that, that they have gained this little space, away from the mobile city, in the middle of nowhere, where they can talk.

They sit down across from each other, with the camp’s fire between them, on boxes tastefully labelled “Doctor” and “Me” with black paint. W throws Doctor a potato and a knife. There’s no Gummy or Matterhorn here, buster. You want food? Better get peeling while the water comes to a boil.

So they peel in relative silence. Potatoes. Onions. Dicing some carrots. Uncorking some cheap Kazdel ‘vintage’, if unused sewer lines from long-devastated cities could be considered casks, but hey, it’s got a nice kick and you can pick it right up after wandering back into an old campsite if you leave it fermenting before departing for the next battlefield. Just one of those nomad’s secrets, wink wink. Or do they call them “lifehacks” now? Reunion didn’t exactly have the latest in lingo, W laments.

Throughout all of this, Doctor cannot help but feel a certain tightness in their chest and a hollow pit in their stomach. It’s a feeling Doctor has heard others describe, but they’ve never been able to put a name to it, but they know it to be strange bedfellows with joy. Was this the same pain holding a tight grip on W’s smile before?

“Have we done this before? You know, before.”

But W only chuckles. “Maybe we did. Maybe we sat right here, maybe we had the very same cheap liquor, left to ferment in the same circumstances. Maybe we fixed the very same stew, maybe that knife feels oddly comfortable because that was the one we’d lend you.”

She stresses the plural, and the Doctor, too, stresses. She continues.

“Maybe you earned our trust, maybe you were just the way you are... Superficially, at least. Maybe that’s still something exclusively superficial. Maybe I’m intentionally tripping on the same stone twice, and if that’s the case, this time, it’ll cost me less than before, as it’ll be only one life.”

“As opposed to how many?” the Doctor doesn’t ask, doesn’t dare ask.

“This stew is perfect: Cheap, easy to prepare, nutritious, filling, and the pot is easy to clean afterwards. We make this stew a lot since it reminds us of ourselves as Sarkaz mercenaries... Convenient, gets the job done, and then you can just move on with your life after disposing of it. You used to love this stew.”

W gets real close to the Doctor, face to face, potato and knife gripped still, close enough that her warmth permeates through their mask, breathing audible, blood a frenzied mix of boiling and frigid.

“Do you still love this stew, Doctor?”

W’s explosive charges are less loaded than this question. Agonize, they did, trying to find the right way to diffuse this situation, but she doesn’t give them time to respond, fortunately. A dud, perhaps?

“If you still like the stew, then perhaps we can’t be friends, but... If you don’t find it to your liking, perhaps I can show you other rations and dishes we make out here, ones more nuanced, ones packed with a little more care, you know?”

Instead of sitting on a box across the fire from Doctor, W sits next to them now, finally abandoning the Doctor’s personal space.

“I’ve just been thinking very seriously about this, see? You really... And if I’m wrong about this, heh, shame on me, but you really don’t seem like the kind of person that likes that stew anymore. Just something I’ve learned from watching. Watching you. Watching the new blood. Watching the trust they place in you, the affection, the laugh and cajolery and jocosity of it all. And in the center of it all, what is it that you do? You reciprocate, and it drives me crazy.”

The Sarkaz’ voice raises just for a second.

“Because this could be much simpler, this could be as easy as click click boom, you know? Hit the switch, have a laugh, carry on, but no, you’ve made this far more complicated than it had to be. If you had remembered the anecdote, I could’ve just hit the button half an hour ago, and by now, I would be done picking up whatever was left of you, hiding it in an abandoned sewer line and then sealing it, and I’d be on my way to Columbia right about now. I hear they got some nice new settlement for Infected there now. If only you had remembered.”

But the Doctor did not remember. Not about the time when Kal’tsit lectured W for hours on end, nor about the time they disposed of the leftover stew. Not about a damn thing. The bombs in the box labelled “Doctor” were almost comically redundant, for whatever firepower they could hold, they’d never compare to the edge of Doctor’s conscience, twisting from within. 

“...I heard you carried that FrostNova girl’s body. Thanks for that,” carried on W. “And for that, in addition to everything else, I’ve decided that maybe we ought to eat more than crummy stew next time. Which side of you is the real one? I guess I’ll -- we’ll -- find out soon enough.”

After that, no more words were traded. Peel, they did, and eventually, dinner was ready. The stew was somehow bitter and bland. Doctor couldn’t be happier, and was already anticipating what they were going to make next.

Maybe they’ll have anecdotes the both of them remember to fill the silence while peeling potatoes next time. Not that silence is unwelcome. Silence is meaningful, and a surprising amount of times, what unveils the truth behind someone’s heart.

[captainkurosolaire]

Battle Architect

The mighty sorcerer warped now his favorite go-to Voidal Relic, the worst one, The Scroll of the Twelve. He navigated his digit to true decimation, this trifling lot, couldn’t comprehend what unfathomably spell he foreknew and could invoke. Under the extent raging battle. Shiro managed to retrieve himself close enough to scoot into Captain and pull out from the Seeker’s pocket his chained pocket-watch, which if carried recent enough could date injuries to time and be used to personally rewind them upon a once activation. He couldn’t go too far, only enough to deal with the most recent grievous wounds. But it was better than anything to keep them as many in the fight of their lives. That last pommeling Captain would’ve either sustained his death or regardless been out of commission. The hour hand’s began spinning at Shiro’s responsive aether who was proficient in time-magick, but couldn’t stop time after losing much of his full arsenal to the lecherous resurrection, even Diamond Ice was scarce for him to use.  Breathe regained into the lung’s of Captain and injuries minute’s ago dissolved. As his amber came forth and he looked stunned, hasking for air, looking dismayed. “Shiro…” He had been once mend like this before by the same source very long-ago. But that’s because Noble and Pirate both shared a similar woman’s interest who coaxed them to fight against the Sea Civilization Empire. “Don’t…” Scowling not wanting to be thanked. He loathed that not only Captain but his entire Crew was sacrificing themselves seemingly all for him. That’s so damaging to pride… To be so weak. “Wait, that's Judas? ...He’s like a completely different person, I knew he could survive th’ Eternal Sona Flower. But t’ remain himself… Incredible…” He once required using Relic's petal’s for desperate measures but inevitably, that brought the ruling demise of his former Chef, and dearest Xaelic matey, Masao.  Both their feline ear’s began hearing a bone chilling spell beginning to utter suddenly, “OH NO!” Shiro said horrified aside Mhachi cell’s and Kuro also ingrained deep influenced cell’s of vein coursing Amadapori. Heard the beginning of it and felt their bodies about to explode from their very existence, unlike the damage they risked bringing all nature and forms, throughout all their lifetime they were being judged. It’s what brought an end to their better ancestors and ended the most notorious War. Silv’a flavoring salivated this conclusion. “GREEN…--” Captain burst aloud, “IF HE PERFORMS THAT WE’RE DONE!” Any of the remaining Crew if had consciousness felt the same sentiment but unable to vocalize. “WRA-” On the tip of Silv’a’s tongue about to use the most indomitable destructive spell, Greenwrath. Atypically that wouldn’t have been fearful to all them but because of the Scroll, every nature or ethical law behind spell change codes or loosened restrictions previous base on emotional stress. With Silv’a’s hefty Umbral alignment of multiple aspects feasted on, it would’ve been potent enough to take out the people of this room with complete mass-purge. Each Goldbrand and Noble head’s count of them would be worth many, many years accelerated typically on the wielder invoking Scroll, but Silv’a’s ageless body negated it all. Out of the entire selection that spell was among the worst. Soon as the sorcerer however moved his index finger enough over to the second-half after ‘a’ in ‘wrath’ a massive explosion blew up over him. Piercing eardrums and shoving people back from the magnitude. A trip wire. Judas planted every single movement earlier and his cowardice acts as previously stated, they were all intended. Each of them carefully maneuvering and shifting. Each feint, they were meant to loop and coil nearly-fully invisible aetheric fiber string wires.  From the bottom hilt’s of his dirk’s carried them, to his mere finger tips, in the middle of rushing when his hand’s swayed, he was meticulously cutting redundant wire’s to intersect over and over.

This resulted in a spider-web-like response. Combining various string was also an added strategic level of his intelligence. Not only did he have overlapping wires, some were facades. It explained that when Silv’a tried to remove himself from in a leap, he was prevented because he was entangled from below legs. But that wasn’t all either. It was his entire upper torso and arms to every individualistic finger. The aetheric nature he could do many things, using the wind aspect he could reposition at any point even already served purpose wire’s that were destroyed or needed realigning to prevent suspicions. The First Crewmate abundantly stood by his entire body was also suffering extensive linked injuries and cut’s that weep over into his clothes. Each wire he connected on himself meant he needed to account for the range between his target. Agony creeping over his visage and heaving breath formed. To hide such overwhelming power from the surface was a feat beyond many tricksters. But he was the best poker face. Last drifting scrap of parchment of that Scroll was unusable charcoal turning into ash from the flammagentius cloud of debris the explosion created. Detonation wires were scarcely Judas’s usage. His big-attack was all or nothing. It cost him to aetherial tether interlacing wire’s to his own heart, taking a severe toll on his life-span. Bloody drenched. Shiro and Kuro looked at each other… “I don’t believe it… He did it!” Disbelieving emotions were so confused, they went from drastically feeling inevitable dread they felt their spirit’s practically lift out of them. Only to feel a stun of amazement. Captain always knew compared to his own self that Judas possessed ahead of his time techniques, trickster inspiring abilities and sheer intelligence that far many underestimated. Even when Captain battled against the Hyur as ‘Bellum’ he wasn’t fighting in his normal style to remain incognito with his dedication, changing his style to adopt personas, a lot the Seeker learned from this prodigy. This hellish nightmare felt unthinkingly over. There didn’t appear to be any traces left as the dusting cloud began to dissolve.                          (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)

[naralanis]

Hi. Someone recomend me your blog and I am so glad that they did! I have been having problems with Lamy Safari from Day 1 and it's just breaks my heart to see it unused and just lying around since it was a gift from my girlfriend. I use Lamy T-10 cartridges with it. The nib felt scratchy, so I got that replaced ( day 1) and then the feed keeps getting gunked up if I don't use it for 2 days. I always keep the pens in a horizontal position. I have cleaned it more than twice or even thrice in a month but it still gunks up if unused for more than a day. Oh it's an EF nib by the way, could that be the problem? I have a Metropolitan too ( also EF) , never faceded any such problems with it.

Hi there! I'm glad you found your way here, welcome to this mess.

Sorry to hear your Safari is having issues. I have about a dozen Safaris, and only one of them gave me issues -- and they were pretty similar to what you're experiencing. It was also an EF, and I was using the T10s as well.

(while the pink was the problematic Safari, the crud did not come from any T10 cartridge, but another ink I tried later on. that and the white ink clogging the other one are only here for shock value lol)

The problem went away the moment I tried a new ink. That's usually the first thing I do if the ink flow is funky (after cleaning, of course). With my Safari, I switched to a converter and inked it up with Waterman Serenity Blue. It wrote right away, and my drying, gunky problems were over. And TBH... not a big fan of the T10 blue cartridges in general. This might be just me, but I always think the ink has a weird viscosity, and it's miles different than the bottled Lamy Blue.

Honestly my first recommendation would to get yourself a converter (if you don't already have one). Not only it will give you more ink variety, allowing you to test ink flow with wetter inks and see if that solves your problem, it will also be helpful when flushing out your pen, because it'll allow you to draw soapy water in and out of it. For the Safari, you'll want the Z28 converter. Additionally, if your nib has dried out, you can use the converter to give it a little more ink to get it going again (this is called flooding the feed, if I remember correctly).

That being said, maybe you just prefer the convenience of the cartridges and don't want to deal with bottled inks. That is totally OK! I'll explore some more options below the cut -- I'm sorry, this is going to be a bit... long.

Quick disclaimer: all of the suggestions below are based on things I've done myself. I highly recommend checking out r/fountainpens and The Fountain Pen Network. The pen people there can help with pretty much anything, no matter how specific the problem.

If you don't have a way of testing another ink with a converter or another cartridge, I'm told that a little teeny bit of dish soap into the cartridge will help with ink flow. I have used dish soap for that purpose before, just never in a cartridge so I can't really vouch for its efficacy.

My second recommendation... get yourself a bulb syringe, if you don't already. They're excellent to have around even if you do use converters, but they're especially helpful if you only use cartridges, because now you have a way to push water through your feed.

Whenever you flush your pen, I recommend doing it with some lukewarm water (never hot) and dish soap. Water by itself doesn't do much; the soap will help break up the gunk. Any neutral dish soap will do.

Now, let's say you've tried all of the following:

Thorough flush with water and soap

Switching inks/cartridges

Switching nibs -- checking to see if the tines are not too tight

... and the problem still persists? Well, we can check for a few other things to make sure your pen isn't defective. And if it is defective, you should be able to exchange it under warranty; just contact your retailer.

First: check the fit of your cartridge/converter. They both should fit snugly into your section, and the Z28 converter actually has little notches that click it into place.

You shouldn't have to use force when pushing either one into the section. There's a bit more resistance with a brand new cartridge, of course, but it still shouldn't require a ton of pressure.

If your cartridge feels loose either the pen or the cartridge may be defective, so try another cartridge (I know you probably have, but better cover my bases!).

The way I like to test the converter is to install it without lining up the notches to their slots -- it should still fit snugly in the section without them.

If something feels off no matter the cartridge/converter, your pen might be defective -- contact your retailer!

Another possibility: there may be something wrong with the seal of your cap. You can take a look inside the cap of your pen and check if there's anything off about the inner cap.

You can test this by filling the cap with some water. Seal it with your thumb and give it a little shake; if there is an issue with the inner cap, water will most likely leak out from the holes where the clip is installed -- if water can get out, so can air, and that may be contributing to your pen constantly drying out.

I'll have to be honest though, I've only seen this happen once, and it wasn't a factory defect (though that is certainly not impossible, especially at the scale the Safaris are produced); a friend had removed the clip to customize his Safari, and in the process of re-installing a different clip, he ended up damaging the inner cap.

The only other possible thing I can think of would be an issue with the feed itself, though that's trickier to see. You can remove a Lamy nib pretty easily, and the feed is not difficult to remove, with two caveats.

You can remove the nib and check the part of the feed that sticks out of the section. If that looks fine, there's the possibility of damage on other parts of the feed. And while you could remove the feed like I did above, the main caveat is that the Safari technically was not made to be disassembled.

So yeah, you could remove the feed to check it, but that might void your warranty, at least according to a couple pen friends of mine. Sometimes a retailer will still take it and exchange it, but I have no reliable information to give you that says it will be a guarantee.

The other caveat is that this Lamy feed is fragile. The top that sits under the nib is very thin and flimsy, and it's not hard to break it when you pull it out. So if you're not super confident in it, I would recommend contacting your retailer so you don't run the risk of breaking your pen.

Sometimes, a pen just dries a little quicker than we want. I have two Parker IMs that dries out after only an hour or two no matter what ink I put in it -- the model itself has a pretty crappy seal overall. I just dip the nib in some water (my dad just... licks his. which... works, I guess? but also no thank you) to get it running again. It's not an elegant solution, but it works for me because... lazy.

That is pretty much all I can think of -- I really hope it helps, and my apologies if some of these seem a bit redundant.

Do check out r/fountainpens and The Fountain Pen Network if you're still stuck -- people there have tons more experience than I do and may have some other/better tips.

Let me know if your pen starts behaving!

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 15)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 14 (Link)

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Mornings with Geralt especially after a night full of bliss can keep your face burning hot from the discernment that he'd finally bed you. He was insatiable and also salty from dodging his subtle gestures---which can be quite entertaining to experience and also upsetting when it took him three days of keeping his distance. But, the witcher made up his absence by giving a gift that surely warmed your heart.

Warnings: Mention of Bucky, X-men and the Avengers. (Weird, I know. HAHA!) Suggestive content. Cheeky Geralt. Nudity. Salty Geralt. (LMAO XD) Shy reader. Kinda sweet Geralt? There's floof in this! Geralt unfamiliar with the feeling of holding hands. Heehee! Mention of bulge, nipples and punani? Also, a cunning reader. HA!

Words: 8.9k (It's a lot. I know. Sorry. The next chapter is actually smut again. Damn. It's also 10k words. I AM UTTERLY SHOOKTH. XD)

A/N: Chapter 15.1 will be smut. No plot shift for the rest 2-3 chapters. (Just relationship development for the reader and our white wolf) Let's just be happy with these type of chapters before I drop bombs, bb's! Also, let's just appreciate that Geralt is feeling happy (still being how he is tho) before shit goes down again and he's all brooding. XD Geralt deserves this! XD I don’t want the characters to just revolve around the idea and pleasure of lust because I know it is more than that. 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi (GIF credits: witches-ground, white-wolf-of-rivia, demivampirew)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

ONE HABIT OF YOURS THAT YOU WERE USED TO DOING IN THE MORNING IS TO STRETCH ALL THOSE KNOTS THAT HAPPENED TO BE ACHING WHILE YOU'VE SLEPT LIKE A BABY. The ravens that tweeted on the window side never seem to wake you up, but your body clock did.

No blinding sunlight has woken you up from your slumber this time. A lazy whine gurgled at the back of your throat; shifting on your side of the bed as you've turned sideways to sluggishly haul your arm on an expected empty space to surprisingly feel solid, chiseled, warm, valley of muscles that laid upon your palms.

You've swallowed your saliva, your throat feeling scratchy and drier than usual. A subtle clearing of your throat as you narrowed your eyes to presume that the white wolf was already out and about before you even were.

Well-knit arms and sturdy shoulders that were precisely sized like your thighs, crinite chest that you somehow managed to goggle once your half-lidded eyes blinked to straighten the blurry gaze of yours, eyesight now sharp as a cheetah. Perspective concentrated on the beefy man who had his blankets treacherously meeting the ends of his torso, mantling the parts he needed to cover for the sake of your stability.

You didn't even know your palms were already caressing Geralt's prominent abs when you've raked his body at a snail's time. Glowing, soft and amused amber eyes already focusing on your groggy state of mind.

"Good morning," the scarred hunk of a man huskily greeted, his timbre lacing with an unused pliant tone that certainly left your thoughts unprocessed as your hand cease its freedom from feeling his abs brushing beneath your fingers.

You've taken a dry gulp, impulsively carrying your weight with the help of your elbow, gaping at the witcher who had a stoic face but with unfathomable emotions filled within his eyes.

"I wasn't fondling with your abs, I swear! I was...caring and caressing your scars!" an arm was raised, like you've been caught by the police for creating a crime. The other supporting your weight against the mattress as Geralt seemed to be in a sustained position. Back wholly laying down with his face turned to your looming ones as he rested below you.

He sluggishly blinked, eyes slightly seeing something more worth to admire at as he looked down on your wonderful unclad chest before cocking a brow to skeptically admit with his eyes now focused on you, "That...didn't felt like there were any scars on that part,"

You could tell his mind was preoccupied as he licked his lips, taking a glance of what he was been looking at when you've seen breasts out in the open that made you emit a tiny shriek which got the witcher grinning a little. The blankets on you were hurriedly raised till your chest was covered; though, it probably had no use already from how you've seen the hickeys that were left all around you chest; convincing you that having a nipple slip wasn't the only thing uncouth.

A mortified look on your face had Geralt entertained first thing in the morning. A weird expression you pull whenever you're in the midst of feeling petrified for every new stuff that you experience in their world; never having to experience it back in your earth.

For all one knows, you were probably a reserved child or simply a staid that you haven't gotten a real man throughout your lifetime.

Geralt kept his mouth shut; as he always does and waited for you to vent and clear out your horrified burst of emotions. He knew you would calm down a little after saying what you needed to honestly tell, and so; he silently listened.

"Please tell me you've taken my clothes off because I needed a bath and because of whatever I was feeling last night---because, because---I'm so freaking redundant, I apologize--- Also, I gotta' say and ask you an intriguing question that you surely don't mind based on how you are lacking clothes right now---but, are you NAKED UNDER THE COVERS, Geralt?"

You couldn't believe you've taken drastic measures last night.

Face began to twist in embarrassment, it was like the morning wanted you to take the recording device and press the playback button. The horrible thread of wanton moans and utterances in the middle of being riled chimed in your head like your dignity was laughing at how you promised never to give in to the witcher because he was a fuck boy in their dimension.

Who's cackling now?

Right. Your strength of character was, because you didn't seem to be quite strong for lewdly moaning out his name like a prayer in the middle of the night. Those raunchy ugh's and oh's will continue to haunt you down.

Geralt's expressions seemed to be unreadable still, until you've seen his lips pucker a little, slightly tilting his head as he tried to sit up, "I'm taking the blankets off."

You tried to stop him and held onto his shoulders, softly clawing at the back of his disheveled, chalky white hair as the touch wasn't making you feel any discomfort for the first time; would you even feel uncomfortable after being bonked all night? you probably hugged him when he had rode you off to wonderland for a couple of times already.

"Wait---no!"

His unkempt head fell on his pillow with a soft thud, vaguely turning his head till you were within an ace of breathing each other's oxygen.

The witcher kept still and hushed. His gaze falling on your semi-dry lips as he quietly listened to all your questions; ceasing from saying anything less than his breathing, "It happened, didn't it?" he became more blasè when you've thrown your queries at him in a hurried pace, not giving him a chance to answer, "---I didn't have a wet dream or something?"

As more as you talk, letting the panic rise to your head because of the shame you felt that maybe he would feel used after being so in need for such a passionate impaling; the sex being done out of help or because there was no other choice for the pain to stop, those sly fidgety fingers of yours topped off his thatch of hair that laid upon his chest, tracing the notch of his medallion as you heard him lowly hum in delight.

