#at least something finished on my to-do list !

[fordpinesthemanyouare]

Ford x Fem!Reader

Math Assistant Pt.1

Summary: Ford needs himself an assistant, Stanley makes an online post for him and BOOM there you are, coming to meet him for an interview at the diner.

Warnings: Erm... this is a nothing sandwich I THINK. Please let me know if I should add something

A/N: My brothers in christ please this is my first fic that I wrote on a whim, I had an idea and I started writing. I have never written fan ficiton in my life so pls be nice... also who up wit dey werm to Stanford Pines HOOBA HOOBA!!!!! Okay also I want to write SMUT for this so imagine this is like the really really really long winded plot to the porno. K thanks bye read if u want or dont i dont control you.

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Ford shook his head at Stanley who was seated in front of a new computer now placed in the living room, “I’m still confused on why we should be posting the ad listing “online” rather than the local paper, or putting up flyers around town.” Ford used air quotes for emphasis, he still found the whole idea strange, he liked the computer for being a tool he could use to further research. He didn't like it so much as a vessel for finding candidates for a job he was offering, the thought that he had no idea who was communicating with him unsettled him a bit. Especially knowing the kind of work he was going to be having this future assistant… well assist with.

“Because yer never going to find someone with the qualifications yer asking for in this town” Stan looked over his shoulder at a crossed arm Ford. “Hiring someone for a summer job who has a PhD in Application Math, whatever that means-“

“Applied Mathematics, Stanley” Ford interrupted.

“Whatever it is you're not going to find that here, you and fiddleford are probably the only people in this town to actually have a college degree” he said with a chuckle, turning back to the computer. He was clicking around on some website that Ford had never heard of, let alone just recently finding out what the internet was. “I'm setting up a job listing on some of the local college websites, ya know for people that are studying or just done studying”. The clicking of the mouse and the typing of keys continued as Ford ran the motion through his head, overthinking perhaps every outcome of Stanley posting that job listing. Ultimately though Ford knew he was right in that, no one with at least a degree in Applied Mathematics was going to be residing nearby.

“Just please be careful about the information you include in this job posting, try to keep it minimal as possible. If they ask more questions about specifics you can let them know that I can explain in person.”

Stan looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows slightly downturned with a smirk rising on his face, “I didn’t realize you had hired me to be your assistant, you're going to have to cough up if you want me to do this for you”. Ford groaned in annoyance of his brother, “Stanley you know I don’t know how to use any of that”.

“Exactly why you're going to want to have me help you out with this”, Stanley moved his arm to drape across the back of the chair he was in, looking more directly at him. “That’ll be twenty dollars”, he held out his hand expectantly at his twin. A beat of silence passed between the two as they had a small staring contest, both men’s brows furrowed at the other.

Ford finally reached for his back pocket after he felt he had glared at his brother enough, he slipped a twenty dollar bill from the leather wallet and practically slammed it in his hand before walking in the opposite direction without a word. While Stan on the other hand, was more than beaming when he saw Ford’s hand fall to his back pocket, Stan half shouted as Ford strode out of the room.

“You’ll thank me later when I find the perfect candidate!” He laughed as he said it and returned to more clicking and typing around the website.

Ford returned to the lab to finish up some things before the kids were scheduled to get there later in the month. When they returned from the long months at the ocean, Ford wanted nothing more than to work on something in his lab again. He loved feeling the anticipation of a project becoming something, but of course he knew he could easily get carried away. After Dipper and Mabel left last summer, before Stanley and him were going to head out, he had made a major discovery while working in the lab. He had discovered an atom that was capable of recreating a direct clone of itself and in as many atoms he could count. He continued to work on the project until Stanley was practically dragging him from the house to leave to sail around the world.

While sailing towards one of their final destinations at the end of the trip, Ford finally opened up to Stanley about his worries of falling into the same pits as before. He was worried that he would become too involved, as he already felt himself doing as they were leaving for their trip. He also desperately needed some alone time from Stanley, but he didn’t mention that to him while they were on the boat.

“What if you hired someone to help you with the project?” Stan had offered a possible solution, while he had sat in the boat looking at Ford who was deep in thought over his dilemma. “I mean obviously the last time that happened, it wasn’t great either…” He trailed off after the look on Ford’s face became apparent, regretting the thought of his old college friend.