Geralt only answered you with a lazy blink of his eyes, heedful of your fingers mindlessly caressing his skin because you were anxiety-filled as of the moment. He let you, always will; with eyebrows tightly furrowed together as he was trying to retain the image of your sweet, seraph face, scruffy hair and painted skin that was filled by witcher bites.

You pouted. Your lightly swollen, grouchy morning face go on about how your core felt sore from how it has been penetrated hours after hours end, "I'm sore. You sure I didn't just got prank by Jaskier and somehow stupidly sat on a pole that stabbed my reproductive organ?"

The sexy, hot, and stark naked white wolf subtly shook his head, his palm retracting from behind his head as he moved his thick arm, slipping beneath the white covers. Determined for his listless touches; strong fingers gliding behind to rest his palm against the small of your back.

His touchy-feely gestures made you swallow the collywobbles, rapidly blinking back as you hardly believed he was actually touching you back. Far as you remembered, when you hugged him while his hair was being braided, Geralt went stiff and still, never knowing what to do with your sudden, impulsive actions.

Your words stumbled after each other, slightly stuttering at the perfervid gaze he opted to give out of his wits, "Great! No...no more sacrifices of virgin women to witches now?"

Geralt was still voiceless as he remained speechless. Your image in the morning placing him in a trance. You awkwardly cleared your dry throat, wincing because of how stupefied he appeared to be. Your hand quickly came to cover your mouth, stifling the embarrassment because of how he seemed to be blown away by particular things you didn't know about. One of your guesses was that he was dumbfounded by your morning breath, "Oh, my morning breath. Explains why you're not talking, Rivia."

You've warily stuck your head in between the crook of Geralt's neck and clavicle after being forthright. The touch of your skin against his knocking him out of his reverie as he tried to turn his head to see your face, but failed to do so; your face thoroughly hidden in his peripheral vision.

"No. That's never happening." he hoarsely murmured; answering your 'sacrificing a virgin' question. His timbre awfully deeper and rougher than most of the time. This was his morning voice then, and you were sure your heart began to wildly flutter because of his fingers behind the small of your back; absentmindedly brushing his calloused palms against your delicate skin.

You mumbled against his shoulder, speaking tone more sotto voce and inaudible. But, the white wolf heard everything. Your tone turning pocket-sized because of how scandalous the question have been.

"I'm not a virgin anymore then?"

He granted your question with an affirmative hum, his answer felt like you were tickled under your palm as you were still being a scatterbrain.

"We'd really...?" you trailed off dubiously. The train of thought left like a scattered path that had an arrow as to what you really wanted to mean. You've felt his chest exhale a sigh before he lowly spoke and frankly continued the sentence for you, "Bed you?" the witcher grouched like he wanted to scoff from how beyond belief you sounded, "---Yes, midget. I did. We did."

Geralt felt your shoulders shaking, your mouth exhaling stifled, mirthful giggles as your face went flushed from the reality of your virginity being taken by the witcher.

A dashing mutated human who came from a different world. He was like a character that existed in a game or movie. The type of television series that you would love to watch despite of having many seasons for it based on how interesting his world have been. Less frightening through a gadget rather than experiencing it in real life though.

Your first experience with sex and it had to thankfully be with Geralt of Rivia.

"Oh..Ohohoho," you expressed your faint simpers, feeling Geralt's fingers turned still as he waited for you to continue like he always does, "---You're not serious."

He sensed the slight snigger in your tone, the disbelief somewhat dripping in strong because of the thought. Though, there was also a bit of worry to it because you were probably agitated of what would happen after this; like it was just the start of something bigger and you knew it wasn't just the girth that has piped you in like a broken faucet which is needed to be fixed all night.

"Geralt of...Mmmhia and me," you mused before feeling his fingers brush up your sides; the butterflies in your stomach tickling your insides making you partly squirm from his touch. Your body oblivious of the modest shiver of your body that has automatically responded to the witcher's touches.

A pair of soft, pillowy lips rested upon your shoulder, pecking your silky skin that somehow had a purplish bite and the witcher tried soothing it with a kiss.

"It happened. Even more than once."

You've tried hard to suppress your exhilaration from how the witcher has been acting. Staying in bed with you, saying good morning and most of all, boldly kissing you or in every parts of your body whenever you're together. It was an obvious notification that he was a lot more brazen with you alone, by preference; Geralt appeared to be like a person who lets his walls down when you're the only person he's with.

A deep, baritone chuckle was heard after your toned down squealing. You swiftly lifted your head to meet the diablerie eyes of the white wolf, his mouth in a tight-thin line before winding his long fingers around your nape, pulling your face close until his lips met yours, his vermillion avid to give you a passionate one when he planned to only give you a soft peck that would make his gluttonous cravings contented.

Nevertheless, he knew it wouldn't based on how he wanted to rile you up again, all day. Just those naive, coy innocence of yours was enough reason to continue his corrupting.

You've held a hand on his chest when he tried to deepen the kiss, lifting himself up with an elbow while he continued to connect your lips to his; smoothly molding as one before you've felt his hoary hair frame your face, paving the way till you were laid flat upon your back; Geralt's heavy, muscular weight starting to crush you. His soft kisses that turned choleric had a hidden agenda when he tried placing you under him, and you knew what strategy he was playing.

Your warm palms stopped his ministrations with a hand on his bewhiskered, chiseled chest. The look in your eyes savvy for what he was planning for; feebly doing it so as you were puny with just one aflamed kiss from the witcher. His spirited kisses were cut-short, a coquettish look within those glowing amber eyes that gave you the tingles when you were trying to grasp how you've fantasized to have his weight crushing you as he laid on top; then now it wasn't just a fantasy of yours as it turned into a reality.

"We actually did the birds and the bees then, if you're that comfortable with kissing me, Geralt."

His features appeared to be like he couldn't-care-less, until such time his taciturn self had slipped a small smile or two making you raise a skeptical brow. Geralt tried to put his lips back to where it came from before you've tutted with frisk.

The latter deeply groaned to himself, cocking his head to the side when you've received an unusual balk from a man who rarely expresses himself. He dejectedly rolled off you, seeing him raise a skeptical brow. Geralt's cynicism catching you off guard like he was an adult who has never been given what he wanted.

"I had you all night," he claimed, sounding totally point-blank as he sat his ripped back against the wooden headboard. The covers just below his torso as a trail of trimmed hair was hiking down a path that had your fingers cursory signing the cross like you were being whispered by the devil on your shoulders.

He didn't seem to mind showing you his sculpted body that was carved by the gods, after screwing with him, he became pretty much as bold as brass unlike you who was still sheepish about your naked self hidden beneath the covers. Well, if you had a chiseled body like Geralt of Rivia; you wouldn't be shy of it at all.

Geralt's lips were slightly curled up in a sneer as he sat beside your laying, timid form. You shifted across the bed, rolling off to the other side till you weren't facing the goading, ghost-voiced witcher---who sounded so hot nevertheless---and you saucily concluded, "It was just...a wet dream of me being one horny woman. Not real."

You can sense that he wanted to scoff, feeling his eyes tickling your back because you knew he was still staring.

"You begged for it," he spoke as a matter of fact.

Oh, he's wanting a debate in this one. You thought in the back of your mind. Discomfited by the truth that was set free. Much to your chagrin, his frank discussion made you jump on the bed, sitting upright with the blankets covering your chest as you let out an incredulous gasp, feigning the whole act that you didn't know the veracity held within his facts.

His gaze was entirely pooling with mischief and a little bit of pride as well. He was close-lipped when his features began to endearingly soften, ushering your heart to turn mushy from how evocative his gaze held; tinting your face with a blush that certainly couldn't be seen through the naked eye.

"It--It was the scar's fault! You didn't need to be so blunt about it!---also stop looking at me like that!"

Your heart was on edge like it was standing on the ends of the cliff, waiting for the catapult to just be done with Geralt probably standing below you with open arms. You've given him a faltering glare that consists of ambivalent emotions soaring high.

You didn't know where to look, eyes shun away from the man. Briefly shifting from the windows behind him; lately realizing that his wide ranging built actually had him covering the sunlight for you as you slept. A hand clutched the blankets tightly in front of your chest while the other hand had you fidgeting over the disarranged bed covers; tapping and tapping till it ceased when you've felt Geralt's fingers grazing along your chin, turning to look him in the eye and you swore breakfast was already served before you even know it.

"That wasn't the issue when you've left me alone in my chambers---trying to upset me when you've braided my hair,"

He deeply mocked as you feigned another gasp. It galled you that he was accusing you that you've left him upset yesterday. He wasn't just the only one who was aggrieved from the whole situation.

"Excuse me---?! What are you actually trying to point out here? Now, you think of me like I'm some...some woman who planned this all along and--and---!!" your train of thought was cut off midway, forbearing what you wanted to say as the witcher raised a brow in understanding; knowing what you meant.

A promiscuous woman. Geralt never thought of you that way last night when you were caught in the heat of the moment especially experiencing the effects of the Cicatrix. He found it definitely onerous mostly that he also could feel what you felt; happiness, sadness, fear, anxiety, vexation and a lot more that could vary. Though, the witcher would know what you felt when the emotions were already clouding up your mind; filling them until it was the only thing that runs in your heart before sensing it.

The whole intuition about sensing each other's feelings still had no answer. Though, both of you knew it was also because of that bizarre mark that was carved in between your breast; knowing full well that the hunger you had for each other causes it at the same damn time.

Geralt's lips curled into a faint, kindly beam that had his eyes glowing in odd compassion.

"I don't. You're still my midget,"

You tightly blinked, words jumbled all together with a disbelieving stammer, "Your---midget? Yours?" and subtly pointing a finger at him as you were entirely gobsmacked from his sudden admission and roundabout claiming towards the whole midget thing.

Does this mean he was your witcher then?

He averted his beautiful cat-eyes away, lowly humming beneath his chest and fleetingly shut his peepers, the isolation of being with you overwhelming him a lot. The solitude of being alone as much as possible; away from people except for Jaskier and Cirilla sounded calming. But, when you came along; your happy-go-lucky and naivity of yours swept himself off his feet no matter how emotionless he appeared to be.

Your sweet, bashful and intriguing presence was beyond overwhelming to his withdrawn behavior.

After hearing a hum from the witcher himself, you've hardly scooted away---thinking better to have breakfast in bed, no kidding---but chose to be practical and avoid a slip of your flushing face, turning your bare back away from Geralt; feet falling flat on the wooden floors as you straightened your back, lazily stretching as you softly mewled---that got the witcher burning holes on your back and also feeling himself twitch under the covers because he heard it so well.

You've felt his thick, long, calloused fingers brush against the small of your back, gliding along like he was insinuating at something.

"Another?"

He actually didn't mean...that, right? you silently talked to yourself, clearing your throat, ceasing your actions; gaze fixated at Geralt's used black buttoned tunic that was tossed to the floor.

"What do you mean, another?!"

Your tiny squeaks echoed around his chambers, chary of what he was hinting at that made your eyeballs pop out of your eye sockets from how he still wanted sex after having at least just two hours of nap. You were blissfully spent last night, utterly drained and here he was, the witcher was wanting more.

Was this one of his perks in being mutated?

His fingers gave you a slight tickle, rough voice turning velvety like silk, trying to scrub that determined but utmost wobbly state of mind when it came to your witcher. Geralt's fingers brushed along your spine, languidly tracing till the periphery of your shoulder blades that emitted a breathless exhale of your breath from his mere touch, "When I told you I would indulge your curiosity all night long and days thereafter, I wasn't lying."

Your skin felt so supple and satiny; the way he coveted all night wasn't enough to keep him sated. Satisfied. No. If it was possible to have you in a week of constant ravishing; he would delightfully do so. But, no. You didn't have his stamina nor do you probably feel comfortable by the sensitive feeling you were experiencing as of this morning.

Yes, you were sore. Very. But, the soreness was worth it in your perspective.

You hastily grabbed onto the used tunic, slipping your arms over the huge shirt in which Geralt loved seeing on you but he definitely wouldn't admit, "Oh! As much as I remembered, you never wanted this coochie in the first place! Telling me it was the Djinn effects or some sort!"

"---Midget," you've began your mockery, parodying his baritone timbre like a loser, trying hard type and Geralt couldn't help but place you under his scrutiny, his succulent lips curling into an amused smile as he silently watched you make a fool out of yourself, "---I don't deserve it. I'm guessing it's the Djinn's work that is talking---who's the liar now, huh?"

The witcher exhaled a long sigh, drowsily blinking as he added nonchalantly, "A shame." he stifled the amusement in his tone as you turned to see him slightly imploring to persuade that dead set decision of yours. Your reactions were priceless, even so; he kept his bulge twitching in anticipation for another wave of bliss because every breath he hears surprisingly makes him go gaga over you.

"---Spare me five minutes."

You looked at him like he has grown three heads. Unblinking from his risquè intimations of having your fantasies ticked down. It only needed a 'yes' from you and breakfast will immediately be served right thing in the morning.

Geralt of Mmmhia licked his lips, gaze narrowed as he was seeing the unwavering look within your eyes.

"Ten." he bluntly proposed, stifling a chuckle that made you want to just throw yourself at the witcher but you were a strong woman---though, your eyes have been a huge traitor against the strong will; raking along Geralt's body maybe more than once to admire him in the flesh. Yet, also the tragic experiences that his scars held.

You would ask him about it someday; deciding that you wouldn't want to ruin this rare mood of his.

"Must it be half an hour?" skeptically, he mumbled and blurted out in the open with a hum that snapped you out of your reverie.

"A liar indeed. You don't just take five minutes. Your five minutes consists of six hours or more! Probably even days!" you shook your head knowingly, subtly pointing down below as you sheepishly batted your eyelashes back to the staring witcher who was intensely doing it; with you who was gesturing to what he wanted, "---You're not having this,"

With a simple wiggle of your fingers he knew you wouldn't budge, nor was the white wolf even serious. Geralt was just sending a jest or maybe it also held a little bit of real talk if you would allow him for his wishes.

He'd feast ones eyes as you slid your feet off the bed, with bewilderment in his golden peepers. He opened both palms on either side, gesturing with his hands in astonishment  from how you've curved him away, giving the morning bonking a miss. Geralt raked you from head to foot, having a thing about wearing his gigantic clothes that obviously didn't fit like a glove.

With the tousled hair, abnormally painted skin and body ache you were feeling, it was enough to get his agitating hunger firing up.

You heard him grouch as the bed squeaked, warning you that the witcher has stood up on his feet; unintentionally giving his exposed body a once over as the bare-assed witcher grabbed onto his leather pants, fumbling with the hem of it; looking out of the window as the sunshine hit his body in a staggering way. His derriere was phenomenal, the swell of his ass was remarkable; out of this world and you couldn't believe that he'd actually...finally...let you have him.

Pulling out an all nighter didn't kept your curiosity still; even then, you planned and wanted to have another soon when you weren't sore enough, if he'd let you.

"Yeah," he stated in point of fact, receiving a panicking yelp from you when he'd turn around; his disrobed nature never disturbing him despite with you in the room, a daring gesture that he certainly didn't mind if you would stare because you were free to do so. Your reaction got his lips curled into a small grin, the sun making your bruised skin glow in ways that got him complimenting his work of art.

"---Until that weird Cicatrix of yours starts giving effects, the domineering lady would waver,"

Alas, the cicatrix was not giving you effects. But, just seeing him standing buck naked; had your will shaking from the time out you opted to happen. It was probably a bad idea to even suggest a short suspension of the activities he wanted to receive.

Three days have passed. After your nightly penetrating with the witcher and the morning after when you've hushed his off-colored ideas, you didn't know he would be so salty about it.

Geralt was still Geralt; silent, unobtrusive and basking in his own solitude with his horse at all times. Regardless of his normal behavior for wanting to be alone, you understood that it was already a part of his personality that you've known since the day you've arrived.

When you meant that you wanted a timeout, three days wasn't what you tried to point out. The burning coil stirring and pooling below your stomach calmed down in some way or another when you've given in to the desires it wanted. Hence, after that carnal desires it controlled; it wanted another thing as well. Though, this time around; no Cicatrix was controlling you to feel this way.

You wanted Geralt's attention after spending most of his time with Roach rather than his midget.

He wasn't entirely avoiding you at all costs, pushing you off the side or something like that but his gestures were minimal especially with Jaskier and Cirilla hanging around. No hugs, no kisses or no touches when you both were surrounded with his family's presence especially that they had guesses about what happened that night.

Jaskier knew it all and heard what happened. With all the grunts and hushed moans in the middle of that particular night, he blamed himself for telling Geralt to just give in when he would've realized that his room was beside his. The constant whump of Geralt's headboard hitting the adjoined walls that he had with his made the bard grab all his pillows, deciding that it was better to sleep on the hallways instead.

Geralt's withdrawn behavior was a run-of-the-mill habits of him. You were beginning to ask yourself if it has ever been a dream; the nightly ravish and torrid kisses that has happened, but you were wrong because you've woken up one time in the middle of the night with the witcher behind you as you slept on his bed, feeling his burly arm surround your waist, and unexpectedly spooning you to sleep.

You knew it was him because you've jerked from his sudden touch; in the midst of a nightmare that got your heart palpitating as you turned in your sleep. He heard your troubled whimper, taking a peek from behind your back to see if you were deep in your slumber. You were, but he'd heard your heart beat abnormally thumping louder like you were being chased and the latter knew you were caught up in a nightmare.

He gently pulled you around, turning you to face him as you've unconsciously flutter your eyes open, seeing burnt out glowing amber eyes which made you thoughtlessly cuddle closer to his neck. Humane, baritone shushes rocked you to sleep, feeling more protected that you wouldn't have a nightmare of being chased by monsters anymore now that Geralt was beside you.

Be that as it may, his actions were baffling you because after that nightly cuddle session, he was out of doors; never telling you where he went as he came back home at around nightfall without anyone telling you where he went; not that Jaskier and Cirilla knew because they also had no idea where the he went.

Here you thought, witchers can't be petty over such a little thing.

Surprisingly, Geralt was going to be the living proof that they knew how to act like one. It was like he was having a manly period and acting complicated was one of the effects; would chocolates simmer his pettiness down? you doubt.

"Hmm." The witcher was crouched beside his horse; giving her a look before scanning through a half ripped parchment paper that had an awful sketch of his face and yours; one he had retrieved from the guards that tried to forcefully take him when he was away to hunt a Bruxa.

He heard your soft padded footsteps coming down the stairs. Geralt knew it was yours because you had your own pattern; like it was a pebble being thrown in the water. Faint, gentle patters that only you can do in the perimeters of his household. Thusly, he kept the paper close to him, slipping it through the band of his pants as he rose to his feet; the sound of your feet taking a hesitant step close once he'd felt you nearby. You were hesitating, shy or probably thinking too deeply again.

Hence, your bashful company has lifted a suppressed smile on the witcher's face before it fell in just a hot second.

"My...sweetheart of a witcher," You coyly poked through his silence, taking heedful steps close. Your boots lightly scraping along the pastureland, trudging to where you could see Geralt and his broad shoulders.

The endearment you had for him struck an involuntary cringe. He swiftly turned on his heel, facing you with his eyebrows tightly scrunched together like he didn't know what to truthfully feel about the whole pet name. You gave him an unimpressed fall of your forced smile, completely nonplussed that he seemed to be peeved.

"What's with that face? You don't like it? Is it that too cringey? you looked like you've seen Barney and realized he was an awful, scary dinosaur for the children!"

Geralt exhaled a breath out of his mouth before peering down at you; disregarding your modern references for now because he knew it was a banter, his eyes doing that beautiful narrowed smolder that made you want to smack his face...with your lips.

"You're doing it too."

You snobbishly crossed your arms across your chest, shrugging off the timidness as you held your head up high. Literally. The compelling sarcasm drizzling out of your mouth as you declared, drawling out your words like it sounded seething and with emphasis as Geralt couldn't help but tilt his head to the side, considering the snark that you wanted him to be aware of.

"Fine. I'm ticking that out. Honey, then? Cause you're as sweet as honey then became too salty and tried spending more time with Roach rather than your midget."

Who was petty about being subtly ignored now?

Y-O-U.

Geralt shifted his weight on both feet, the glint in his eyes telling you that he was finding the topic rather amusing when you're all riled up for being out of his reach. He'd done that for you. Isn't that what you wanted? space? a timeout? yet, why were you being mad about it then?

"My darling witcher," you started again with a pinch of sugar; the endearment sounding like a threat when you've seen his eyes subtly scanning your clothes. He'd given you a scowl. His gaze felt heavily dragging as he bore in mind at the image of your taut, hardening nipples that was poking through the tube part of your dress.

The crisp breeze of the wind passed through the air, licking up your spine that ignited a reflex from your perky breasts, your dress more see-through as Geralt inspected such a modest outfit which you never worn ever.

Nevertheless, its effects that you wanted to portray through the outfit got him eager for what plans you hold; appearing to be so innocent, demure and sweet with that princess-like sleeveless dress. You had plans. Cunning plans for the witcher, indeed. Sometimes, that naivity running in your veins contradicts with the threatening tone that somehow slips through your mouth; like a bane from a baby snake because of how innocuous you wanted it to be told.

Your innocence somehow had ulterior motives and dark shadows behind your cherub face and small height.

"Stop it." Geralt lowly grumbled in protest, the sight of your nipples stirring the heat inside his pants. You've caught a glimpse of his eyes rolling in disbelief, making you exclaim out loud, "I'm squeezing so hard for your sweetness to come out, Geralt. Pay heed for my effort, will ya'?"

The latter loudly sighed, turning on his booted heel to brush through Roach's mane; he tried to ignore your get-up. But, the dress was doing magnificent effects to your whole being. You were as pretty as a picture, captivating on its finest because of how effeminate its design was decorating your body.