“I know the last time wasn’t great” Stanley pushed forward, “but maybe if you have someone hired to help with the smaller stuff. Things like using the calculator or something, whatever the small stuff even is to you” he said the last part under a fake cough which earned him a glare from his brother. However, the idea wasn't… terrible, Ford thought. He pondered over the possibilities of having someone helping him out, along with having the two kids upstairs to bother him. If he were to have someone who he didn't have to know that well take on most of the minor details, the equations and such, he would be able to prioritize the best parts of the project while also having time for his family. At least, that’s what he had hoped for when Stanley initially offered the idea.

“That could be a good idea…” Ford said after taking several moments to ponder the possibilities. “I would need someone who could do advanced mathematical equations, with room for equations that could possibly extend what they know…”. Stanley just looked at him deep in thought, wondering how there could be that many things to think about, the answer seemed clear to him.

Back in the lab, Ford could hear Stanley groaning loudly about some ‘unknown error message’. He continued to monitor and take note of the atoms under his advanced microscope for a while, waiting until Stanley had further news of any postings. He wondered what his new assistant would be like, if they could have the same passion for knowledge and understanding as he does.

———

A few days had passed, Ford falling into old habits quickly, holing himself up in the lab for hours upon hours. The only time he was seen over the last 48 hours was to grab more coffee from the kitchen, he caught naps in between work, falling asleep over his piles of scrap paper filled with numbers and letters. Ford had not anticipated how much mathematical reasoning was going to follow the atom cloning discovery, he was falling behind on moving forward with more discoveries on the atoms, but over hundreds of miniscule details that needed solving kept him at the desk. Stan walked down on the 49th hour of Ford’s lock down in the basement, opening the door noisily and making as much noise as possible on the way down to let him know he was on the way. Ford was scribbling away on the nth page of scrap work, crossing out failed attempts of solving equations as Stan broached the lab floor.

Stan awkwardly cleared his throat at Ford when he didn’t turn around, even though Stanley was sure to have made enough noise on the way down. Ford turned his head over his shoulder, his body seeming to not want to move from the space it had cramped into. He raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, as if asking ‘What? Im busy’. Stan gave a huff of annoyance before starting,

“I have about 3 applications that I thought were worth looking over, most of the idiots who applied didn’t even have math degrees. All they see in the listing is free housing and they flock like birds trying to claw their way in” he said with a slight chuckle. He strided over to Ford’s desk, as Ford leaned back finally interested in what Stan was saying. He took the papers from Stanley and began to look over them. He began thumbing through the few resumes, looking over each one carefully noting that all three people had at least some qualifications in mathematics. He looked up to Stan and gave him a tight smile.

“I appreciate you getting these for me, I’ll reach out to the ones I feel are qualified.” A beat passed between them, Ford paused for a second wondering if he should just return to work at this point or if Stanley had something else since he hasn't made any move to leave.

“I think the one on the bottom will be the best fit.” Stan said with a certain look in his face that Ford couldn’t place, as he turned to leave. Ford looked at him as he walked towards the stairs with a questioning look on his face, wondering what could have led his brother to place a preference on one of these resumes even though he didn't know what applied mathematics was. As Stan trudged up the stairs Ford called to his brother,

“I'll be sure to look at that one, thank you Stanley.” Which made Stanley pause and turn to look at Ford, a distant smile on his face as he nodded and continued up the stairs. Ford turned back to his desk and pulled the resume on the bottom up to the top, the header in nice bold letters a fine print used, he noted.

Y/N YL/N

He also took note that this was the only two-page resume offered to him, with the education list taking up most of the room. Several universities/schools were listed and his eyes read over the names and degrees that followed. He read all the way to the bottom where it listed your highschool with graduation dated in 1999. He noted this person was in their early 30’s with several bachelors degrees in several sciences, two master’s degrees in statistics and biology, and of course a Ph.D in applied mathematics. The latest graduation listed was University of Oregon masters program in statistics for April, which he noted it was now early May noting it would be fresh on the mind. He moved your resume to the back of the small stack, looking over the first two he skipped over, and honestly he wished he saved yours for last. The first two were jokes compared to the advanced knowledge you listed, he set the first aside after noting that the education list was no longer than a paragraph, and the second resume didn’t take long to set aside either as his eyes raked in the many spelling errors.

He read over your resume again looking for a way to contact you to set up the interview. He noted the phone number and email in the corner of the first page, and made to move upstairs to the kitchen phone. As he stood up however, his muscles almost molded into place from sitting at the desk, stopped him from moving further. He groaned as he began to stretch himself out, thinking about how he couldnt wait to stop looking at math problems for hours on end.