Geralt gave you another once over, probably staring a little bit too long for his 'self-control' to shake.

"You're wearing a dress." he uttered a little bit dull for you to accept. Words frothing with lethargy as he continued to give his attention more to his horse that made you withhold a huff because of how you were feeling disregarded.

You went all the way out; wearing a pretty dress just for the witcher and here he was, brushing off your presence like he didn't like what he was seeing. You were sure you were dolled up from head to foot; even had Cirilla helping you tie the strings behind your back to keep your stomach in tact.

Jaskier even had a good start of the day to send compliments when all you've receive from him was insults; his words noting that you were looking rather feminine and pretty with the dress you've bought back in the marketplace and the witcher here couldn't even look straight into your eyes nor give you the attention you've been hoping for?

Your face fell from his lackadaisical response, eyeing Geralt in dismay who still had his back face-front. You were thoroughly disheartened, shoulders slumping while you stood beside the towering white wolf; voice sounding nasally from how dispirited you've felt.

"You sound like you're telling me I look like a whale in this pretty cute dress with that scowl on your face---Thank you for your kind honesty, my lord."

Geralt sauntered around Roach where his bag has been strapped to his horse, you've tailed behind him like a puppy. He rummaged through his leather bag, mumbling his reply in his most sluggish tone like a wiseacre.

"You want something from me. Obviously." he bluntly commented, digging in his bag for a thing he bought from Babeth.

You cocked your head to the side, shrugging your shoulders when you've heard Roach neigh through your honest confession induced with sheer sarcasm.

"Your attention.It’s what I only need! What else? It's like begging to a rock, I swear. You don't even hold my hand, give me back hugs, kiss me on my forehead like in the movies or those sweet gestures that men usually do. Roses! Daisies! Love letters! But, does your world have roses though?---What? you screw me all night in one day---wrecking my punani then ignore me the next? excuse me, Mr. Casanova---"

He briefly ceased his ransack, sparing you a glimpse of his impervious amber eyes; silently asking if you were actually serious with this complaining of yours before quickly revoking the admission with a snort.

"---Pfft. Okay. I'm shutting up."

Geralt went back on digging through his bag pockets, his thick fingers seeming to give him a difficult time as he couldn't help but deeply groan to himself, the scowl etching on his face growing tighter when he couldn't seem to find it. In the midst of searching through his bag, he could hear your toes softly tapping on the ground alongside with your fingers lacing behind your back and tapping against each other while you get a hold of what you were about to actually ask; like a child asking permission from her guardian.

"Jaskier and Cirilla will be visiting Cuthbert," you quietly started, uncertain of what his answer would because the last time you've tried jumping out of their household, he came home entirely maddened over the fact that you were wandering around the woods at night. However, today you would dawdle through the woods in the morning.

"---Can I come with?"

He talked under his breath, "No. Stay."

You slightly turned your head, jutting your ear his way because it sounded like an incoherent rumble of his voice that you didn't quite believed to hear and so, you repeated; much clearer and with emphasis.

"Jaskier told me they'll be bringing Kolby with them so he could wander around a little bit. If a Hirikka can come with them. Then, I suppose I can---"

Geralt cut you off in a curt manner, "Stay." he repeated his word more gruffly than the rest.

You instantly pouted from the dismissal of your request, glowering back at the witcher who was turning a deaf ear; still going through his stuff as he kept silent which caused you to sulk because of how he couldn't seem to get the bottom of why you were being petty like him.

"I thought you needed to do some monster hunting again?"

A strand of silvery hair fell from the side of Geralt's temple as he simply turned to give you an indescribable look in his eyes, tight-lipped but not much of a scowl and close enough towards a frown as he gruffly asked.

"Do you want me to leave?"

An immediate answer was sent to him; a hasty shake of your head as your features turned rigid while you quickly didn't hesitate to answer, "N-No! Of course, not!"

"Then, no. I'm not leaving you." he nonchalantly aforementioned. Finger brushing off a metal string he was finding for.

Geralt decided to stay a little longer before he went out and about to search for the Bloedzuiger he needed to annihilate for the town. He'd given Durriken a two week deadline before he finds the beast in the swamps. Though, the witcher didn't expect to actually take him a week before going on his way to kill this monster because he'd estimated his hunt to only be four days tops. Howbeit, he was stalling and chose to hunt for the bruxa that Jaskier lately mentioned near the ruins and close enough for him to go home when he wants to.

The white haired witcher never puts a brake with his job because he knew that this was the lives of people they were talking about. Yet, when he has encountered the chevaliers of Kaedwen, hunting for the Bloedzuiger that his old friend has requested somehow took him more than a week before actually starting his pursuit.

The day after tomorrow. Geralt would start to find this monster in the south swamps.

"You're not really going to let me go?" you utter so suddenly, huffing out a frustrated breath because you felt like you were being quarantined after the whole incident. It was fine if Geralt was thoughtful enough to entertain you; giving you a little slip of what was running inside his mind, talking to you instead of his horse and a lot more that could serve as entertainment for you.

There were no television, wifi, computers or places you know that were safe to jog in without being eaten by their monsters.

He clipped his bag shut, his fist closed as you tried peeking to what he was holding but his big hands made it difficult to snoop around. Geralt was tightly clutching onto the thing he was holding that made you cross your arms for the second time around, your eyes giving him a glare that didn't move him because he knew you weren't actually mad; just annoyed.

"Fine! I've wasted using a dress then. You know I never like wearing this type of clothes!"

"You're also wearing that because you have other things in your mind,"

Yes, it was to keep Geralt's eyes only on you and not his horse; trying to stir whatever you could for him to never leave your sight.

You rolled your eyes; trying not to appear like you were caught like a deer in headlights, "Great, now you're wanting to be adopted by the x-men or avengers," pause. "---You read minds now too?"

The latter softly exhaled a breath out of his nose. His muscles straining against the black under tunic he wore; sleeves folded till the ends of his elbows that accentuated those protruding veins in his forearms that looked so powerful and strong. You cleared your throat when he'd crossed his arms, the ends of his lips faintly curling when he'd lean his head to the side, quietly watching you fret.

You gave him a nod, misunderstanding his silence that he was trying to shoo you away, anxiously biting the insides of your cheeks, looking straight into his eyes as you thought out loud, "Alright, I'm not going to leave the house. I'll...try and find ways to spend the time,"

Turning around your heel, you were ceased from doing so as strong, thick and warm fingers held onto your shoulder; halting you from leaving him alone. Your heart skipped a beat as he did, his touch sending a bolt towards your stomach, electrifying the butterflies living inside to wake up.

"Wait." Geralt suddenly rasped.

"Did you change your mind now---"

You've tried to turn around, eyes hopeful that he wanted you to stay. His strong hand held you still. Silver met silver as it chimed from behind, a tiny grinding of metals faintly crashing against each other before you heard another grumble of curse words from the witcher who towered from behind.

As blasphemy left his lips, a string of metal looped around your neck followed after. His incoherent babbles quite fathomable as you could hear and comprehend that he doesn't do this kind of shit, complaining why did he even bought such a thing. Another low rumble of the word 'fuck' was all it took for Geralt to impatiently clasp onto the lock with his patience running low, taking him five tries before successfully connecting the hook; his thick fingers awfully difficult for the small jewelry to hold onto.

"Geralt," you were stunned, looking down to see the necklace that has caught your eye back at the marketplace.

It was still glowing like it used to, the coral green color beautifully twinkling against the sunlight. With an excited turn of your heel, you were feet close with the witcher; peering down with a compassionate haze in his eyes that made you grab onto the stone that lay before the valley of your breasts. His fingers still clasped on your shoulder, "This is---this was the fae necklace from Babeth. How did you know?"

Geralt avoided the question with a lick of his lips, taking a glimpse down at the necklace before staring back onto your face. The stone complimenting your glow that only you could radiate, "It'll suit you." Pause. "---The necklace also serves as an amulet to keep you out of harms way,"

"How did you know I liked this?"

You were dumbfounded; peepers quizzical and gaping at the colossal hunk of a witcher. He looked around the field as he breathed, trying to form words that he wanted to say but chose the savory answer of what he actually meant.

"I....just know," he trailed off, warmth trying to embrace you in solace when he let his words flow like a boat sailing in the ocean, smooth and steady; also direct to the point.

"---Your wishes for a man who could offer you a lavish life will never be granted. I can never be the man in your fantasies, midget. I'm not what you think I am; a prince or some nobleman in this world. I’m the least you expect or hope for,"

His jaw ticked as he continued to speak, amber eyes downcast as his face turned impassive; words turning slower than the usual, "I try not to be what they say I am after years end," pause. "---I am not entirely evil nor am I good. I've done things far more worse than any kind person would wail about. People have considered me as a monster for relevant reasons because I've killed their kind with my sword---specifically, fiendish people as I see fit,"

"---But, If I could choose one evil or another, I prefer not to choose at all."

Geralt never broke his gaze away, nor did you find any lies beneath the windows of his soul. Every word he say was the truth as he tries to truly explain what he was in their world, sending a message that he was the boogeyman living inside your closet or a monster haunting you under your bed. The horrible type of personification of what he actually was. Yet, you never see him as one.

With all words that has been said, you couldn't learn to despise him because you knew he was beyond more than that. Important. Valuable and also needed to be shown that ill will and animosity aren't the only sarcastic good that every world can offer. There was kindness; in which he shows no matter how he didn't seem to be aware of. Care. Love. Hope. Eternal happiness.

You knew your heart was screaming it; silently shouting back at the witcher that there was more to the world that it can ever offer and you aspire to be that person to show him what it is he seem to be rejecting.

The latter was heedful of how gentle you were gazing up at him. Thus, he continued, mindless that he was lost in his dismal thoughts of the life that was given to him, "The whole continent, they despise my kind and where ever I go, shit happens all the time,"

Geralt seemed to grit his teeth, humming in displeasure when his features curved into a wince for whatever he had to say next, "---It's the fucking destiny that was bound for me,"

A sudden heavy feeling crept inside your chest; crawling towards your throat and triggering you into throwing a hissy fit of sobs that pushed the tears falling right before your eyes. The abrupt shift from feeling sympathy turned into a mournful midget. Tears being an answer that you were with Geralt in this for whatever he was fighting for; having no idea that his fight could be total carnage and here you thought he was just like Bucky in the Marvel Universe.

People calling him that he's a villain when he certainly isn't because he was brainwashed or had no other choice.

Perhaps, Geralt could be like it. He'd done some kind of evil because he had no other choice too. 

He could be a monster but also a hero. 

"Why...are you crying?" the white wolf didn't know what to do. Should he hug you? wipe your tears? do men in your world do that when a woman cries? Geralt just stood tall and stiff beside Roach who had stepped back till she had her head close to him.

For anything Geralt can ever look for a horse, she'd somehow neighed and nudged his face; promptly hitting the witcher on the side of his face which caught him off-guard; quickly glaring at his horse as she offered another clear whinny which got another piercing glare from the man himself.

"I don't even know! I think it's because you're also feeling this way but you're not the one crying!"

You were in the midst of expressing your feelings. Your impulsive self hastily grabbing onto Geralt's hand that had him raising a quizzical brow. He momentarily took a glimpse of your fingers lacing in between the spaces of his. He'd never remembered that he had done such a thing before; holding hands while standing in the middle of the meadow, his hand that has tasted blood from different kinds of living creatures or people.

Those sensitive, delicate and sinless fingers of yours gripping his; connecting and enveloping against each other as one. He'd never expected for it to feel this way.

It was quite satisfying and calming; making him feel like he was protecting you in some ways because of how his palms were rather large against yours.

You sniffed your cries away, roughly wiping them with the back of your free hand. Stepping more to his side; his height towering beside your small form as you have given Geralt a look of query, "Why are you holding my hand, Geralt?"

It was a ridiculous joke that laced with sarcasm. He didn't seem to decipher what you meant and heard him sigh with a suppressed smile on his face; fighting off the beam.

"I didn't. You held onto it in the first place,"

"Oh, right. Heehee!" you simply shrugged your shoulders and puckered your lips, giggling after seeing the smile rising those tight-lips. You've waved the awkwardness off as the witcher didn't seem to know what holding hands meant. Add the fact that his hold didn't seem tight and comfortable.

"Isn't holding hands a thing in this world of yours?"

"No." He simply answered, wondering if he needed to clasp his hands tighter. Geralt was about to when you've patted his fingers to relax and grope yours, eventually slackening.

"Oh. Okay. Then, hold me like you're scared to let go, Geralt."

The white wolf mutely complied to your satisfaction; warmth that his hand could provide felt so secure as his grip turned firm like he never did wanted to let go if possible. He tipped his head to the side, watching your face contort into a felicitous image that he had already seen; recognizing the smile that he has seen in the dream that the Djinn wanted him to see.

A dream where he was also smiling the same way as you did.

You were definitely in a more jovial mood after receiving such an adorable gift from the witcher; gifts that he certainly wasn't used to giving, gestures that make him uncomfortable but he tries his best to show that he wasn't what people think he really is and that mindset was enough for your heart to jump in felicity. You've tightened your intertwined fingers.

"There. Better!"

Geralt heard the faint rustle of the winds; hitting you both in a chilling phantasm of the air hugging you in the cold. He heard a twig break from the far distance, it was imperceptible to the ears of a normal human; but not to him.

This wasn't the only time he'd heard things out of the ordinary, some were harmless animals but mostly were beasts that could harm people when hungry. The sound was faint and stealthy; sounding like this beast didn't want to be seen nor caught.

His head snap to where the sound came from, seeing nothing but an extensive lineage of trees swaying from left to right. You've given Geralt a look of doubt, seeing him narrowing his eyes at the far end of the meadow. A simple shake of your hands interlaced together interfered his perusal of something or someone lurking from behind the woods.

"Geralt, come on! I need to show you something and it's about Kolby! He's acting weird!" you tugged onto his hand, walking forward as you tried your hardest to pull his weight; he knew you couldn't and so his concern flew right above his head when you've looked back with those pleading doe-eyes of yours, receiving not anything less than a hum from Geralt as he'd fully had his attention diverted because of you.

"Hmm."

ANOTHER SMUT WILL BE ON CHAPTER 15.1 WHICH WILL BE UPDATED NEXT WEEK, OF COURSE! HEHEHEHEHE. FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! CAN I JUST SAY THAT I WANT TO BE THE READER SO BAD? 

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie​ @spookypeachx​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​ @nympeth​ @amirahiddleston​ @gabethelobster​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​ @uncoolcloudyhead​ @melaninstylezz​ @psychosupernatural​ @missjenniferblog @dance-dreamer @marvelousell​ @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3 @gutfucks​ 

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza

[highqueenjude]

1k follower appreciation fic!!

i just want to say how thankful i am to each and every one of you. it honestly amazes me that you all?? enjoy my content?? so in thanks, i whipped up a mini one-shot to show my appreciation :)

~takes place directly after htkoelths ends~

Cardan and Jude make their way back to Vivi’s apartment as the sun makes its ascent in the sky. They have just finished sending word to their retainers requesting Aslog to be moved, and Cardan is not sure if he’s relieved or upset by the turn of events. He and Aslog had never truly been friends, but it still feels wrong to imprison her after . . . everything.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jude raises a brow.

“I think so.” Cardan glances aside at her. “What are we to do now?”

Jude is thoughtful for a moment, and then, almost shyly, she says, “I was thinking we could visit my father. Before we return to Elfhame.”

This comes as a surprise to Cardan for two reasons: Jude has never once been shy—she is blunt and bold and the word shy isn’t even in his vocabulary to describe her. As for the other, he is surprised because she had said we. Realistically, he knows that they are married, and that they have been for some time now, but he is still so unused to this feeling of being wanted, especially by Jude.

“You want me to come with you?” he affirms, slightly uncertain.

She gives him an odd look before glancing off to the side. “I don’t know if I want to go alone.”

And since it is not in her nature to admit that she is scared or frightened or unsure, Cardan knows that she does not want to go alone because she’s hesitant to see her foster-father after so long. Cardan is to be the buffer between them.

“I would be delighted,” is what he ends up saying because reminding her that he is her loyal servant who would kiss the tips of her boots if she asked might be a tad redundant; he does remind her often, after all. “When do you wish to leave?”

Jude sets down her sword, which he had grudgingly handed back to her.

What did you think you would accomplish with this? she had snickered.

All heroes have swords, he had responded, not minding one bit that she was laughing at his expense, so long as she was laughing.

“In a little while, but for now we should dress your wound.”

“Oh, this? It’s nothing for a hero.”

“I think I preferred you as a snake, when you couldn’t talk.” She leads him to the bathroom and commands him to sit on the closed seat of what the mortals call a “toilet.” She digs through the cabinets of the vanity for a moment, and resurfaces with a roll of white bandages, a cloth, a pair of scissors, and a small bottle with clear liquid inside. “Take off your shirt.”

Cardan simply raises a brow. “In here? Wouldn’t you prefer somewhere more . . . cozy?”

Jude lightly smacks his uninjured shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Just do it.”

He complies without fuss, as he is apt to do when she asks something of him. His hoodie goes first, and then his shirt, and then it is just him sitting awkwardly while Jude inspects his wound with a frown.

“There are still a few iron fragments lodged in the cut. I’ll have to get those out first.” She goes back to the vanity and opens one of the drawers, withdrawing a pair of tweezers. Turning back to him, she says, “This might sting.”

“It could be no worse than your withering glare—” Cardan is abruptly cut off when she pokes him with the tweezers.

“Oops,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Silence descends around them, and Jude continues to work, gaze focused and hand precise. Through the discomfort, Cardan studies her. So much has led up to this point, to this very moment. He is not sure if he deserves it, but he knows that he would do everything all over again—including fulfilling his prophecy and becoming a snake—if it meant that this would be the outcome.

“What’s that look for?” she asks him, and he realizes he has been staring. Refusing to look away or laugh off his nerves, Cardan says instead, “Is it wrong to admire my wife?”

Jude snorts. “I wouldn’t say my appearance garners admiration right now.”

Her hair is unkempt and her clothes are torn—the aftermath of running through briars to get to her foolish husband. But it makes no difference; her presence is captivating, thrilling, debilitating. It is odd to be reminded yet again that she does not see herself as everyone else does: a queen.

“Is it so hard to believe that you are beautiful, all of the time?” A light pink dusts her cheeks, and it is such a lovely sight that he finds he must be the cause of more of it. “You, Jude Duarte, the High Queen of Elfhame and love of my immortal life, are indeed a sight of admiration. It is a wonder you bestowed your favor on me when you could have had anyone else.”

He will admit that he still cannot quite believe his good fortune, and wonders daily how such luck befell him. He is rewarded with the desired effect; her blush deepens. Jude turns away, having finished removing all of the iron pieces from his shoulder, and busies herself by wetting the cloth with the clear, bottled liquid. When she turns back to him she huffs and says, “I am not sure if I’ll ever get used to you saying those things.”

Their eyes meet, and Cardan says, “I hope that one day you will.”

Jude bites her lip and he traces the movement with his eyes. “Now I kind of feel bad for what I’m about to do.”

“What—”

He is cut off by a hiss as she presses the wet cloth to his wound. It is true that his Jude does not have the best bedside manner, but sometimes he forgets and must be reminded in the worst ways.

“Sorry,” she laments, this time sounding genuine in her apology. She brushes the cloth over his wound, wiping away the dried blood and disinfecting the area. “Once we get back to Elfhame, we will have someone do this properly,” she promises.

Cardan does not tell her that he would be loath to have anyone else this close to him, anyone who is not her. After the area is cleaned to her satisfaction, she trades the cloth for the bandages and begins wrapping them around his shoulder, a feat that requires her to lean in close to him. Her breath buffets against his ear and her cold hands brush against his skin.

“Jude,” he whispers.

She does not look at him, only raises a brow as she focuses on wrapping the bandage. “Hm?”

“Jude,” he repeats, this time lower.

She relents, and glances at him—only to quickly refocus on her work. “What?” she asks, even though she already knows what he is going to say. So he does not say it, and instead, elects to lean forward to press a kiss to her right shoulder. “Cardan.” She sounds a little exasperated. “If you keep distracting me, this will never get done.”

It takes a great deal of willpower for Cardan to lean back once more. “As you wish.”

Jude frowns, but her gaze softens and she says, “I’m not saying no, but I am saying not right at this moment.”

“I do wish this moment would go faster, then.”

Jude rolls her eyes in a loving manner and wraps the bandage around twice more before snipping the excess with the scissors. Something glints in her eyes as she glances back at him, and, setting down the bandage roll, she moves to stand between his legs and tilts his jaw up with the scissor blades. “I have a sense of deja vu.” She grins mischievously.

Cardan’s smile matches her own, and he leans forward, the dull blade pushing against his throat. “Funny how we find ourselves in these situations.” A beat. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Jude leans down, their lips inches away. Cardan waits for her to close the distance, as she had the first time they found themselves in a similar position. Just as she is about to press their lips together, the door bursts open.

“I knew it,” a self-satisfied voice says from the doorway.

Jude whips the scissors from under Cardan’s chin and points them menacingly at the intruder, and Cardan is not so sure she won’t use them. When Jude realizes who it is, she releases a frustrated groan. “Vivi, we’re busy.”

“I can see that.”

“No, not like—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Vivi gives her a knowing look. “Just finish up; Heather is almost done making breakfast.” With that, Vivi leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Jude sighs through her nose and none-too-gently sets the scissors back on the vanity counter.

Cardan would have laughed if he hadn’t thought doing so would make matters worse. “Come, my darling Jude, let us indulge them with our presence.”

“But—”

Cardan stands and slips back into his shirt. “I promise that I will not forget where we left off,” he placates, “but the sooner we return to Elfhame, the sooner we can resume. In private.”

Jude seems mollified with this and relents, following him out of the bathroom. Oak is on the couch when they return, and Vivi is helping Heather carry paper plates over to the living area.

“How did the hunt go?” Heather asks them when they are all seated around the coffee table with plates in hand.

Cardan inspects the thin, floppy bread covered in amber liquid and takes a hesitant bite. He is getting more used to mortal food as the days go on, and finds each new food more interesting than the last.

“Cardan decided he was going to get himself killed today,” Jude says wryly, throwing a smug look in Cardan’s direction.

“So that’s what took you so long; you were patching him up,” Heather realizes.

Vivi snorts. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

Jude kicks her sister’s leg with her own—a difficult feat, considering they are both sitting on the ground.

“What?” Vivi laughs, though she quickly sobers. “But other than that, you two are okay, right?”

“Okay as one can be when a witch vows revenge on you for one of your father’s misdeeds,” Cardan responds with a flourish of his coffee mug, and takes a long draught of the dark and bitter liquid.

Oak has already finished eating and is watching a cartoon play out on the television. Two characters—a boy and a girl—stand in what looks to be a cave. The boy has a scar on the side of his face, and the girl reaches up to cup it with her hand. The scene reminds Cardan of the stories Aslog had told him, of the one he had given her in return. And just when it looks like something might happen between the two, they are interrupted, and Cardan finds he relates to this mortal show more than he could have thought.

“Jude and I are going to pay a visit to Madoc before we depart for Elfhame,” he says, focusing back on the present conversation.

Oak’s gaze snaps to his. “You’re going to see mom and dad?”

Cardan nods, and Oak turns his attention to Vivi. “Can I go? Please, Vivi?” And then, in a small voice, “I miss mom.”

“No.” Vivi’s tone leaves no room for discussion, but once she sees Oak’s pleading face, her gaze softens a fraction. “I would feel better if you did not see them quite yet.”

“But—”

“Oak,” Vivi says. “This trip is for Jude. You can see them some other time.”

Cardan suspects that Vivi simply is not yet ready to give up Oak’s relative safety. He knows that she still harbors a deep hatred for her father, and is reluctant to let her younger brother out of her sight. He doesn’t blame her; he does not trust Madoc, either.

“We will take you with us next time, okay?” Jude placates.

Oak frowns, but nods nonetheless. The conversation quickly turns to a new coffee shop that had opened up the week prior, much to Heather’s excitement. She talks about how they should all try it out, but Cardan cannot help but frown down at his pancakes, or so they are called. He remembers keenly what it is like to miss one’s parents, and he does not wish that feeling on Oak. 

But Vivi is right—this is for Jude. Even so, he must remind himself that Oak is the center of attention in Vivi’s household; he is loved and cared for, more than Cardan ever was. Surely, Oak will be fine if he does not see his parents for another week or two. The thought mullifies him enough to refocus on the present.

. . .

It is not until later, when Cardan and Jude are walking to Madoc’s mansion in lieu of ragwort steeds—a necessity, Jude says, because they would attract unwanted attention—that he asks her why she wants to visit her foster-father. Jude takes a moment to piece her thoughts together.

“I suppose I want to know if he hates me,” she says finally.

He is not sure what to say to that, so he takes her hand instead. She glances up at him, and in her eyes he sees so many things, so many impossible yet wonderful things. He sees their time at the palace academy together, sees how they hated each other. He sees the moment that she began to hate him less, and the ones that followed, the ones that made them grow closer and closer and closer until they are here. He sees himself in her eyes, and he wonders what she sees in his.

He knows that they will get through his together, and she seems to realize it, too. She squeezes his hand, and faces the path ahead as they walk up the drive to the estate.

Madoc’s abode is a symbol of the High Queen’s generosity. It resembles his estate in Faerie, with expansive grounds that lead into the forest. There is a thin veil of magic surrounding the place, glamoured to hide every inhuman aspect. However, not even magic can hide the otherworldly nature in the grounds. 

Jude hesitates before the front door. Her eyes dart to Cardan’s, then to the side, then back the way they had come as if she is deliberating leaving. Cardan frowns, and takes her hand in his. She jumps at the contact, having been lost in her own thoughts, as startled eyes find his own once more.

“You will be fine,” Cardan says softly, making sure that she holds his gaze. “He can’t hurt you.”

Jude leans forward, until her forehead is pressed against his chest. “Yes,” she says, “he can.”

He realizes then, that even now, when Jude has risen above Madoc in rank and power, she still seeks Madoc’s approval. She still wishes that he would bestow a kind word on her, wishes he would tell her how proud he is. And try as Cardan might to provide that for her, the only person she wants adulation from is the one man she believes will never forgive her.

As Cardan is about to speak, the door to Madoc’s estate opens to reveal a faerie servant without either of them having knocked. It is no shock to him that Madoc would have known they were there already; though he may never wield another weapon, he still has a legion of spies at his disposal.

Cardan looks to Jude, whose eyes are still on his face, and conveys everything he wants to say.

We can go back, he offers silently. It is your choice. It is always your choice.

Jude seems to understand his unspoken words, for she simply nods her head once, twice. Rolls her shoulders back, straightens her spine. She will not break nor will she bend, not in front of her foster-father. And then, without preamble, she walks through the threshold and into Madoc’s abode.

Cardan dutifully follows his wife as the servant—a faerie with iridescent wings and beady black eyes—leads the way through the long and narrow entrance hall to the back of the house, where they exit through a side door and out into the gardens. Rose bushes line the estate, while different types of flowers are interspersed throughout. It is nowhere near the grandiose gardens of the palace, but it is charming in its own right. 

The servant doesn’t spare them a glance, and heads back the way they had come, leaving Jude and Cardan alone in the gardens, surrounded by bushes of honeysuckle and hydrangeas. The sweet aroma of the flowers fills the air as Cardan peers through the towering arches of vines and walls of flowers in search of Madoc.

However, instead of the former Grand General, he spies his wife, first. Not a ways off, Oriana instructs servants on which flowers to cut from a bush of pink roses. Her countenance, while usually grim, is content. Though Cardan would never make the mistake of assuming that Oriana is happy in the mortal world—and away from Oak, for that matter—he does believe that the distance from the political intrigue of the Court has done her good. She appears enlivened, and more at ease than he has ever known her to be.

Madoc, however, is a different situation entirely. The former general stands beyond the gardens toward the edge of his lands, facing the deep wood with his back to them. Perhaps he is picturing his escape or return to Faerie, perhaps he misses his home so much it hurts. But Cardan cannot find it in himself to care, not when this man waged war against him and his wife and his people. 

This is for Jude, he reminds himself. This visit is supposed to give her closure. 

Jude turns to him, mouth in a determined line. Cardan reaches up and smoothes out a crease on her brow with a finger. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

She deliberates for a moment, but finally replies, “No. I will see him alone first.”

Cardan nods and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. He will support her no matter what. Though he cannot say he isn’t relieved she wants her space with Madoc; if Cardan had indeed gone with her to confront the man, then he is sure that it would not be a pleasant scenario. Despite the fact that Madoc came into his home and challenged his rule in front of his people, Cardan is more upset by the former general’s treatment of Jude.

Despite Madoc challenging Cardan’s rule—and therefore her rule—his wife had spent weeks following her foster-father’s banishment as a bundle of nerves. Though she made a valiant attempt to hide it, Cardan had seen right through her façade. Though he might be a traitor, Jude still cares for the man more than she would ever admit aloud. 

With a parting glance, Jude picks her way through the winding gardens, steering clear of Oriana. Cardan has no doubt that both Madoc and Oriana know of their arrival, but neither make the first move. It is only when Jude has reached her foster father, does he turn around.

Madoc dips his head slightly to his daughter, the only acknowledgement he will give to her authority. Cardan can sense Jude’s nerves from here, and watches as she opens her mouth to speak. When nothing comes out, she closes it, and turns her face away. Madoc hesitates, his body tensing up, before slowly and painfully reaching up to brush his knuckles along her cheek.

Cardan suddenly feels as if he is looking in on a private moment between a daughter and her father, and instead, makes his way over to Oriana. The woman looks up at him as he approaches, and sweeps into a deep bow. The servants follow suit before quickly flitting away.

“What brings you to the mortal realm?” Oriana asks, albeit with a small amount of distaste.

Cardan merely shrugs. “Business.” It is one way to put it, anyway. But he can tell that is not what Oriana is asking. He sighs. Squints at the pair in the distance. Says, “Closure.”

Oriana nods in understanding. “I see.” She shifts her stance and, after a moment, asks, “How is he?”

He knows who she is referring to. “Oak seems to be adapting to this realm quite well. He says he has many friends from school.”

Which was more than Cardan ever had while he was attending the palace academy. The closest thing he had had to friends was a pack of gentry children who partook in violence to amuse themselves. They had cared more about power and Cardan’s access to it than they cared about him. Not one person had ever preferred him over his title, but Jude had been the first to look past that and truly see him. And while she might have hated him at first, she had become his wife and queen despite it. 

Cardan glances at the pair standing out in the field again. At one time, he had been envious of Jude; after all, she had a father who loved her and her sisters, while Cardan had been forced to sleep in the stables and grovel for attention. Now, however, he is only thankful that Jude had grown up with a life that was better than his had been.

Oriana gives a noncommittal hum. “Does he miss me?”

“Yes,” Cardan says, thinking of how Oak had pleaded to come with them. “He misses you very much.”

A sad smile breaks out over her face, and she turns to watch Madoc and Jude in the distance. They are silent for another moment, until she speaks once more.

“May I speak freely?” she asks tentatively.

Cardan nods, once.

Oriana purses her lips before saying, “I did not believe you would be good for her, at first.”

Cardan gives an undignified snort. Not even he believes he is good enough for his Jude, so it comes as no surprise to him to find out he is not the only one.

“But now . . .” Oriana trials off, searching for words. Madoc and Jude are conversing in the distance, and Jude does not seem as tense as she was a few moments ago. “Now, however, I believe that you two are a perfect match. A balance.”

Cardan meets Oriana’s eyes and blinks at the sincerity in them. “You do?”

She nods. “I see the way she looks at you.” A small smile graces her lips. “Once upon a time, I did not think she would ever find a love match. She is much too. . . .”

“Exhilarating, ferocious, terrifying?” Cardan fills in, his eyes on Jude as she begins to walk with Madoc toward them. He can feel Oriana assessing him, but he does not turn.

“Yes,” she replies after a moment, giving him an odd look. “But it seems I was mistaken. It seems as though you two balance each other out.”

“Yes, it would appear so.”

Cardan is about to make his way toward Jude to meet her halfway, when Oriana stops him.

“Your majesty,” she starts, and only continues when Cardan turns to face her. “I have a request.”

He nods for her to go on, though she hesitates. She swallows, glances off to the side. When she returns her gaze to him, she says very softly, “Could you request Vivienne to give some thought into letting me see Oak?”

Cardan frowns. “I am not sure if Vivi is ready for that.” At Oriana’s downcast expression, he adds, “But I will see what can be done.”

She glances back up at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she says, bowing low. When she rises, her gaze goes past him.

Cardan turns and comes face to face with Madoc. The former Grand General is wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and if this visit was not so important to Jude, Cardan would have laughed out of the sheer absurdity of it. Madoc’s green countenance is focused on him, and Cardan has just enough sense to feel slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps Madoc is willing to die in order to get his revenge, if it means he can kill Cardan.

Just when Cardan opens his mouth to diffuse the tension, Jude says, “Madoc has invited us to stay for dinner.”

Cardan blinks. Surely the former general’s pride is wounded by their sheer presence?

But it appears that Madoc wants to make amends. At least, that is what Jude whispers to him as they stroll the gardens together. Madoc and Oriana are preparing for the meal inside, giving Jude and Cardan time to talk things over.

“I thought he would be angry,” Jude says, brows furrowed in confusion, “but he told me that he could not fault me for my bravery.” She smiles, then, remembering their conversation. “He told me that he should have expected this—I am his daughter, after all.”

Cardan matches her grin and reaches down to hold her hand. “I assume your conversation went well?”

“Better than I could have imagined, actually.” She sighs in relief. “I am glad that he does not hate me.”

“He loves you.”

“Yes, but I also betrayed him and stole his chance at becoming king.” She frowns.

Cardan stops, to which Jude follows suit. “If anything, he most likely respects you more now than he ever has. You have shown him that you were meant for this.”

Jude snorts. “You don’t think he wishes now that he had agreed to let me become a knight back before I get involved with Dain’s spies?”

“You would have made a good knight,” Cardan admits, “but you make an even better queen. I think Madoc can see that.”

“Maybe,” she relents. “Still. It is not like him to be this forgiving. Inviting us to dine with him?” She shakes her head. “I do not know what to think.”

Cardan tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and tilts her chin up so that she meets his eyes. “Then stop. Stop thinking.” Her brow furrows, and she opens her mouth to respond, but he does not let her. “Just enjoy this, my darling Jude. Not everything is a revenge scheme. Sometimes, people just do things because they want to.”

Jude nods, and they continue their walk. “If this backfires and he challenges either of us to a duel, it is on you.”

“Hopefully I will not turn into a snake this time,” Cardan says, grinning. Jude shoves him halfheartedly, which only makes his smile widen.

[tirorah]

Road to Berlin – The Strike Witches Magnum Opus?

Hello! It’s been a long time. I don’t plan on returning to Tumblr long-term—it simply stole away too much of my time and energy, and I had to do what was best for myself. However, I thought I’d pop in for a very special message.

You see, Strike Witches’ third season, Road to Berlin, has now reached its halfway point. And I need you to watch it.

“Strike Witches?!” I hear you say. “That weird show about girls with no pants that you’re obsessed with for some reason?”

Yes, exactly! Hold on, don’t run away yet! Sit with me for a spell and allow me to explain my boundless love for this silly, emotionally gripping show. Allow me to tell you why it might affect you in the same way, and why Road to Berlin may be the best offering yet.

Welcome to the 501st Joint Fighter Wing

If you’ve heard of this anime, you’ve undoubtedly heard of (or witnessed) its rather infamous claim to fame: a group of teenage soldiers fighting strange creatures in an Alternate Universe World War 2 Europe, flying around with guns and magic-fueled leg machines, and none of them are wearing any decent trousers.

That takes some getting used to, doesn’t it? I’m not going to deny that. But while Strike Witches’ rather peculiar design decisions are inescapable, there’s one thing you need to take into account: Season 1 aired all the way back in 2008. And over those thirteen years, it’s evolved into an experience unlike anything its roots would suggest.

Strike Witches has always been a strange beast. It has a large cast and divides its activities evenly between (light) war drama and slice-of-life shenanigans. And there’s fanservice, lots and lots of it! But the show’s emphasis on risqué camera work, and how that camera work is handled, highly depends on which entry you’re watching.

You see, Strike Witches is strangely ambitious. It could’ve easily taken its bizarre concept and pushed that to its limits, bringing in as much fanservice as possible and playing a simple story in the background as window dressing. But it was never satisfied with just that. Even early on in Season 1, the show deals with heavier themes like pressure, trauma and loss.

And then there are the characters, the undisputed stars of the show. Twelve strong and all with different backgrounds and personal quirks, they may at first seem like TV Tropes come to life. And certainly, sometimes they are. However, as the series progressed, things started to change. Even Season 2, arguably the lightest and silliest of all entries, featured material that built on character development and character growth earned in its predecessor.

With the movie and a trio of OVAs to round out the cast a bit more, the stage was set for Road to Berlin.

The Difficult Road Ahead

When this season was first announced back in 2018, two things stood out to me. First of all, the key visual and promotional video released along with the announcement were much more similar in style to the movies and the OVAs, featuring serious-looking characters and stormy clouds. Secondly, for the first time in Strike Witches history, an entry received a subtitle. Yes, the OVAs were named Operation Victory Arrow, but that was merely wordplay to spell out “OVA.” It wasn’t wholly serious.

Road to Berlin, however, is deadly serious.

Let’s start with an overall theme. The vaunted 501st Joint Fighter Wing has had some major victories, but much of the continent is still under occupation by the Neuroi. The Hive over Berlin is the Wing’s new target, but the journey there is fraught with obstacles. Plans are thwarted and delayed by Neuroi more powerful and far craftier than their 2008 counterparts.

And as the opening song tells us: “We all have flaws.” The Road to Berlin isn’t an entirely literal road; it’s also a metaphorical one. The push to Berlin is their hardest battle yet. Victory can only be achieved if the characters face and overcome their weaknesses. But they’re not alone.

Friendship Is Power

As the characters have long since been established, there’s greater room for growth not just in one character, but also in how that character interacts with others. Road to Berlin chose the best possible route and decided to emphasize character dynamics. Episodes don’t focus on a single character anymore; they focus on relationships, and those relationships are at their peak here.

There’s a newfound maturity to the writing in Road to Berlin, a gentle touch that allows the characters to breathe and be more than their foremost traits. You get a sense that the characters have grown from their experiences; they feel different, more well-rounded, but they still behave exactly as they should. This is difficult to get right, and while I’m sure there might be a few eyebrow-raising moments here and there, the overall result is a cast that continues to improve every week.

Chekhov’s Gun

Underpinning the character work is a highly intriguing execution. Road to Berlin delivers subtle setups and satisfying payoffs in every episode. The pacing is also seriously tight. No moment is left unused, every opportunity for additional development is taken. Even the script itself doesn’t like to waste time; it explains things here and there, but it rightly assumes you know who the characters are and what everything means, so it doesn’t bother with many unnecessary lines.

On top of all that, this season is reaching new heights in confidence and sheer audacity, and it uses that to deliver something truly special. There are interactions here that I never could’ve imagined, twists that genuinely caught me off-guard, moments where I had to sit back and digest what I’d just witnessed.

Not a single episode has been predictable thus far; I’ve had more surprises than I can count. In fact, before I started watching I made a bingo card on a whim, filling it with trends and running gags I’d spotted over the course of the series. Some of those bingo spaces have already been proven wrong, and others are in question. Road to Berlin has done such a spectacular job at simultaneously defying and exceeding my expectations that I honestly have no idea where this journey will take me.

The Fault in Our Stars

Okay, hold up, stop the hype train! I admit, I’m a massive sucker for Strike Witches. One could say this somewhat clouds my judgement. Shocking, I know. So, to make this enthusiastic recommendation fairer, let’s dig into something that I hope to see an improvement on.

There is some terrible imbalance in screen time going on here. I know I said earlier that the cast is great, and it is amazing, but some characters have definitely been favored over others. Yoshika is the main character, of course, so it’s not unreasonable for her to have a large role. Similarly, characters like Minna, Gertrud and Shirley have more experience and higher ranks than the others, which means they have an easier time fitting into scenes.

So, who’s gotten the short end of the stick?

Let’s start with Lynne. She hasn’t had as much of a presence as I’d hoped. The primary reason for this is Shizuka, who’s taken up the role of newbie to the squadron and is often paired with Yoshika because they’re working together. As each episode focuses on the relationships between a select few characters at a time, the others are often relegated to minor roles, and poor Lynne hasn’t had an episode to highlight her yet. I’m sure her moment will come eventually.

I don’t know if the same thing applies to Minna. She’s mostly stuck behind her desk again, it seems, and while she’s definitely had some scenes, her role as Wing Commander hasn’t allowed her as much wiggle room as some of the others. What I want to see from Minna is more time to be a nurturing mom to her girls. The thing is, I’m not sure how they’d accomplish a Minna-centric episode. I suppose they could pair her up with Mio, but even then, I’m uncertain where to take her. It seems redundant to have her be worried out of her mind over Mio again, and she seems to be keeping it together pretty well so far anyway.

In a trend so merciless it’s almost comical, Sanya and Eila seem forever doomed to the peanut gallery. They started out with few lines and have pretty much remained in the background since. Of course, a big factor to it all is their role as the night patrol, which naturally separates their activities from everyone else’s. It’s my current prediction that their relationship is next in line to be showcased. The quality of that episode will likely hinge on how their personalities are tuned, but there’s potential for something great.

And most shocking of all, Mio—She Who Has Practiced Plot Armor Ten Thousand Times—has had the most infinitesimal role of all. I’m of two minds on this. It appears that Road to Berlin has realized that having Mio fly into battle without a shield or Striker Unit is silly, and this is good. On the other hand, Mio is an iconic and beloved character. She deserves some screen time as long as she doesn’t overshadow the others. For now, she seems to be relegated to strategizing and logistics, although I have a hunch that a way to circumvent her newfound vulnerability has already been set up. Time will tell if this ends up being utilized.

Journey’s End

In closing, Road to Berlin highlights the best of what Strike Witches has to offer. It’s striding boldly forward, eager to dazzle us with its animation and audio, grinning as it challenges our preconceptions about where its characters can go and what they can do.

The path to this greatness can be tough. Watching Strike Witches means accepting a number of strange concepts, which can give quite a few viewers a rough start with the series. However, if you made it all the way here and haven’t given Strike Witches a try yet, I sincerely implore you to make the attempt. If you allow the characters to sweep you off your feet, then Road to Berlin could be the apex of a most satisfying viewing experience.

Especially if its second half is as impressive as the first. I, personally, have high hopes. There’s no sky this show can’t conquer.

[kieraelieson]

Mer Logan

I was supposed to be writing on one of my two long-form stories, but then I was distracted by tiktok, and I saw a mer!logan one, and I just started writing and couldn’t stop.

The storm had only just subsided, and the sea was still angry and wild. It was the perfect time for hunting. 

Logan always found the most food just after a storm. While he was not opposed to eating the deep-sea fish, they left him craving variety. 

He had an island to himself. It was small, but just large enough to have a small freshwater pond in it. Because of this, the human ships forced to land there often let what few animals they sometimes had onto the island to drink. It was the perfect trap. 