Heading back upstairs he reached the phone and quickly gazed at the microwave clock, 3:49 pm. He was glad it wasn’t later than five, as he picked up the corded receiver and began to punch in the numbers. The phone rang a few times before your voice fluttered over the phone, “Hello?”. Ford cleared his throat awkwardly, “Hello! Yes, is this Y/N YL/N? Oh it is, great, this is Stanford Pines calling about a job posting for the assistant position. I was hoping to set up an interview to discuss further details of the position.”

“I was just wondering if I would hear back from this offer,” the light voice on the other end laughed a pleasant laugh a little before continuing, “I’d love to join you for an interview regarding the position, I’m free anytime, anywhere this coming week and the next.”.

Ford offered a time for tomorrow at the local diner, which he provided the address to. The voice on the phone wished Ford a great rest of his night and that they would see him tomorrow. Ford wished them the normal pleasantries he hated to conduct while making mundane phone calls such as these. He was slightly relieved to find you weren’t completely strange, at least right off the bat. When he hung the phone back on the hanger, Stan suddenly spoke, causing Ford to jump from the lack of warning.

“So did you end up going with the one I said?” Stan looked smug as Ford met his gaze, knowing damn well he scared Ford on purpose. Ford rolled his eyes after he settled after the slight scare,

“Unsurprisingly, as you could probably assume. You shouldn’t have even bothered with the other two. One only had a few community college classes under their belt.” Ford turned to make more coffee, he figured he would stretch his legs now as he was planning on working on some more equations before the meeting tomorrow. Stan gave a hearty laugh, “She’s also quite the looker, surprised me when I was pulling resumes”. Ford gave his brother a look as he asked, “Can’t you make your picture anything you want online?”. He remembers when they got the computer last time the kids were here, Dipper had shown him how he had his profile for online DD&MD. He absolutely didn’t understand it, but Dipper assured him this summer he would teach him. Which would benefit him from not having to pay Stanley anytime he needed something done the modern way (this was not often).

“Yeah but this was on a college website, everyone has their picture I think. It looks all like student ID’s… Oh don’t look at me like that! I looked at all of their profile pictures. She just happened to have the best looking picture.” Stan finished with a shrug and a laugh. Ford had looked at him like he was crazy for looking through all the people who applied profile pictures before feeling the need to ask, “You did give me recommendations on experience, not looks correct?”.

Stan shook his head, “I know you would kill me if I passed on a math nerd over an actual good looking girl” he laughed, turning “I'm going to head out gotta meet some people, don’t wait up for me.” Stan said as he was walking out the door, grabbing the keys as he slammed the door. Ford shook his head and decided to take his brother's word for it, his mind replaying what his twin mentioned, “quite the looker” as if that could have any effect on anything. Ford thought he didn't care much at all for how a person appeared as long as they could solve these problems that's all that mattered, and maybe that they were decently pleasant to work with. He couldnt help but reflect back to the phone call, your light and airy voice filling his ear with pleasant sound, at least you didnt have a horrible voice and he could probably get used to hearing that voice more often, he thought. Ford filled his cup with coffee and headed back downstairs not giving the interview tomorrow much more thought than your voice on the phone.

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A/N: Yay I did it!!! yeah so what if its a nothing sandwich?? Didnt i literally say that before hand.. hope you enjoyed if ya read! <3

[fictionadventurer]

Potential September Reading

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien (ideally in audio)

An English Squire by Christabel R. Coleridge

A Sherlock Holmes story (and/or a screen adaptation)

C.S. Lewis nonfiction

A sensation or mystery novel

A piece of one of the Psmith stories

Some kind of nonfiction book

[vargaslovinghours]

Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

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Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

[c-l-y-d-e]

10 minutes until I log out of my work computer and fuck off for 9 days ❤️

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

SAITO MUSASHIBO BENKEI, THE JAPANESE GOD OF WAR, THE FOUR HEAVENLY KINGS AND DRAGON SYMBOLISM BOTH IN CHINA AND JAPAN

— AND BLACK DRAGON FIRST GEN

(I’ll start with Benkei since he’s the reason this post exists. And also it makes things easier.)