Although, with how frequently he’d used it, the island was starting to get a reputation for being haunted, and the humans weren’t stopping there unless they absolutely had to. 

Logan swam once around the island, but there wasn’t a ship there at the moment. He shifted into a form comparable to human, and walked up onto the island. Perhaps he’d cook one of his freshwater fishes. There weren’t enough of them yet to eat a whole meal, but one or two wouldn’t harm his growing population too much. 

Logan stopped short when he saw something that was not supposed to be on his island. It was a human. The human was tied to a tree, slumped in either sleep or unconsciousness. Or, Logan considered, it could also be dead. It had something tied over its eyes, and it’s exposed skin was red with sunburn. It must have been here a while then. 

Well, the first thing to do would be to ascertain whether or not it was alive. Logan put his hand to its throat, feeling for a pulse, and the human jerked his head up with a terrified sound. 

“Hush,” Logan said, rather annoyed. 

The human’s mouth snapped closed, but his breathing quickened. It was clearly terrified. 

Well, now that he knew it was alive, Logan had to deceive whether he wanted to keep it alive or kill it. He’d rather not just leave it to die, but he didn’t have a particular liking for humans, so he wasn’t certain if he wanted to keep it. It would certainly have to stay on his island if he did. 

Logan left the human and went to his pond. He took a large leaf, and used it as a cup to gather water. He brought it back to the human and pressed it to its lips. 

“Drink.” 

The human drank the water greedily, and when it was gone started sobbing. 

Logan frowned in confusion. That hadn’t been the response he expected to get. He left the human alone again and went back to the sea. He wasn’t going to waste his freshwater fish on a human. 

After a while, he had the fish roasting over a fire. He stared into the flames, thoughts racing through his brain. The pros and cons of keeping a human. If he kept it, should he leave it tied up or allow it to roam? Tied up would be less of an annoyance, but if he freed it it could care for itself. 

The fish was soon done, far before he’d made up his mind. He went back to the human with a smallish piece. It wouldn’t be good for the human to eat too much if it hadn’t eaten in several days. 

The human’s head came up as soon as it could hear him. Logan pressed some of the fish against its mouth, and didn’t have to give any kind of command before the human was eating. 

When Logan turned away, and the human realized that he wasn't going to feed it anymore, it spoke, in a raspy, pained voice. “Thank you.”

Logan turned back to the human, mildly curious. 

“This is— you own this island, don’t you?” The human asked. 

“The sea owns the island,” Logan said, his voice unused to the human language. “But I have claimed it, yes.”

“Please, may I stay?” The human asked. 

Logan was surprised. In all his thinking, he hadn’t considered that the human’s would want to stay, much less that he would ask. 

“Please, please don’t kill me. O-or leave me here.” And the human was crying again. 

“If you were left here like this, surely you were intended to die,” Logan commented. 

The human wrenched with a sob. “I know… but I don’t want to die. Please.”

“Should I consider your desires in my decision?”

“Please…” the human asked pitifully, dissolving into sobs. 

Logan couldn’t think clearly with the human carrying on like this. He went back to the beach, and ate his own dinner. 

Finally he decided. He’d let the human stay. If for nothing else, he certainly brought up more questions. And Logan enjoyed having more questions. 

He buried the bones and scales in the sand, not wanting to bother with them any longer. He went back to the human, who was still crying, but much more quietly now. 

The human didn’t notice his approach this time, so he made a click in the back of his throat, not wanting to startle the human. The human started shaking. 

Logan reached behind the human’s head, and untied the blindfold. He lifted it away, and found that it left a strip of white skin it had covered, and pale blue eyes that were rimmed with red and swimming with tears. 

The human looked straight into his eyes, not roaming its gaze over his body like many humans did, and not looking as if it was scared of him. Logan was now further intrigued. He moved to the back of the tree, untying the ropes. 

As soon as the human was released it fell to the ground, letting out sounds of pain and curling up, rubbing at its hands and lower legs. 

“Are you injured?” Logan asked. 

“I-it hurts…” the human whined. 

Logan wasn’t very knowledgeable in human healing, and just left the human alone to heal itself however it was able. He went back to the beach, rolling the new questions over and over in his head as he stared at the fire. 

The night grew long, and the fire slowly burned out. Logan laid back, watching the stars instead. There was a shuffling sound, and the human laid down near him. Logan turned his gaze to the human, who was watching him just as intently. 

“Am I allowed to stay?” The human whispered. 

“Yes,” Logan said, further inspecting his human. 

Wait. 

His human? 

Where had that come from? 

The human was still looking directly at his face. Logan was surprised that the human wasn’t more curious about his markings. 

“My name is Patton,” the human whispered. “What’s yours?”

Logan scanned the human’s face, wondering why he wanted to know his name. “Logan.”

Patton gave him a slight smile, and then closed his eyes. 

Logan turned his gaze back up to the stars, now having far more questions to roll around. 

He moved Patton to the shade before he went back to the sea. 

••^*^••

Logan returned a few days later. When he arrived Patton was asleep, underneath a lean to he’d made to keep out of the sun. He was near the pond, and had a well-used firepit, around which Logan could see the signs of eaten fish. His freshwater fish. 

At first, he was very much inclined to be angry, but he realized that he had neither told Patton to leave them alone, nor had he given him an alternate source of food. 

Logan went back to the ocean, and brought back quite a large fish. He started cooking it in Patton’s firepit. 

“Logan!” Patton exclaimed, nearly startling him. 

“What?” Logan asked, annoyed. 

“You’re back!” 

“Yes. That seems redundant, as we can both clearly see that I am here.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back!”

“It’s my island, of course I would return.”

Patton started bouncing up and down. Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to understand the behavior. “Is something the matter?”

Patton shook his head. “I’m just happy. You’re the only real person out here.”

“I am not human.”

“I know. But I can still talk to you, and touch you, and— and I can know I’m not crazy.”

“I would prefer that you do not touch me,” Logan said. 

“Ok. But I can still talk to you!”

“Yes, I suppose you can. Is talking to a person an important thing for humans?”

Patton nodded. “If we don’t we tend to go crazy.”

Logan nodded slowly. This would need more consideration. “I suppose I’ll have to return more frequently.”

Patton’s eyes went wide, and he came even closer. “Can you come a lot? Like every day?”

“Every day would quickly become tiring.”

“I can be distracting! I won’t be tiring! I can— if you need quiet I can also be quiet!”

“Your mere existence tires me, and will likely continue to do so until I understand you more. I need to have adequate time to consider.”

Patton wilted. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“I have already expressed an intention to return frequently.” 

Patton nodded slowly. “How many days is frequently?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Patton nodded, his head down. 

“Are you upset?”

“Well, kinda. I’ve just been really lonely.”

“Should I find you another human? Humans are typically in groups, is this a necessity?”

“Well, yeah, we need to be together but you can’t just go and kidnap someone!”

“There is no need of kidnapping. There are several places where humans are abandoned frequently. Given a few weeks, I am certain to come across one.”

Patton’s eyes were wide, but it seemed to be for a different reason this time. Logan really needed more time alone to understand this. 

“They just die out there?”

Logan shrugged. “I haven’t waited around to see.”

“Well you have—!” Patton cut himself off. “Yes, please rescue another human and bring them here.”

Logan nodded. 

After a short silence, Patton tried making small talk, which Logan didn’t so much participate in as he analyzed. 

••^*^••

Logan’s eye was drawn by movement, and he swam upward. 

There was a human child, struggling to remain on top of a board. This was especially strange as they were quite a ways from shore. He could still see land in the distance, but likely the child was unable to. This also was not one of the places he had intended to check for humans. 

Logan raised his head above the water, allowing himself a few seconds to adjust to the air before speaking. 

However, in those few seconds, the human child was panicking, thrusting away from him with all the speed it could muster. 

“Calm yourself.” Logan commanded, lifting the child and setting it on the board before it could drown itself. 

After a few minutes, the child was calm, his eyes glassy from the control. 

“Why are you out here?” Logan asked. 

“I’m running away.”

“You’re more likely to die than to successfully escape if your vessel consists of a single board.”

“It used to be a raft, but it broke.” 

“I see. Well, I suppose I was looking for a human. You’ll do as well as any.”

“Are you going to eat me?”

Logan’s face twisted in disgust. “The few times I’ve resorted to eating humans were marked low points in my life. No, I do not intend to eat you. I have a human that would like company.”

The child curled in on himself. “I don’t like humans.” 

Logan nodded, starting off for the island and pulling the board behind him. “Neither do I, and yet this one seems different.”

“Does your human like kids?”

“I don’t know. I do not imagine that he dislikes them.”

The child curled in on himself farther, and Logan turned to see that he was exhausted, and beginning to fall asleep. 

“If your human is mean to me I’ll run away again.”

Logan took the child in his arms. This made the second human he found himself growing attached to. And yet he could not find what made them different. “If my human is mean to you I’ll take you away myself. But I don’t think he will be.” 

The child nodded, his eyes slipping closed. 

••^*^••

Patton is woken by crying. Logan is coming towards his little ‘camp’ and carrying a little boy, who’s crying and clinging to him. 

“I don’t want to! I’m scared!” 

“Hush, he’s right here.” 

The boy turned to look at Patton, and then buried his face in Logan’s chest. 

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

The little boy started crying harder as Logan tried to push him into Patton’s arms. 

“Logan, Logan, wait, he doesn’t want to come to me.”

Logan frowned, but he let the boy cling to him. 

“Hey, buddy,” Patton said, coming closer. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want you!” The little boy nearly screams. 

“It’s ok, I won’t touch you. Are you alright?”

The crying started dying down. “ ‘m fine.”

“Wonderful, then you can get down,” Logan said, trying again to push the child away from him. 

The little boy got down, but hid behind Logan’s legs, causing him to sigh heavily. “I’m leaving. I’ve had barely any time to myself and this just introduces a whole new host of problems.”

“No!” The little boy screams. “No, don’t leave me! Please!”

“Why do all the humans I meet seem to require my presence?” Logan said, clearly getting more annoyed. “I will return.”

The little boy was holding tightly to Logan’s leg. “Don’t leave!”

“Calm yourself and let go.” Logan said, and Patton felt a wave of calm wash over him, placating his worries. 

The little boy let go of Logan and sat down. 

Logan turned and walked into the sea, leaving Patton wondering idly how long it would be until he came back. 

“If you touch me I’ll run away,” the boy said, hugging his knees up to his chest. 

“It’s ok. I won’t. I’m just going to make some dinner.” Patton said lightly. 

••^*^••

Logan returned to the island several days later, feeling much better. It was the middle of the afternoon, and when he found Patton, he was asleep, with the child laying on top of him, also asleep. 

Logan was pleased with this development. His humans seemed happy. Though, that was an odd thought. Why did he care if they were happy? He’d never cared for humans. But strangely, he found himself still pleased. 

The child’s eyes cracked open, and then he jumped up, jabbing Patton in the stomach with his hand. “Logan!”

Logan was suddenly tackled by the small human. When he made his way back to a sitting position Patton was standing very close, longing in his eyes. 

“Can I hug you too?”

Logan sighed. Humans really seemed to require physical touch. “You may.” 

He was tackled to the ground again. Both of his humans were giggling. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. 

[minijenn]

A Whole Mess of Unused Keys To The Kingdom Content

Because sometimes when I’m working on Keys, I get overzealous and write scenes that don’t contribute anything so I decide to cut them out or change them to make the flow better. So here’s a bunch of unfinished scenes from the first third of the fic (since we just passed the first third of it, I’m sure I’ll make a follow up to this once we get 2/3s done with it). Make of these what you will, I’ll try my best to explain why they were cut as we go along: 

From Chapter 7; I largely cut this bit when I remembered Kairi would actually know who Aerith is because of KH1, but of course I didn’t remember that until AFTER I wrote this scene out, either way its a pleasant interaction between the two, I think, even if I cut it because it makes no sense in terms of what actually happened in past games (I also had to straight up screencap this one bc its on word and my use of word expired so it won’t let me straight up copy stuff anymore lol): 

From Ch. 17; I originally wanted the Moana chapters to sort of carry all of the same songs as the movie did? And for the most part they do, what with Your Welcome and Know Who You Are and stuff like that but when I got to Tamatoa, I realized that the Shiny scene just wasn’t working as a musical number, hence I rewrote the whole thing and cut all this out: 

“Because if you are… I will gladly do so. In song form!”

Sora and Moana only had the briefest chance to look to each other, absolutely confused before Tamatoa launched into said song, one that was filled with nothing but all the self-adulation the crab could possibly give. Which, of course, was quite a lot. 

“Well, Tamatoa hasn’t always been this glam. 

I was a drab little crab once. 

Now I know I can be happy as a clam,

Because I’m beautiful, baby!”

To show off said beauty, Tamatoa began to spin around his cavern, allowing the mass of treasure he’d collected to glisten off its walls as he continued to latch onto his captive pair all the while. 

“Did your granny say listen to your heart?

Be who you are on the inside?

I need three words to tear her argument apart:

Your granny LIED!

I’d rather be shiny!

Like a treasure from a sunken pirate wreck,

Scrub the deck, 

And make it look shiny! 

I will sparkle like a wealthy woman’s neck--

Just a sec-”

Tamatoa’ already wide grin grew as he glance up at the pool of water hanging above his head, one that was filled with a swarming school of fish just waiting to be devoured. 

“Dontcha know--

Fish are dumb, dumb, dumb,

They chase anything that glitters!

Beginners! 

Oh, and here they come, come, come, 

To the brightest thing that glitters!”

The giant crab opened his maw wide as the fish swam down toward him, attracted by his glistening glow as they fell directly into his waiting mouth. 

“Mm, fish dinners!

I just love free food,

And you look like seafood…”

From Ch. 22; I’m surprised the longest chapter of Keys so far doesn’t have more cut content but I had started writing this bit before realizing that it would have been redundant. I wanted this information to be explained to Sora and the reader at the same time to give it more potency and emotional weight, hence why I cut this out (also cut it out to give more flow following the scene between Kairi and Axel near the beginning of the chapter that this would have immediately been after): 

Despite this reassuring thought, the mood the pair was met with upon venturing back into the house was anything but based on the first thing they heard upon entering. “What do you mean there’s nothing more you can do for him?!” Donald asked, both him and Goofy looking to Aerith for answers. 

For her part, Aerith still remained as calm as she had been before, though she did let out a small, sad sigh, stealing a glance back at Sora as he lay, still unconscious, on the makeshift cot behind her. “I’ve healed just about all of his wounds, but… to be honest, there weren’t even that many of them,” she began to explain. “The problem is that he was poisoned. Heavily poisoned at that.”

“So? Can’t ya just get rid of the poison using some sort of spell?” Yuffie asked. 

Aerith shook her head. “I tried that, several different spells in fact, but… none of them worked. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Whatever kind of magic Maleficent created it from must have been very powerful and very devastating, but… she definitely knew what she was doing when she cast it on him. It’s like she gave him just enough to incapacitate him completely. Any more than what’s already flowing through his blood stream would have-” She stopped short as she happened to glance over Kairi’s way, a brief spark of dread flashing through her expression before she put a hasty end to her explanation. “Um… n-never mind.”

From Ch. 26; the longest cut scene so far, pretty much a song-less version of I’ve Got a Dream (which I happen to be listening to while posting this, oh the irony); It’s a cute, fun little scene but it ultimately adds nothing to either the Tangled side of things or the original Keys side of things. In fact it kind of ruined the entire chapter’s pacing as a whole (I didn’t cut this out until the chapter was done as a matter of fact). Anyway here it is, because I still like it but again, it brought the chapter crawling to a huge grinding halt and I didn’t want that: 

“But more might show up,” Sora pointed out. “It’s hard to tell when they might-”

“Yep, exactly,” Flynn interjected hastily. “Which is why maybe we should get out of the woods for a bit. Just to wait ‘em out. Is anyone hungry? I know a great place for lunch.”

“Lunch?” Sora raised a curious eyebrow at this. “I thought you wanted to get to the kingdom as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t do that on an empty stomach,” Flynn urged the others to follow him. “Now come on. You’ll know the place when you smell it.”

***

The place Flynn led the group to was rather underwhelming compared to how he’d described it:  a squat, rather misshapen building that certainly looked its age based on the withering wood it was built from. It was practically propped up against the overgrown tree it stood in the shadows of, casting the entire restaurant in a rather shady light. 

“Aaaaand here we are!” Flynn grinned in satisfaction as he began making his way down the path that led to the diner. “The Snuggly Duckling. Don’t worry, very quaint place, perfect for you, blondie. Don’t want you scaring again and giving up on this whole endeavor now, do we?”

“Well… I do like ducklings,” Rapunzel shrugged with an oblivious smile. 

“Yay!” Flynn returned her bright grin almost mockingly. 

“So, what makes this place so ‘great’ anyway?” Sora asked, curiously. 

“Oh, you’ll see…” Flynn said, an air of mystery even as he threw the restaurant's door open. “Garcon! Your finest table, please!”

Rapunzel couldn’t hold back a terrified gasp upon getting her first glimpse at the other patrons of the restaurant. If there were any men who fit the description of “ruffians and thugs” perfectly, then they were all right at home in this restaurant, or tavern, to be more precise. The dingy dining room was packed with all manner of big, burly men, a vast majority of whom were scarred, unwashed, or weapon-wielding as they all turned their intimidating glares toward the group that had just stepped through the door. Rapunzel didn’t hesitate to lift her frying pan up in self defense and likewise, the trio was somewhat on edge as well, only barely hesitating to summon their weapons since none of the thugs had really made a move to attack them. Even so, they didn’t really rule out the option that they might based on the threatening manner they all mutually carried. 

“You smell that?” Flynn was still grinning as he began to guide Rapunzel onward into the tavern, despite the fact that she was clearly terrified by the frightening assemblage around her. “Take a deep breath through the nose. Really let that seep in. What are you guys getting? To me, it’s part man-smell, and the other part is really bad man-smell. I don’t know why, but overall it smells like the color brown. Your thoughts, sunshine?” he asked Rapunzel, who let out a horrified gasp as one of the thugs suddenly grabbed her hair. 

“That’s a lot of hair…” the thug noted, even as Rapunzel hastily pulled it away from him so she could flee. 

“She’s growing it out,” Flynn remarked. “Say, is that blood in your mustache? Blondie, look at all the blood in his mustache!”

“Hey, Flynn?” Sora interjected, his expression aptly suspicious in light of the circumstances. “What’s the big idea here?” 

“Why, I have no idea what you mean, kid,” Flynn rebuffed, feigning innocence. “I just wanted to give blondie a taste of a real five star establishment here.”

“This is what you call five-star?” Donald asked dubiously. 

“...More or less.”

“I dunno… Rapunzel looks awfully scared... “ Goofy frowned, glancing over at Rapunzel, who had essentially backed herself into a corner, her hair bundled up in her arms and her frying pan still held at the ready to attack. 

“Well, hey, you know, if that’s the case, then maybe we should just take her home and call it a day,” Flynn shrugged apathetically. “She’d probably be better off anyway. If she can’t handle this place, then maybe she should just go back to her tower.”

Despite his smooth, convincing grin, the trio only offered him a shared, disapproving glance at this, none of them on board with his plan to coax Rapunzel back into the sheltered, stifled life she’d known before. Still, Flynn didn’t get much of a chance to sway them otherwise as one of the larger thugs suddenly spun him around roughly to face him. 

“Is this you?” the thug asked, pointing to the wanted poster in his hand that sure enough, depicted Flynn Rider. 

“Uh… n-no?” Flynn shrugged, hoping the man would somehow believe him. 

“Oh, it’s him alright,” another thug, one with a hoof in the place of one of his hands, spoke up with a greedy grin. “You!” he pointed to another nearby ruffian. “Go get some guards. And as for you,” the thug used his hook to pull Flynn in by the collar of his shirt. “That reward is gonna buy me a new hook.”

“I could use the money,” another thug stepped in, grabbing Flynn roughly before another one did the same. 

“What about me? I’m broke!”

“No, that reward is mine!”

“But I want it!”

From there, an all out brawl began to break out between the thugs, with each of them clamoring to apprehend Flynn so they could claim the hefty prize that came along with his capture. Rapunzel and the trio were aptly startled by this sudden, violent shift, and even though they were greatly outnumbered, they all rushed in to try to put a stop to it. 

“R-ruffians! Please, stop!” Rapunzel cried anxiously. 

“Yeah! Leave him alone!” Sora shouted, finally calling upon his Keyblade. Donald and Goofy gaped at this, both of them realizing that Sora was more than likely to get himself into an unnecessary scuffle in doing so, but that hardly seemed to matter to him as he joined Rapunzel in trying to pick through the burly crowd Flynn was struggling to escape. 

The hook-handed thug was just about posed to land a heavy blow to Flynn’s jaw to cease that struggle when Rapunzel finally put a stark end to the aggressive outburst. All it took was using her hair as a whip to land a sharp, yet effective blow to said thug’s bald head, to get everyone to freeze in surprise at just how bold this unassuming girl seemed to be. 

“Put him down!” Rapunzel ordered fiercely, catching an ire-filled glare from the thug in the process. She gasped, afraid as the thug began to approach her, pulling out the axe hanging from his back as he did. Fortunately for her though, Sora hurried in to her defense just in time. 

“Back off!” he warned, brandishing his Keyblade against the much-larger thug’s weapon. 

“Tch, what are you gonna do with a key that fancy, kid?” the thug sneered. “Unlock the world’s biggest door?”

“Oh, believe me, you don’t wanna see what I can really do with it,” Sora retorted, more than ready to use it to keep both Rapunzel and Flynn safe. 

“Sora-” Donald and Goofy tried to mutually protest, though it didn’t really do much good as the thug inched his axe in closer. 

“Try me,” he growled coldly.

“W-wait!” Rapunzel interrupted from her spot behind Sora, not wanting to see any additional fighting break out. “L-listen, “ she pleaded with the hook-handed thug. “I don’t know where I am, and I need him,” she pointed her frying pan at Flynn, who was still being held aloft by the rest of the thugs. “To take me to see the lanterns because I’ve been dreaming about seeing them my entire life! Find your humanity! Haven’t any of you ever had a dream?!”

The thug said nothing to this at first, his expression still just as stoic as dense silence filled the bar. That is, until that stoicism finally wavered into a softer, wistful expression. “I… had a dream once…” With this, he tossed his axe aside, and as it struck one of the bar’s already weapon-ridden walls, he headed over to the piano on stage and began to play a surprisingly jaunty, upbeat tune. “I’ve always yearned to be a concert pianist!”

At this, the other thugs in the pub began to ease up a bit as well as a few of them started voicing their own hopes and dreams. “I really want to make a love connection!” a rather large-nosed ruffian proclaimed with a romantic gleam in his eyes. 

“I want to quit and be a florist!” another thug cried as he quickly began fashioning a surprisingly lovely floral arrangement. 

“Interior design!” a ruffian remarked with a flippant flair as he expertly rearranged a small corner of the pub. 

“Ulf here is into mine,” a thug pointed out his companion, who sure enough was playfully miming next to where Flynn was sullenly hanging as he watched this ridiculous display play out. Even so, Rapunzel was instantly charmed by it, and likewise, the trio eased up, confused yet curious to see where this bizarre and wholesome scene might be going. 

“You have to try Attila’s cupcakes, they’re sublime!” 

“I knit!”

“I sew!”

“I do little puppet shows!”

“And Vladimir collects ceramic unicorns!” 

“What about you?” the hook handed man asked Flynn with a suspicious glare. 

“I’m sorry, me?” Flynn scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“What’s your dream?” the big-nosed thug pulled him down off the hook he was hanging from. 

“No, no, boys,” he rebuffed with a laugh. “I’m not into the whole sappy dream thing.” He quickly changed his tune however, as just about all of the thugs pointed their deadly weapons right at him threateningly. “Ah-ha… o-ok, well… I-I’d like to be filthy rich and live on my own private island faaaar away from anyone else. Does that work for you fellas, or what?”

The thugs let out a rowdy shout, catching Flynn off guard once more as they all threw him up into the air once more. At the same time, Rapunzel climbed up onto one of the tables, more than eager to voice her own life-long desire as well. “I’ve got a dream too!” she announced brightly, all of the thugs turning to her to hear it. “I want to see the floating lanterns! You know, today’s the first time I’ve ever left my tower, but I’m so glad I did after everything I’ve seen and all of the lovely people I’ve met like all of you!” The thugs all let out a solid cheer of support at this as Rapunzel grinned down at the trio standing on the ground next to her. “What about you guys?” she asked them curiously. “Do you have a dream too?”

“Oh, uh…” Sora hesitated, facing sudden scrutiny from both the thugs and from Donald, who was sending him the unspoken order to maintain the world order in his answer. “W-we… we want to find a special Key and use it and a bunch of others to help our friends!” he proclaimed, knowing that was a very simplified version of the whole story, but fortunately, it was enough to satisfy his companions and the pug thugs alike. 

“So you see?” Rapunzel turned back to the thugs, still maintaining her warm grin. “We’re all not so different after all! We all have dreams we want to see come true someday!”

The thugs and ruffians all let out another round of cheers at this, their excitement palpable in the aftermath of everyone sharing those dreams. The levity wasn’t able to last too long, however, as the tavern door burst open to reveal the thug that had been sent off just a while ago. “I’ve found the guards!” he announced, sending a startled ripple through the entire pub. 

Even so, Flynn wasted no time in grabbing Rapunzel and the trio alike at this, pulling them all out of sight as  a handful of armored soldiers stormed in. “Where’s Rider?!” the captain demanded. “Where is he?! I know he’s in here somewhere. Find him! Turn the place upside down if you have to!”

The captain only barely missed spotting the group hiding under the bar, not really having anywhere else to go, especially as even more guards filed in. Flynn narrowly peaked over the edge of the bar to see that they weren’t the only ones either, as he just so happened to spot them toting in his now-arrested former partners in crime: the Stabbington Brothers. Former, in the sense that he’d been the one to abandon them with the prize they’d stolen together, not only to escape the guards but that first round of marauding Heartless alike. 

Yet despite Flynn’s apt panic at such a daunting situation, the entire group was caught off guard by the hook handed thug. He said nothing as he joined them behind the bar, instead nodding for the group to silently follow him over to the far side of it. From there, with the flick of a single inconspicuous switch, a secret door opened up, revealing a passageway down into a cavern that led out of the pub completely. Just about the best means of escape they were going to get, all things considered. 

“Go,” the thug whispered with a warm smile. “Live your dreams.”

“I will,” Flynn replied, immensely relieved. 

“Your dream stinks,” the thug scowled. “I was talking to them,” he nodded to Rapunzel and the trio. Flynn simply carried an annoyed scowl as he began to crawl into the passageway. 

“Thanks for everything,” Rapunzel said, the trio offering the same grateful sentiments as they also began to make their way into the cavern. They did so just in time as the hook-handed thug closed the door to the passage way up, concealing it from sight right before the guards began to search behind the bar, only to find not a single sign of Flynn Rider, or anyone else for that matter, to speak of. 

From Ch. 27: aka the chapter I’m currently working on. Idk Tangled has a lot of scenes that went unused in KH3′s take on things and I figured this one would be necessary to explain why Rapunzel and Eugene got separated but I only ended up writing a paragraph or so of it last night before deciding I wanted to shift focus back over to the trio instead at that point. So here it is: 

“Ah! There you are!” Eugene greeted the Stabbington Brothers with a show of faux camaraderie, knowing he was just about the last person they probably wanted to see in light of his earlier betrayal. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you guys since we got separated. The sideburns are coming in nice, huh?” The brothers simply eyed him harshly at this, silently telling him to get the point already. “A-anyhow, I just wanted to say that I shouldn’t have split. The crown is all yours.” He tossed the satchel their way, the crown spilling out of it as it landed. “I’ll miss you, but I think it’s for the… best...” 

He trailed off as one of the brothers stood to approach him, hardly paying any mind to the crown as he did. “Holding out on us again, eh, Rider?”

[abysskeeper]

Otpop trick reacting to him wearing the electrocution belt

Sometimes secret pasts collide when you and your definitely-more-than-friends-but-certainly-not-lovers partner go deal with a planet being eaten. SOR AU, or SOR AU adjacent.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

@trafuris

“Clever, Little Thief.”

Her hand shook, causing a slight tremor in her lightsaber as the possessed Jedi master fell to the ground. She felt more than saw Vitiate’s presence leave the three people she had just fought as they took their dying breathes. It was a momentary reprieve from his overwhelming presence on Ziost, but she couldn’t afford taking a full breath away from his suffocating aura. The feeling of lives being lost wasn’t much better than the feeling of him smothering their existence, it was simply a different kind of pain.

“He’s gone…” the Jedi at her feet mumbled, “I can…I can finally…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she felt the last of his life fading. There was no time to mourn for him though, she could already feel Vitiate returning, more pawns he was stifling that she could just faintly feel screaming from under him. “May you rest well with the Force.”

The moment that morning when Theron called her requesting help in Imperial space, Trick had an inkling her day was suddenly about to get a whole lot worse. What Theron had rushed to explain wasn’t promising, civilians and slaves being fired upon for no reason, an entire SIS team gone dark, and the potential for this being the Emperor’s next move. The abrupt end to the call with nothing but echoing blaster fire in the background was only further confirmation of the hell she was about to enter into. Her head was already swimming when she shifted her ship into hyperdrive to get to Ziost, planning out a list of priorities and strategies for her to address the moment she set foot on the planet.

The instant she stepped foot on Ziost’s orbital station however, none of it mattered. Nothing could have prepared her for the utter sense of wrongness, the increasing emptiness, that the planet was emanating, and any plan she had made was immediately tossed to the wayside. She had been in a lot of bad situations before, she had gotten out of even more of them, but this was something else altogether. There was no planning for this, there might not even be an explanation for what this was.

The unease she felt only increased by how easy it had been for her to move through the orbital station. No one stopped her, no one questioned her, no one even seemed to spare her, a Jedi on the orbital station for Ziost, a glance as she strode through the area towards what appeared to be an unused transport shuttle. It was only exacerbated further when she took the shuttle and landed, and she could understand why no one had stopped her.

The planet was…lifeless. The feeling grew stronger and stronger as she moved closer to the surface, and now that she was on it, the feeling nearly enveloped her. Empty. Suffocating. A part of her burned. She could sense some people here and there, civilians and unpossessed soldiers. Lana was a bright spot even for being Sith. Theron she could sense faintly, which was a relief to know that at least he made it alive. But the overwhelming presence of Vitiate was…sickening. Aside from those few people she could sense, it was only him. Only the Emperor smothering or extinguishing everything else on the planet. Possessing everything to do his bidding. She looked down again at the two Imperial soldiers and the master Jedi she had just fought and killed.

This was depraved.

She heaved a sigh and stood up when the sound of footsteps behind her echoed through the building. She had allowed Vitiate’s next set of pawns to close in on her, there was no sense in trying to hide from them. But as she turned around to face them, she only watched as they were cut down by a lightsaber and blaster fire.

“Lana, Tavon,” she breathed a sigh of relief, a momentary true sense of reprieve from the madness that was going on around them.

She was glad that they were already on the planet, in some regards. She had considered opening a line of communication to at least one of them after Theron had contacted her, but between the urgency of the situation and the fact they were both Imperial, she hadn’t. Any information she could have given them probably would’ve been redundant at that point, though perhaps their information would’ve better prepared her for what she was about to get herself into. It didn’t matter now, she was just happy to see the two of them here and alright. Especially him. Tavon was a quiet spot in the Force, hard to detect even as he was standing in front of her. His presence was calming to the madness around them.

It was a short-lived feeling of relief.

“So my senses were correct,” Lana commented, eyeing her with a wary gaze for a few moments, “It really is you. You shouldn’t be here, Trick.”

“Did Theron send you?” Tavon asked, tone far less accusatory than Lana’s.

“What?” she asked, slightly surprised they already knew. “Yes, I got a call from Theron,” Trick confirmed taking only a moment to switch her attention back to everything at hand, “Not a very elucidating one though. Something about Ziost and the Emperor. I figured if nothing else, I could be of assistance,” she looked between them, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Vitiate,” Lana answered simply. Straight to the point, as usual. “The only information we truly have is what you have already witnessed. He is taking control of an increasing number of Sith and Imperial soldiers. His ultimate goal appears to be accumulating power. The more he kills, the stronger his presence becomes on Ziost.” She sighed and looked behind her into the expanse of Ziost before looking at Tavon, then back to Trick. Her immediate standoffishness seemed to fade with the realization the Jedi meant no harm, “Evacuations and stemming the bloodshed are our top priorities.”

“For me being someone who shouldn’t be here, you are quite forthcoming with information,” she quipped.

“It is in our best interest to accept assistance, no matter the form it comes in,” Tavon answered for her.

She looked between them again for a moment and didn’t miss the hint of unease with the Sith. So it was his idea then, that made sense. “Understandable,” Trick agreed with a nod. The answers were appreciated, and though they were no means what she wanted to hear, it was about what she expected. She glanced back at the bodies on the floor and swallowed the lump forming in her throat, “Ok, so me notwithstanding…why are the Jedi here?”

“Every Jedi currently on Ziost is thanks to Theron,” Tavon said, “That Jedi you fought was part of an SIS taskforce he apparently sent. The Sixth Line. A relative nuisance at the moment to the idea of ‘stemming the bloodshed.’”

“The Sixth Line?” she asked, unsure why she thought they would have any more information than she would. Jedi part of an SIS taskforce? Jedi that she didn’t know about? It just kept getting better.

“A group of Jedi that adhere to their own addendum of a sixth line of the Jedi Code, hence their name,” a new voice explained, as another man in an Imperial uniform joined them, “’There is no contemplation, there is only duty.’ Quite a noble and useful belief so long as you are not fighting against them.”

“Theron, what did you do?” she muttered, groaning as she tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling.

“That’s exactly what we would like to know,” Lana remarked, “Trick, this is Agent Kovach. Kovach, this is the former ally we were talking about.”

“A pleasure,” the man nodded at her and immediately turned back to Lana, “I’m sorry to intrude, Minister, but the probes we sent into the wrecked ship showed no one on board. And you have several calls waiting for you across the planet.”

“Minister?” Trick asked, but her eyes flicked to Tavon. He was already looking back at her calm…no, guarded. It was a subtle difference, but she could see it. Whatever this new position for Lana entailed, he was none too happy about it. She was curious, but now was certainly not the time.

“Yes,” Lana said and offered no further information. She clicked her communicator on and listened for a few moments before clicking it off again. “I am needed everywhere at once—” Trick felt a bit of sympathy and understanding at that, “—I trust that you two can handle yourselves out here?” she asked, looking to Tavon and then to Trick, “You did commendable work on Rishi and Yavin IV.”

“We can,” Tavon affirmed.

“We can but…” Trick agreed and looked at Lana, “Are you…safe…here?”

“If you are wondering if Vitiate can take possession of me, rest assured he has already tried and I have warded him off. He has given up for the time being,” Lana said, a ghost of a triumphant smirk on her face. It was a small victory given the greater war occurring right now. “I would suggest being more concerned with yourself. The Light Side alone clearly is not enough to fend him off.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind since she landed on Ziost, but she supposed it was a valid concern. She glanced back at the Jedi master on the ground. To the outside world, she would be susceptible. But Vitiate hadn’t even tried since she’d been on Ziost…or if he had, he failed to the point she didn’t even notice an attempt. She doubted the latter, he knew he couldn’t control her, his new nickname for her confirmed it. Little Thief. A part of her still burned, but it was no danger. She was trying her best to ignore it altogether.

Not that anyone else knew that. Not that it was important now either.

“I have my ways, I’ll be fine,” Trick said and turned back to Lana, “Go.”

Lana nodded and turned on her heels, heading off to wherever she was called to next. Kovach followed close behind, leaving her with Tavon. It was better that way, honestly, probably what they both preferred. It was definitely what she preferred at least, they’d done better work together, alone, than with the whole group. Neither could explain it, but there was a synergy to their methods. They worked well together and had yet to hold each other back.

“You’ve been quiet,” Trick quipped, but she could see a subtle shift in his demeanor as Lana walked away. He seemed less on edge, ever so slightly. Given the circumstances and what they were about to trek back into, she couldn’t blame him, but it was ironic that he was more relaxed now with a Jedi than when he was in the presence of a Sith and another Imperial agent. She supposed she should be flattered.

“Lana explained the Force nonsense better than I could,” Tavon answered, and a small smirk hitched up one corner of his lips, “You probably understand it better than I do too.”

“Force nonsense is what I do best, unfortunately,” she sighed and stared out the opening of the building they were taking shelter in. The small talk and being caught up to speed were nice distractions, they had dulled the chaos and yawning emptiness that flooded her senses, but with the impending need to go back out there she could feel the disgust and desperation starting to rise in her throat again. “But even I don’t know how to deal with something like this,” she muttered.

“We deal with it by stopping Vitiate,” Tavon said and reached out, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. It only took a rudimentary understanding of the Force to know how and why she was so affected by this. “We have a plan, and honestly I am glad you are here to help with it.”

Trick shook her head and turned her attention towards him, “What can I do? How can I help?”

“Our first objective is getting to the armory and sealing it, once that is done we will discuss from there,” he answered.

She raised a brow, “That doesn’t seem like much of a plan.”

“I do not…necessarily agree with the objectives beyond that,” Tavon admitted, “Removing the planet’s defense system does not appear to be the best idea. And while we know Theron is planetside, I have no intention of capturing him should we encounter him.”

“Glad to know you’re willing to commit small acts of treason for us,” Trick teased.

“As I said, it is in our best interest to take all the help we can get. Given the status of the situation, I would simply prefer your help to leaving capable hands locked up somewhere, it’s only logical,” he shrugged. After a pause, he sighed and gave a small smile, “I am glad he was able to contact you though. I would rather do this with you than anyone else here, your assistance is appreciated.”

Trick gave a small smile in return, “You know I’ll do what I can.” She wasn’t really sure how much that was though, if anything at all. Everything seemed too far gone already, a lost cause. But then, what good were they if they didn’t at least try? She shook her head of the thought and moved back to the objective at hand. “As for the defense systems…that is certainly an…interesting take,” she agreed and shrugged, “Though I guess it would remove more weapons from getting into Vitiate’s hands. Or from a panicked public’s hands.”

“Which is why it is something to discuss once we are done with the armory,” he agreed, “If we die before then, it will all be moot anyways.”

“Comforting,” she deadpanned, but returned his wry smile with one of her own. She sighed again, smile slipping as she looked back outside to the rest of Ziost. There was no point in wasting anymore time, but another question suddenly popped into her head at the thought of going out there. “What about you? Are you safe?” she asked.

“What?”

“Lana said she’s already fought off Vitiate. I have my methods to the point I’m pretty sure he didn’t even try. But what about you?” she clarified, “Force sensitivity or lack thereof doesn’t really seem to be a factor in his possessing…so are you safe from it?”

Tavon let out a laugh under his breath and nodded, “Shockingly, I do have my own methods too.”

“I suppose it isn’t that surprising, considering it’s you,” Trick said, “But still. Good.” Wary eyes trailed back to the assault going on outside as another thought crossed her. “How…confident would you say you are in your methods?” she asked.

“Fairly,” he said, “Enough to know Vitiate shouldn’t be a problem. Why?”

“Look, I—” she paused and sighed, unsure of how to ask what she wanted to. Really, she didn’t know in full what she wanted or if it was something he could even fulfill. But she needed something out there. Someone close she could tether herself to in the otherwise expanding emptiness Vitiate was creating. “—I know you don’t have vital signs. And I know you aren’t particularly fond of the Force and all of its nonsense. But could you…try to be present to it right now? I don’t know if that’s something you could do, I’ve never exactly lived without the Force, but if you can I just need…it would just be appreciated, is all.”

Tavon looked over her once or twice, taking in her appearance. He hadn’t seen much faze the Jedi in front of him, and that spoke to a lot considering they had fought a reanimated man and stopped his plot to annihilate an entire planet. But now…well, they were fighting a reanimated man to stop his plot of annihilating an entire planet, but it was different. The methods were different, and it was apparent Trick was frazzled, even more so than Lana. He couldn’t help but wonder if the atmosphere was downright hurting her.

It wouldn’t hurt to try and acquiesce her request, would it? He was confident in his abilities to keep Vitiate out, and relatively comfortable Vitiate hadn’t bothered looking at him anyways. It was probably one of the few times being completely Force blind was beneficial regarding a Sith’s interest.

“Only for you,” he agreed.

In any other situation, Trick would’ve been flustered by his declaration. She doubted it was a simple task to try to stay open to the Force as it was, let alone in such a discordant place as Ziost currently was. That he was willing to do it at all spoke volumes, that he was only willing to do it for her benefit even more so. But now, all she could feel was relief as she essentially clutched to him with what sense she could.

He was an odd spot in the Force, with no vitals and an incredibly limited sense of it to begin with, but for the moment it didn’t matter. He was there, he was alive, and he wasn’t under Vitiate’s control. It was small, but it was enough to center herself on against the onslaught of the growing void outside.

“Thank you,” she breathed. She opened her eyes, not even realizing she had closed them to seek him out, and met his gaze, “Thank you,” she said again and nodded towards the door, “I guess there’s no point in wasting anymore time.”

*

The armory was secure, and after an exchange between Tav and Lana, she was only left with even more questions. Minister of Sith Intelligence, that’s what her title meant. No wonder he wasn’t pleased to be around her. Trick preferred to stay out of it, she had when they were first talking between themselves, but now that they were off to take the planetary defense systems offline, she needed something again. His presence alone was doing a lot, but the silence felt deafening in the face of the yawning chasm of Ziost. And even then, despite that he had been willing to let her latch onto him, something was bugging her about Tavon too.

There was a small, nagging sensation that hit her spine and crawled up to the back of her mind every so often. It was better than Vitiate and Ziost, but it was starting to drive her mad too.

“Sooooooo…?” Trick asked as they stepped back outside. She paused for a second to sense what was around them. Vitiate of course, he was somehow everywhere and nowhere all at once. But there was some distance between them and anyone else. They would likely have to fight again before reaching the defense systems, but not anytime in the immediate future. With that confirmed, she strode next to Tavon and looked at him expectantly.

“So?” he asked in return.

“Lana Beniko, Minister of Sith Intelligence?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, but the clenching of his jaw was obvious.

“I take it that happened soon after Yavin IV?” she continued to press. She was trying to get details as much as she was trying to just get him to talk about it. And as much as she was trying to use it as a distraction.

“Yes.”

Trick sighed, “And how is she doing?”

“She is—” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, unsure how she would take to his true feelings on the matter. Despite their philosophical differences on the Force, the two appeared to have made an unlikely pair of friends. And despite her asking, she already seemed to know the answer to her own question, “—Making decisions.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “I should hope. Tell me, are you trying to put on a united Imperial front for my sake…or because it’s what’s expected?” she asked and she saw the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, “I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s kind of apparent she’s in over her head here. It’s also kind of apparent there are better suited individuals to fill that position.”

“You are correct,” Tavon agreed, “She’s undertrained, unprepared, and unqualified for the position.”

“Wow,” she chuckled and then immediately paused. There was that sensation again, ending in the feeling of…almost like electricity tingling the back of her mind. She stared at his retreating back for a moment before shaking her head and snapping out of it. “I didn’t think it would be that easy to get you to admit how you really feel,” she said, trying to play off her moment of hesitation. Her attention was caught though. It was definitely coming from him, now she just needed to figure out what it was.

“What is the point of continuing to hide it? You already knew what I believed,” he shrugged. He looked her over as she caught up with him and a brow rose, “Unless that is not what you were trying to imply?”

“No no, it is,” she nodded, “I’m just surprised you are that upfront, is all. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. The Sith seem to have an annoying habit of inserting themselves where they don’t belong.”

Tavon blew out a breath in agreement. “I have voiced my displeasure over the situation to no avail,” he admitted. His gaze returned to what was ahead of him and his expression hardened, “Such is the Empire’s hierarchy.”

Trick frowned as he spoke. “You know it doesn’t have to be that way, right?” she asked and smirked when he returned his attention to her, “Offer’s still open to join the SIS. You like Theron well enough, he’d vouch for you, and Jedi don’t interfere there.” It was a joke that started on Yavin IV, she knew he’d never leave, but it was fun to remind him.

Tavon scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Except when they do, apparently.”

“The Sixth Line…” she sighed and frowned again, “Given that even the Council didn’t have any information on the Sixth Line leads me to believe they were very highly trained by the SIS alone. They don’t count.” The skeptical look he gave her as he motioned towards her made her pout. “Oh come on! I don’t count either. I was only called in after it was apparent that this was—"

There it was again. Trick froze in her tracks as she felt another jolt. It wasn’t the best idea to stop, Vitiate was on the move as much as they were, but feeling the jolt rattle through her skull again and finally identifying the source of it left her feet rooted to the ground. “Y-your belt?”

“What?” Tavon asked, turning around to look at her.

“Your belt?” she asked again, “It’s…shocking you?” That’s what the jolt was, a sense of pain from a dull, electric shock.

“Yes,” he nodded, completely unconcerned by this revelation.

“W-why?!”

He thought the answer was obvious, “I told you, I have my ways for dealing with Vitiate. Or any intruder of such means, really.”

“By shocking yourself with an electrobelt?!” Trick exclaimed, “That’s ridiculous!”

“I wouldn’t call it ridiculous,” he said and smirked at the timing, “Shocking, perhaps, but not ridiculous.”

She scowled when she felt another jolt hit her…him. “This isn’t funny!”

“I found that to be quite humorous,” he disagreed, “Besides, this hardly warrants such a reaction. It isn’t the most unheard of practice for such things.” He crossed his arms and frowned at her, studying her again, trying to glean if this was something more. It really shouldn’t be that surprising this was what he was doing. It was a simple means by which to force out any unwanted intruders perhaps, but it was effective. He had grown comfortable relying on it, at the very least.

It truly was hardly a concern, he had grown so used to it that he barely felt it anymore. Trick, on the other hand, was a concern. It had been obvious since they found each other on Ziost that her emotional state wasn’t the best. He had thought having an objective and moving through the planet had been helping her, she at least appeared to have calmed down. Now though…now he could feel his worry growing again.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes warily looking over her for any greater changes.

“I’m fine,” she scoffed and shouldered off the notion he was implying, “But there has to be a better way for you to do this.”

And logically, Trick knew that was false. She knew it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. It was one of the less intricate and more effective ways to prevent possessions, especially for those without any Force tricks up their sleeves. It only made sense that he would be using it here, but logic didn’t prevent the revulsion from lodging itself in her throat. Not at him, not for using it, but at the piece of clothing itself. At what it did.

Maybe it was the current situation on Ziost that distracted her enough from it, but she understood now why the sensation kept nagging at her. Cutting at her and demanding to be recognized. It was a familiar type of pain, different in its location and intensity, but familiar all the same. He didn’t have to be hurting himself like this here, no matter how dull it was. No one deserved that, to be relentlessly shocked, voluntarily or otherwise. She knew what that was like, knew the annoyance, the pain, the…the burning and the ache left over…and the fact he felt the need to willingly submit himself to it only made it all the more horrifying and…and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Parts of her had been burning since she stepped foot on Ziost, but this was the first time her neck burned in years.

“There just has to be a better way for you to do this,” she repeated quietly and took a step closer to him. She felt another jolt and reached her hand out to him. Her fingers curled before she actually touched him, but he could feel the sensation of her healing alleviating the pain of the latest shock.

Tavon watched quietly as she clearly struggled with something that was beyond him. Yet his worry still started fading. She was still her, that much was apparent by the fact she felt the need to heal him over something so minor, but something altogether different had taken hold of her concern. When the last of the sensation of her Force healing dissipated, he took her hand gently and, when she unclenched it, entwined their fingers. He hoped it served as much as a gesture to show he was fine as it served as another grounding point for her. “If the alternative is possession, I would much prefer the shock.”

“The alternative doesn’t have to be possession,” she insisted. She looked down at their hands and sighed, trying to will away the bit of nausea in the pit of her gut. This was too much, way too much for one day. “I don’t know if you have to do anything at all.”

“Unfortunately I do not have the same strengths as you…or even Lana in that regard,” he responded.

“I don’t believe that,” she said, and she didn’t. She knew him, she knew what he was capable of. He didn’t need to be reliant on this. “I’ve seen you, I’d like to think I know you well enough. That sort of strength doesn’t require the Force, it only needs…” She cut herself off when she felt his hand squeeze hers and looked back up to be met with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Your faith in me is appreciated, but misplaced—” It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even necessarily a warning, but something in his tone and in his eyes told Trick to stop pushing. Her words of protest died on her lips, even as her horror urged her to keep going. He truly believed he needed this. “—If I weren’t trying to help you, perhaps I would consider, but even then—”

She recoiled, her eyes widening as she took a step back from him. If he had started this because of her…kriff. She would never be able to forgive herself. “If this is because I asked…you should’ve just told me! I can manage without you.”

“…But even then I would still desire to use it for my own peace of mind,” he finished, “Quite literally. Besides, I am more concerned for your current state anyways, this has the potential to affect you much more than it does me.”

“I’m…” Trick stopped herself before saying she was fine. She knew she wasn’t fine, and he knew she wasn’t fine. The mess she had found here had affected her too much at the start for her to more appropriately respond to it. And that only set the precedent for her to be unable to temper herself when she was blindsided with the shock belt. “I have dealt with Vitiate’s power before. Though it was to a far less tangible degree, I know how to manage.”

Tavon raised a brow, “Your ‘ways’ don’t exactly seem to be working out for your emotional wellbeing.”

“You try feeling a planet full of people being controlled, or killed and having their essence consumed,” she retorted, “And then finding out your f-friend is shocking himself to keep himself sane! That isn’t any side effects from the Force or Vitiate, that’s empathy and exhaustion. My Force nonsense for dealing with Vitiate attempting to possess me is working perfectly.”

He sighed and nodded, acquiescing to her point, “Very well. You still do not seem to be handling this the best, however,” he pointed out and flashed her a dry smile, “Enough that you would freak out over a man doing what is necessary to survive.”

“That’s not the Force either that’s…” she trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. They were two completely separate issues, and while she could explain Ziost just fine, there was no direct way to explain her issue with the electrobelt. Not any way that didn’t lead to more questions that she definitely didn’t want to answer nor that they had the time to be discussing anyways. Her outburst here had already caused them to waste enough time as it was. “I’m so tired of feeling pain,” Trick chose instead, which technically wasn’t a lie either.

“In that case, you chose to lean on the wrong person,” Tavon said, wry smile returning, “If it helps any, I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought he’d been doing this long enough to grow accustomed. But then…she’d felt something similar on Yavin IV hadn’t she? Fainter when she wasn’t focusing on him, but it had been present. Kriffing hell. “Hardly,” she said and sighed in resignation.

It didn’t help knowing that at all, but what could she do? He wasn’t going to stop just because she asked, and it’s not like she could rightfully ask anyways. Not here, not on Ziost at least. It was a practical means for protecting himself, and she had asked him to potentially open himself up to be even more of a target. Something she wished she could rescind and knew he wouldn’t let her rescind anyways. Tav was doing what he had to, she just…didn’t like the method or the necessity. “…But I know I can’t ask you to just take it off. That wouldn’t be fair, no matter how much I dislike it.”

He stood staring at her for a few moments in silence, letting the relief over her acquiescing to his wish settle him. She still was unsettled though, that much was apparent by the look in her eye and uncomfortable shift of her feet, but he didn’t really know what else he could do to reassure her. He couldn’t understand her reason for being this upset to begin with. All he could think to do was reach out and take her hand again, “You understand that I am alright, correct?”

Trick swallowed against the lump in her throat. It wasn’t that she thought he wasn’t alright…but she wasn’t sure if he was alright either. She didn’t know what to think or believe or feel anymore, all she knew was that she was in no way prepared for the hell this day launched her into. And that maybe she should take Tav at his word. It was unsettling to her how unperturbed he was by the whole thing, but he truly did appear alright…and not possessed, which was most important. And his presence was still helping her, however much she might’ve wished it wasn’t now.

Finally she nodded, but said nothing, fearing that if she opened her mouth again, another outburst would fall out. They still had an objective to complete, and she knew there was still quite a bit of work to be done before they could even start considering their overall mission complete, let alone successful. She had wasted enough time as it was, she wasn’t looking to lose any more. She also wasn’t looking to dwell on it anymore either, not that anything on Ziost was a better option at the moment. Their desire to stop Vitiate was all that mattered, she could at least stay focused on that.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly through her nose, reciting the Jedi Code silently in her head in an attempt to force even a semblance of herself back under control. With that, she opened her eyes and looked at him for a moment before giving his hand a squeeze and resuming their trek, “Just…when this is all over, let me take a look at your back—” she responded finally. It was the least she could offer, “—I know a thing or two about electrical burns.”

The last part had slipped out. Trick could feel his eyes on her as she went around him, but she didn’t look back. It was better to just let him come to the natural conclusion that she was referring to Force lightning coming from the Sith. And while the scars on her neck still burned, she knew they were more than hidden enough that he wouldn’t see them.

Kriff, was Theron getting an earful when they found him.

[lowryjacobs7-blog]

Chapter 3.

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The Phantom Ranger has again reappeared into the journeys of the Power Rangers, this time around disclosing himself to be searching for Zordon on his very own throughout the galaxy. An additional means of considering the two faces of the state of exemption in which political power takes a direct hold of human life is to keep in mind the two settings of reduction/amplification at play in each circumstances. With the exception of powerlifting, most power exercises are carried out repetitively over a time period to boost rate, fast reflexes and stamina, such as upright jumps, side jumps and also kettlebell swings. The real power of Power, though, is that ... it's putting African-Americans at the heart of a TELEVISION trend - the antihero - that previously has greatly been the district of white men. If you're new to the fitness center you might be frightened, however if you comply with these simple standards, it will certainly alleviate your change from lazy person to gym rat. The Bowflex Sporting activity home gym does occupy quite a bit of area; the footprint of it is bigger compared to what the majority of people anticipate. Ideas are dynamogenic representatives, or stimulations for unlocking what would certainly otherwise be unused tanks of individual power. All fitness centers are organisations set to earn money, so take care when their sales group persuades you." And be sure to check out the gym throughout the hrs you'll frequently be utilizing it to see exactly how crowded it obtains. I'm most definitely not a supporter, as I assume I have actually explained now, of entering and power positioning before individuals in order to intimidate them. What depresses me inutterably is that youngsters, who are fresh and also investigative, will go to this flick as well as, for 88 minutes, the motion picture will certainly do what it could to deaden their creativities. When you fight in a gym you're never really dealing with one more gamer: the defending Pokémon are managed by an AI, as are yours later, when they're resident in the gym and defending. This is a listing of publications, ideas, and also authors stated in The Power of Fifty Bits, which could be useful for future analysis. The court action was brought by the Workplace of Fair Trading versus Ashbourne Management Provider, which prepares arrangements and also gathers payments from gyms with an overall of more than 500,000 participants. Power Tattoo ® suggest une toute nouvelle façon de jouer et permet aux 7-12 ans de s' affronter n'importe où, n'importe quand. Members of the gym teams are currently able to terminate their contracts early need to their circumstances alter in such a way that makes presence at the gym hard or expensive. The Turtles were transformed bad and teleported from New York by Astronema to infiltrate the Astro Megaship as well as take control of it to destroy the Power Rangers. Yet the most unpleasant aspect of the power mystery is that even if an individual increases to power by counter-Machiavellian means-- kindness, kindness, concern with the usual excellent-- power itself will eventually warp her priorities and make her much less kind, less generous, much less concerned with the typical good, which will certainly in turn erode her power as her reputation for these counter-qualities grows. studiosante of this kind are smaller sized and also lighter compared to systems with weight stacks. As an individual thinker and also one to examine sacred as well as old facts, I use this statement: that power is damaging to autonomy, that it has the propensity to neglect the rate of interests of the people, as it grows the people pass away, as it recedes the flower of freedom flowers. 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When they individual can act upon the reminder promptly, the power of getting in the circulation is best. The power of a ritual, or just what I prefer to call a pre-game regimen, is that it provides a mindless way to launch your behavior. There are health clubs with initial trial memberships if you're worried about your remaining power. The last phase, the power and also death, was a little strange, as it relates to fatality and also after. You could battle at both 'friendly' fitness centers and the health clubs under the control of rival teams; the previous will help strengthen your team's health club by raising its 'prestige' factors, while the last will certainly try the opponent's reputation, inching it closer to being claimed by your team. It entails no added tools, means I don't need a fitness center membership as well as fits perfectly right into my already active life. If we increase renewables in the UK, we could get to 100% eco-friendly power well before 2050," he claims. When selecting a gym or gym, it could be best to visit the extra costly areas. Great no rubbish suggestions and also workouts for any individual that doesn't prefer to go to the health club or workout with weights. The oppositions next case is that EPA is totally prevented from restricting nuclear power plant' harmful carbon pollution because EPA has currently made use of another part of the regulation-- Area 112-- to curb the very same plants' emissions of mercury and various other hazardous air contaminants. Citizens Recommendations highlighted a common problem that individuals joining health clubs can fail to understand that they were authorizing a credit report arrangement. Most of the pain associated with DOMS occurs when you lower a raised weight and subject your muscles to a type of tightening called an eccentric tightening. We obtain a capacity making a distinction in the world by improving the lives of others, yet the very experience of having power and also advantage leads us to behave, in our worst moments, like spontaneous, out-of-control lunatics. There is an alternative now to select 6x2 chassis or 6x2 chassis with lift-able axles (raised axles stay clear of unnecessary tire wear when the weight circulation stays within lawful limitations). This exercise tools is frequently gone along with by a display screen that tracks the heart rate,. in addition to various other details like the variety of miles run or calories shed. Il est vrai que j' y consacre a peu prés 4 heures par semaine chez moi en musique et je peu vous dire que je ne rate aucune séance tant je me sens bien après mon heure de power plate. There are other basic attributes of veranda PL-P mobile mobility device lift are as complies with. The High court currently chose that question also in American Electric Power v. Connecticut, in 2011. Both gyms have actually walked around the central city location of Sparkhill as well as cater for a largely Muslim clients. The Lumo Lift expenses ₤ 80 in black, grey as well as white with black as well as silver magnets. To the teacher's surprise, just what need to emerge from the subsequent chain reaction but 3 little women: bright and also useful Bloom (voice of Cathy Cavadini), pleasant as well as sunny Bubbles (voice of Tara Solid), as well as tomboyish Buttercup (voice of Elizabeth Daily). Right as blade cuts hung the broken strings of the unused internet, threaded here and there with wheels of silken webs. It took a little convincing, but the Rangers established Auric right, and now he gets on their side. Today, I'm midway via The Power and must say that it is a combination of points I needed to be advised of and afterwards some things I really did not fairly understand. You can obtain a complete body workout in about 20 minutes with the Bowflex Sporting activity house health club if you use it right.

[thorvaenn]

happy new year from thor and loki

1.3k of pure nonsense. post-ragnarok, crack, fluff, misuse of midgardian party games

“It was a good speech.”

“Was it,” Thor mumbled flatly against the mouth of the bottle, staring forward.

New beginnings; hope. He was meant to convey all that before the feast – and it was a feast, truly the first one since they left Asgard crumbled into dust behind them, because they've been exceptionally lucky at their last stop at a space trading post – but he felt he had merely stumbled over his words, stretching the ideal way too thin to be believable.

“Well,” Loki amended after a pause. “It may have pushed our citizens a bit more firmly towards drinking, but perhaps that's not such a bad thing after all.”

That's when Thor finally looked up at Loki, an unexpected spark of pleasure cutting through his morose mood when Loki said our citizens.

Thor had found himself a spot near the top of the ship, an unused corridor really, but with a good view of the stars and several handy storage compartments to sit on.

“Have a drink with me, then,” Thor offered. He was already on his way to being drunk. It was the danger of picking up unknown liquor where they could; some of it packed a punch even for Asgardians.

Loki sat close by, seeming at ease in his casual clothes, nothing in the expression of his eyes suggesting he was bothered. Or angry. Or... so many things he usually was. Thor appreciated it.

He handed the bottle over and watched Loki take a deep swig. He didn't wipe it off first like Thor might have expected.

“There was a time,” Loki said after a second gulp, “when I stopped drinking around you. Did you notice?”

“I noticed you stopped drinking,” Thor replied carefully, leaving out the around you part. “I thought it had something to do with your new found appreciation for the scholarly arts. And with your attempts to be as unlike me as possible.”

“My attempts to-” Loki paused, lifting a finger to indicate Thor should keep silent while he drank further. “Nevermind. No, the truth this, I feared losing control around you.”

“You don't seem too worried about that anymore,” Thor noted mildly. Loki really was putting a dent in Thor's stash. And he was drinking way too quickly for it to even be enjoyable.

“What, after everything?” Loki scoffed. His cheeks were getting flushed. Thor reached into one of the containers and pulled another bottle out. He was not getting that first one back. “What more could I possibly have to reveal?”

Thor wagered a guess. “New things. Not old ones.”

Loki appeared thoughtful for a second. Thor felt the situation was both so bizarrely familiar and foreign – just the two of them in conversation, something they've done a thousand times, and yet there wasn't the knife edge tension from previous years. “Yes, I suppose something like... I think you are doing a good job as a king given what you have to work with would be something I might be ashamed of voicing in the morning.”

Thor smiled broadly and made himself more comfortable in his makeshift seat, leaning back.

“That's kind of you, brother.”

“I didn't actually say it.”

“No, of course not.”

Loki levelled him with a scathing gaze, then sighed. “Alright, this is boring. You're boring me. Let's play a game.”

“What game?” Thor prompted with interest. It was hard to stop smiling and he wasn't trying too hard to be honest.

“I don't know. Do your Midgardians play games?”

“Many, but usually it requires some paraphernalia we don't have. Cards, darts, computers...”

“Such lack of imagination.”

Thor scratched at his beard. “Well there is... Truth or dare. Oh and, spin the bottle! But-”

“Good, good, what are they? No, don't tell me. Midgardians are boring. I will entrust you the great task of combining them together into one game that is worthy of us.”

“That's nonsense,” Thor smiled.

“Please?”

Well, that was a cheap blow. Thor shrugged. “They are not games for two people. They're for a group. Best I can come up with is, we spin the bottle and whomever it points to has to answer a question truthfully, or give a kiss.”

“Kissing? What kind of game is this?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn't actually learn this from the Avengers, I saw it on TV,” Thor murmured, avoiding Loki's gaze and taking a swing.

Loki considered him for a long while, then upturned whatever was left in his bottle into his mouth and slid from his seat to the ground, beckoning Thor to join which he reluctantly did.

“Get me a full one, I just had to sacrifice this one for your silly game,” Loki ordered then, prompting a skilled eye roll from Thor.

They settled cross legged on the ground facing each other, which is how Thor knew things were meant to be done.

That bizarre feeling mounting, he took one last look at Loki's flushed face and glassy eyes and spun the empty bottle on the ground. It landed – approximately – pointing to Loki.

“Yes,” Thor fist pumped. “I get to ask. So... ”

And then paused, the weight of it finally making itself known. Asking the truth of a liar.

Better start easy.

“How much did you bet against me when I was fighting the Hulk?”

Loki grabbed his – full – bottle and drank. “I didn't bet against you.” A grimace. “I bet essentially all I had on you.”

Thor blinked, momentarily stunned. Before he could react, Loki was grabbing the bottle and spinning it so hard it almost shot to the side and shattered.

It pointed somewhat at Thor. It was beginning to dawn onto Thor that perhaps the spinning was slightly redundant.

Except without it, it would just be like an honest conversation and they couldn't have that, could they.

“Who really dumped who?”

Thor snorted. “Loki. Like you don't know me. Of course she dumped me.”

“Yes, that was a wasted question,” Loki frowned. “Quick then, spin, spin, I'm starting to warm up to this game.”

Thor spun. It landed pointing towards him, which set off a half an hour long argument about what that meant for the rules – of this nonexistent game – during which they both got significantly more drunk.

Then Thor spun again and it landed on Loki.

“A-ha!” Thor rubbed his palms against each other. “Here we go... ”

He had questions ready. He knew he did. Things that weren't outright daring but still would help him find his footing again.

But there was the drink. There was the deep, throbbing chasm of too much loss somewhere in his chest. There was the weight of the evening, a New Year for Asgard.

So instead of a sly, crafty question meant to force Loki to give just a bit of ground, this came out: “Do you love me?”

Carefully, Loki put his bottle to the side and then – not terribly elegantly – shifted from his seating position onto all fours took the couple of short steps to close the distance between them, staring Thor in the face.

His mouth, slack with alcohol, was a little poutier, a little more welcoming than usual.

Thor blinked.

Then Loki was right there, his face barely inches away from Thor's.

“What happens if I lie?”

“You must kiss me.”

“Then, no. My answer is no.”

The press of Loki's lips against Thor's was immediate; warm and eager. Their mouths parted straight away, letting each other in, blood igniting with something more than just alcohol.

The dizziness hit Thor all at once and the next time he was able to open his eyes, it was to find himself flat on his back, Loki flushed and dishevelled on top of him.

“Happy new year, brother,” Loki smiled.

[chemorygunko]

5D Business Ideas

5D business ideas

So as the world and economy are moving, shifting and changing, many of us are starting to question how we make money.

We realise we HAVE TO make money to survive in the 3D world, but for many of us, we can’t stomach doing exactly what we did before, and we’re looking for alternate options that allow us to transition to a more 5D way of being…. and allow us to survive the transition financially.

Cos really, we are not much use as soldiers if we’re starving, freezing, and/or dead ;) LOL :)

But what if you can’t transition to a more 5D way of business?

Yes, there are some businesses that won’t allow for more 5D approaches, but that doesn’t mean you can’t change your business practices :)

You could lower your prices.

You could offer clients a discount, or a chance to pay late, or forgo charging interest.

If you’re flush enough, you could even forgive the debt of some your debtors and take the pressure off them. Chances are that if they haven’t paid you, they haven’t paid others either.

You could offer to do some pro bono work for people or organizations that really need the help.

You could sell unused or redundant stock and donate the proceeds to a charity that will use the funds properly.

Or you could give that stock away to a group that could resell, reuse or repurpose it.

You could use your marketing and PR streams to raise awareness or funds for issues and charities near to your heart - or you could arrange a fundraiser.

One really cool project example I did back in my marketing days, was to get my boss to match the book donations of staff, and the collection was given to a underprivileged school library.

I was also involved in projects like collecting old computer devices to donate to kids in needy schools. People never know what to do with old devices…. so you pick them up, format them and you have a machine that a needy child can learn on. It doesn’t need to be perfect - it just needs to be functional. And it reduces the load of electronic waste going into dump sites.

Or you could do something cool like arrange for instructions on something - like building a home out of old soft drink bottles or tyres - to be printed and distributed to those in need.

Or you could stretch yourself and give up a bit of profit that you’re making, and CREATE a few extra jobs on your staff - even if they are temporary or casual jobs.

And importantly, you can keep money moving.

There’s a great parable of a traveller who stops in in a town one night - a town hit by economic hardship.

He arrives at the hotel in a blustering storm and asks the innkeeper for a room for the night. He pays and goes upstairs to warm himself.

The delighted innkeeper realizes he can pay his butcher’s bill and runs off to the butcher to pay his bill. The butcher gladly accepts and runs off to the local lady of the night to settle his tab.

The lady in question owes money to the innkeeper, and she dashes off to settle her bill with him. He gladly accepts - just before the guest comes down the stairs and requests a refund, because he won’t be staying for the night anymore.

Nobody made any money…but the movement of money settled the debts, took pressure off, and lightened the load of a whole bunch of people.

When people are scared about lack, they tend to hoard - money is no different. But if we have a chance of moving the economy upwards again, it will be because we keep the money moving.

It’s hard to trust in that process at first, but the practice is worth it. And when you are okay with money flowing, you will find that what you need flows to you as well.

Okay that’s more about bigger businesses that may have less flexibility, but anyone can apply any of these.

Now onto the 5D small business ideas...

The point of these is not to be business plan or lay it out in detail - it’s to give you direction. Ideas. Ways to think about it.

Haridressers…. this is a fascinating one, cos your hair becomes very important on the journey at a stage. So, for example, I’m not allowed to cut my hair.

Hair is an extension of the nervous system, and each strand becomes a tendril of connection into the morphic field - so longer hair gives you better information, cos there’s more surface. That’s why spiritual types always have long hair and lean towards it.

So on the first level, hairdressers start battling with how badly people treat their hair, and what that shows about the person’s development. On the second level, they battle working with the actual chemicals - and the use of those is dictated by what the client wants.

A 5D workaround would be to offer a completely organic hairdressing service - masks made from oils and egg and other foodstuff ingredients, for example. And limit coloring to only coloring with henna - as organic and pure as you can find the henna.

You can offer elements like braiding and styling and cutting as well, and you can eliminate hair products. You can also cater to the growing number of woman who are opting for no shampoo.

You could also offer treatments hairdressers usually won’t - like helping moms with lice. Man, even when I was flat broke, I would have gladly paid someone to help me with Jelly’s lice. And she got them more than a few times.

You could also offer head, scalp and shoulder massages, and you could combine the hairdresser and beauty salon with a healing element, like acupressure or crystals, or even just inviting the ladies to come in and offload. So talk therapy while you have your hair done or get a massage.

The same could apply to a beauty salon or nail bar - completely organic with a talk therapy element.

Scrubs made from rough salt and crushed eggshells - you have no idea how amazing this makes your skin feel afterwards.

Hair removal with honey based waxes. Threading to avoid the use of wax for eyebrows, so you limit HOW MUCH you throw away. Foodstuff based masks, organic oils for massages etc.

Completely avoid chemical based stuff altogether... the rule becomes, you only put on your body what you would put in it. With the exception of henna of course lol :)

Another completely organic service you could offer is organic cleaning services.

So instead of using harmful chemicals, you use old fashioned solutions like baking soda (bicarbonate of soda), lemon and vinegar. Coconut oil and other oils.

This would be great for targeting daycares and moms with young kids who want a cleaning service. You could also sell the cleaning products in DIY kits - pre packed little sachets of baking soda etc, already measured out for people.

If you’re into crystals and crafts, you could make spiritual art pieces.

So, for example, little packs of crystals, in specific numbers, with instructions on how to stick them up in designs like crosses, stars, or to use them create crystal grids of power.

There’s also an option for spiritual clothing and fabric items…. you could embroider or design important spiritual symbols onto them - hidden and visible.

Or you could work crystals into the designs, or into hidden pouches on the clothing. I mean, how awesome would it be if every item you put on had some spiritual element to it?

Other options for products are things like carved candles, blessed candles, holy water and holy oil. Many people want access to these items but don’t know how - and don’t trust themselves enough - to make them themselves.

There are a lot of people out there creating “we’ll do the work for you” style events and resources, but as people grow, what they will really want is resources that educate them how to work on themselves and others.

So if you’re thinking educational, aim to arm and empower people with tools they can apply in many situations - there are more than enough of the people catering to those who want to be spoonfed.

Speaking of spoonfed - premade meals, ready to heat meals and school lunches that are real, healthy and organic is an option too.

As is a coffee or tea shop with homemade stuff, maybe a cannabis smoking garden, and large table-style seating for people who want to find company, or need to have a real healing chat with the owner and staff. So all the staff double as healers and can sit down and chat with clients…. coffee with soul ;)

You could also look at ideas like delivering fruit and veg, or healthy lunches, to offices in your area. People often buy junk food for a lack of a better option. so give them an option - and make it easy for them to choose that option.

Speaking of education…. schools for kids who live alternate lifestyles or kids that aren’t vaccinated. Where parents have opted not to vaccinate, they don’t qualify for public schooling or government assistance…. this doesn’t mean they don’t have to go to school though. Affordable schooling for these parents will be a winner in years to come.

So for this, you could become a registered homeschool academy, for example, where you have a curriculum provided by a homeschool provider already, but the rest of the school is lived by 5D standards.

Organic, vegetarian and vegan meals, classes on spirituality and even religions, crystals and healing. These can be taught 5D style - so no exams or tests for these classes you create yourself.

You could cater to ADHD kids where the parents don’t want to medicate, for example, as well as offer real guidance and communication skills to kids - 5D style. Also give them spaces to explore all religions, modalities and practices.

Another great area is tiny homes and alternate lifestyle communities… people will want to start living together in communities again. Moving away from the big homes and sprawling space. Living more simply.

If you are a writer, please use your writing ability. Now - at the level you’re currently at.

You spend a shit ton of time on the journey thinking you aren’t worthy, aren’t good enough, doubting yourself as a healer, and doubting that you have anything of worth to contribute - but you forget about contrast.

We have high standards, and most of us are aiming for God level. That’s a VERY high benchmark.

But if you look at us compared to (contrast) other people, then we are more advanced than most.

This is where contrast steps in - you can really “talk to” the people just above and just below you on the development scale - so we need teachers at every level. Someone like me, I teach the teachers, but there’s only a limited amount of people like me needed.

The people below have a much wider market to work with, because there are way more people at that level. And we need teachers at every level - enough to cater to the amount of people at that level.

So when you write, write from your level of experience, and cherish that. You’re only writing about it to coalesce the info, and because you’re moving on from that stage. Leave the info behind for the people coming after you.

When you’re on the journey, ideas often seem to conflict and contradict each other for a while, with one idea replacing the next. But later on you’ll see why you needed all that understanding in single, bite sized pieces, and how it all ties together in one coherent thread.

Don’t be afraid to show that your thinking has changed - and don’t be surprised when people are shocked at the 180s you do. I’ve lost more than a few friends along the way - and business as well. But you will be well glad you took this risks later on, once you see how it all fits together.

We’re the transition team - and what we do is pave the way for the coming stage and age.

It’s our job to figure out how to put this new way of being into the existing world, to match the new desires arising in people, and to help the world evolve.

And we’re receivers for cosmic information…. so if you have an idea, share it.

There is place for more than one business in the world, of all the necessary types.

The information we’re getting now in shifts is info for everyone - we’re moving towards unification and a sharing economy. So share the ideas please - you’ll only be rewarded with more ideas.

Light, peace and harmony, Amara xo  

[pruuneconsultingltd]

Procurement Planning in Action

By Megan Schrader

              Procurement is a deceptively complex process. If you have not stumbled upon this truth in the course of your professional career, you should probably give procurement some more thought. No business is ever too large or too small to benefit from optimizing its procedures for attaining goods and services. When thorough, organized and intricately calculated, procurement can save a business a significant sum. However, optimization is tireless and constant; the process of saving requires incredible foresight and extreme attention to detail. So how does one confront such an undertaking?

 Step 1. Pre-Planning

              When looking to develop a new procurement system or optimize an old one, the first step must be to take stock of the project at hand. Know the specifications of the end goal. What tools/resources will be needed to make this possible? What is on hand, and what needs to be procured? Will these resources need to be procured repeatedly or just once? How much can you afford to spend on each part? Having a clear list of what is needed, when it will be needed and the budget for each purchase from the beginning of the project will eliminate unnecessary spending while prioritising your schedule and your budget.

              At this stage, you should also take note of the individuals who will be teaming with you on this project. If several people will have a part in the procurement process, clarify the specific roles each individual will play. There should be no confusion about who will be doing what. Additionally, ensure that communication will be maintained throughout this process to eliminate redundancy and increase accountability.

 Step 2. Selecting Vendors

              Once you know exactly what you need to procure, research potential suppliers. Research can be done in several ways – looking into past company suppliers, asking colleagues and friends for advice and seeking professional consult, just to name a few. Understand exactly what each supplier has to offer in terms of product quality and quantity. Do they provide quality products? Are they reputable? Are their methods up to date? What additional costs are there to consider?

              With the information you’ve collected, compare these potential suppliers. There is more to consider here than which presents the lowest quote. A cheaper supplier that is located far away, has a reputation for coming up short or is unlikely to remain in business could prove more damaging to your project than the more expensive competitors. Be sure to weigh to potential risks that come with each. If you will need to establish supports to minimize the dangers a supplier presents, you should consider this along with the price that was quoted.

              After picking a supplier, be sure that a contract is signed by all parties. The contents of this contract need to be understood by all involved and should be explicit in what the partnership will entail.

 Step 3. Follow-Up

              At this point, you are already aware of what risks your project faces regarding procurement costs. Be constantly aware of what your company is spending and what waste materials are being unused. Also ensure that suppliers are meeting all your expectations on cost, product quality and scheduling. Never assume that your procurement strategy will be seamless immediately. There is so much to consider when embarking on a new business venture that there are often details that go unnoticed until the project is underway. Fortunately, by forming a clear procurement plan, there will be fewer unpleasant surprises throughout the process, and when issues do arise, you should already have a solution prepared.

              Finally, take care to manage your notes and paperwork. While organisation may seem overrated, keeping track of the minute details of your process is key. This is more than investing in a filing cabinet and some dividers – your digital data should be neat as well. Create folders. Create sub-folders. Create sub-folders for those sub-folders. Create labels for your emails, color-code your schedule, set up alerts to check up on your spending. Make sure that everything has a place in your office and in your computer so that nothing gets lost. With constant vigilance, your business can reap the profits of its optimised procurement plan.

  Sources 

Agrawal, S. (2017). “Creating a Sourcing and Procurement Process Plan”. Arkieva at https://blog.arkieva.com/creating-sourcing-procurement-process-plan/

Biedron, R. (2018). “How To Create and Implement a Successful Procurement Plan”. PurchaseControl at https://www.purchasecontrol.com/uk/blog/procurement-project-planning/

Editorial, Concord. (2019) “Procurement Management Plan in 10 Steps”. Concord at https://www.concordnow.com/blog/10-steps-to-create-effective-procurement-management-plan/

Hunter, L. E. (2017). “How to Create a Procurement Plan for a Project”. Bizfluent at https://bizfluent.com/how-7185481-create-procurement-plan-project.html

“Team-ing With Potential”. Pine Hub at https://pinehub.tumblr.com/post/186395978399/team-ing-with-potential

“Why Procurement Matters”. Pine Hub at https://pruuneconsultingltd.tumblr.com/post/185816211529/why-procurement-matters

About the Author

         Megan Schrader is a writer and content creator for Pruune. She graduated with honours from St. Mary’s College of Maryland, receiving her BSc in Psychology in 2018. Megan has since emigrated to Ireland and settled in Dublin, where she enjoys discovering the local culture. She is passionate about writing, art, coffee and all things psychology.

[whumpfish]

Whump Fic #1

It Brings on Many Changes; one-shot

Fandom: (Young) Black Jack

Whumpee: Kiriko

Summary: In an army hospital, Dr. Kiriko deals with losing an eye, and the frustration of finding himself in the role of patient instead of surgeon. But witnessing the redundant nature of wartime medicine when one is not constantly air-dropping from one aid station to the next leaves scars that will change his life even more radically—forever.

Whump: Broken bones (recovery); sleep deprivation; psychological/emotional crisis

—

Well.

There goes my depth perception.

My first thought was that it would be an interesting challenge, and certainly not one beyond my abilities. Everyone seems to have a quirk around here, I thought, the hemophobic volunteer surgeon, the (quite closeted, bless his heart) ragdoll med student… why not One-Eyed Kiriko of the 131st Airborne?

The thing is, though, that while I know this is a minor setback at worst, convincing the brass of that is going to be a task unto itself… still, I think I’ve saved enough generals to get away with it. If I start small, they can’t complain, and all it ever takes for me to make a splash is a couple of operations. I’ll be fine and back to work before long…

It’s been two days and I’m still in bed. The choppers have come three times since I woke up and no one will let me up. They say I have torn ligaments and a compound fracture in my left leg, more tissue damage and two stress fractures in the right.

I think they’re stalling me.

There’s a man to my left covered head to toe in bandages. Caught the worst of the explosion, they say. His eyes are blank, staring. I wonder who he is, but learning his name won’t save him. No point in asking.

Travis is down the hall. I’ve taken shrapnel out of him three times. Snakes, this time. They think they got the antivenom into him in time. We’ll see. Boone is across from me. Treated him before, too. Bad gut wound. If they let him get septic I’m going to kill his attending physician. Man’s got yards of my thread in him. He’s my patient. My patients live.

Someone needs to let me out of this bed.

It’s been a week. Still not on my feet. I’m trying as much as I’m allowed, flexing the muscles I can to keep them from wasting. Burnt Man screams at night. I can’t sleep for shit. I’d get up on my own if I had the energy, but I’m too burned out from lack of rest.

Flat on my ass for a week and I’m not rested enough to get up. It would be funny if it wasn’t me.

They moved Boone. I’m trying not to assume the worst. It’s hard. I hear names all day. New wounded, deceased, patients in treatment. I know so many of them. I remember every case. Not in the sentimental way other doctors do, but as a point of professional pride. My patients live. That’s why I’m in demand. I hate leaving them in the hands of these mediocre medicoes.

Someone needs to let me out of this bed.

I don’t care what they say; I could do it. It’s me. Of course I could do it. I could operate on crutches if we could find a way to ratchet them up high enough. It would take more plates and pins than I’ve got in me now, but it’s possible. I’d try it if a patient in my condition asked, if he was as determined and obviously needed as I am here.

But no one here has my confidence, my drive to get things done. To get patients back on their feet. It’s a maddening cycle of irony: I could get me back in action but I’ve been sidelined. I could solve these problems they’re obviously having in here—whatever they are—but no one will tell me details because they’re so fixated on my still-healing legs, on my missing eye, that they think I can’t.

Two weeks. Stitches are out, and I’m trying to be happy about it. Boone’s dead. I know it, everyone changes the subject when I ask. I’ve stopped telling them who’s mine. They all shut down once they know. I feel like there’s some trick being played on me, some malicious secret everyone’s in on.

The nurses are scared of Burnt Man. He’s started grabbing coats and skirts and hands and begging for poison instead of morphine. He still screams at night.

Three weeks. Every day I hear names. Every day the list of mine grows. I fix them up, the VC or general stupidity or the fucking jungle finds a way to break them again.

“My patients live. That’s why I’m in demand.”

God, I sound like an idiot.

Burnt Man still begs for poison. Sometimes a gun. I’m understanding it more the longer this goes on, the longer I lie here… the more nights I lose sleep to the sounds of misery around me. Sometimes I wish someone would just shoot all of us.

Almost four weeks. I’ve stopped my self-guided PT. I don’t care anymore. They could release me today and it wouldn’t make a difference. It wouldn’t make a difference because I don’t make a difference. None of us does.

Repair a pneumothorax, man steps on a mine two weeks later. Save a leg, patient loses an arm in an attack on the transport. Travis lived through the snakebite. Lived long enough to get blown up with the other three in the Jeep headed back out to their unit.  I mean, what is the fucking point?

“My patients live”…

Well, apparently, they don’t.

He’s screaming again. Someone needs to put this poor bandaged bastard out of his misery. They can kill me too while they’re at it.

Four weeks exactly. I’m not getting up. I’m done. I’ve been here this long, might as well stay for keeps. I’m acutely, clinically aware of the muscle wastage that’s started already. The quadriceps will go first, passively shortened just by my lying straight, limp and unused as it gets. It’ll take another week, but the hamstrings will follow. I haven’t been eating much. Should be going into ketosis soon. The muscles will break down faster after that. Another few days, and eventually atrophy will set in in my arms.

I can envision my limbs wasting to twigs. Finally falling asleep from malnutrition and dehydration as my appetite disappears entirely. Sleep is sleep, after all, and it’s all I want at this point–why be picky about what kind I get? The seizures won’t be fun, but organ failure follows soon after, so I won’t suffer from them long.

They’ve moved Burnt Man. Demoralizing, they say. Other patients have started echoing his pleas, and the nurses spend half their day explaining to men in here that an increase in morphine is as far as they go. I’ve seen panic spread like a virus, and I know that’s what they’re anticipating. If they’d just given the poor bastard what he wanted from the start they wouldn’t have this problem.

Julie is a nurse on my end. She keeps trying to get me up, get me moving, get me to eat. Beneficent healer bringing good news, cajoling sweetheart, fussy and chastising mother hen–she’s put on every conceivable hat to try to get me to use my legs now that I have official permission. I don’t talk to her. The staff here’s missed their window for securing my merry cooperation in this farce they call a hospital. Should have let me up weeks ago, before I realized how things really are.

Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll take gradual starvation and dehydration instead, if it’s all the same.

Today brings a new tactic: she’s got my kit bag. I’m avoiding eye contact, uncooperative to the last, but I’m curious. If they offer me wounded I’m actually not sure what I’ll do–laugh, get up after all, or punch somebody. But it’s nothing work related. It’s that locket of mine, with the photograph of Mom and Sissy. God, she must be half grown by now. I could almost feel sad, with this decision I’ve made, to die out here in East Fuckass without a goodbye.

Almost.

Okay, that’s it. Enough.

I look her pointedly in the eye. “Fuck off,” I say quietly, evenly, then look away again.

She doesn’t come back for the rest of the day. At least she got the point. I leave the meal they bring me untouched as always, idly listening to the arguing about the morphine. As the interminable exchange goes on, and I remember the pleas and screams of the Burnt Man who started it all, a second realization dawns: I don’t have to die here.

I’ll tell Julie it was the photograph that did it. I’ll apologize for my sour mood, tell her that remembering I’m a hero to my baby sister made me realize I still have work to do, lives to save. It’s bullshit–if anything, that line of thought makes me want to eat a bullet most of all–but it’ll sell. I’m pretty sure they’d hand me a psych discharge if I explained my true reason to live, now that I’ve found it. It would’ve sounded crazy to me, too, weeks ago��� but now everything is clear. There’s a better option after all.

Death has always been my enemy, but instead of making progress, I’ve just been fighting a war of attrition. And I can’t help losing, no one can. But there’s still something for me on this earth: if I can’t beat Death, I’ll become him. Become a better Death. I’ve always been the best in my field. My enemy Death revels in people’s powerlessness to fully control him–but when I’m Death, I’ll give them control: control over when it happens, how it happens, how much of it they’ll have to feel. No more uncertainty. No bargaining. No praying. No pain. No fear.

Checkmate, asshole.