BENKEI

Saitō Musashibō Benkei (西塔武蔵坊弁慶), popularly known as simply Benkei (弁慶), is said  to have defeated 200 men in each battle he was personally involved in. In Tokyo Revengers, Benkei’s actual name is Arashi (荒師) Keizo (慶三) and if you take a closer look both ‘-kei’ in Benkei and Keizo are the same. They are written with the same kanji. Isn’t that beautiful. (In Tokyo Revengers ‘Benkei’ is only written in Katakana.)

He was first named Oniwaka (鬼若 ; demon/ogre child), because he was born with wild hair, long teeth and grew faster than other children. He was also a troublemaker, fighting with other children, breaking things. Because of his behavior he was behavior sent him to a monastery. Getting into a monastery and becoming a monk didn’t not calm Oniwaka down who kept getting in troubles and sent from monastery to monastery, from temple to temple. At seventeen he left the monasteries for good and take on the name Saito Musashibo Benkei.

Benkei wandered around Kyoto every night to take 1000 swords. After winning 999 swords (he had never lost a battle in his life), he came across Minamoto no Yoshitsune who he decided he’ll take the sword of and get his 1000th sword. Minaomoto no Yoshitsune’s sword was gilded. He was also much more shorter than Benkei since he was a child (10 years old or so). Benkei lost. Not long after he asked for a rematch and lost once again. After that he became Minamoto no Yoshitsune’s servant, followed him and fought by his side. They stayed together as outlaws until they both died. Benkei is seen as the picture of loyalty.

The temple Atago, nowadays the temple Benkei, has a statue of Benkei which is six feet and two inches tall (just like Benkei in Tokyo Revengers). There’s only ruins and a single pine tree where the ancient temple Benkei once was.

Minamoto no Yoshitsune(源 義経), born Ushiwakamaru (牛若丸 ; young bull) is one of the most famous and liked samurai in Japan. Since Benkei swore loyalty to him, there could be Shinichiro (+his sword was gilded). Yoshitsune was also said to fight as if he was flying so perhaps Wakasa ? But Benkei would never admit any kind of defeat against Wakasa if it even ever happens (there’s a reason why Kanto was cut in half between those two). So Senju ? She’s stronger than Benkei and Wakasa as a teen. I don’t know. Wakasa, Oniwaka and Ushiwakamaru share the same ‘waka’ kanji (若). It could mean nothing. But also Wakui could’ve chosen another name for Wakasa and not let me questioning things. And like. The ‘Ushi’ in both Ushiwakamaru and Imaushi is the same (牛) as well. So. Perhaps. Wakasa is Minamoto no Yoshitsune. But i’m a bit iffy about it. But since Wakui wrote them as a duo and you can’t talk about Benkei without talking about Yoshitsune and vice versa...

GOD OF WAR, FOUR HEAVENLY KINGS

(Hope y’all remember Shinichiro nicknamed Takeomi ‘rain bringer’)

I thought ‘god of war’ refered to Hachiman, and it might since he’s a japanese god of war and of agriculture (so perhaps has a weak or strong link to the rain) and I think he is to an extent since he was the protector of the Minamoto clan AND Hachiman is said to be the one to determine a samurai’s fate (aKa if they win or lose their battles) just like Takeomi says ("I was feared, sice my decisions determined how any conflict would end.") BUT. The Four Heavenly Kings. Vaiśravaṇa (means: ‘very famous’). Bishamonten. God of war and warriors, seen as a punisher of evildoes and ruler of rain. Carrying an umbrella ('chatra' ; which symbolizes kingship, sovereignty).

Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Jikokuten. King of the east. Associated with the color white. In China, he is named Chíguó Tiān (持國天 lit. "King who holds a country") (Dhṛtarāṣṭra means ‘protector of the nation’) because it is said he helps support a country against enemies. Wakasa is the one who at the end harmonized Kodo Rengo and caused the twelves gangs to unionize and ruled over the eastern side of Kanto. He is often pictured with a fierce expression trampling a jaki. (we're gonna talk about jaki later, i promise you)

Virūpākṣa. Birubakusha. King of the west. Associated with the color red. Whether it be in China or Japan, he is shown having a red skin. He is also sommonly seen trampling a jaki. Or, Benkei, also nicknamed Red Cliff, and once ended up painted in red with enemies' blood, who ruled the western side of Kanto with Ragnarok. Virūpākṣa means ‘wide eyes’ and refers to awareness.

Virūḍhaka. Birurokusha.The only one left. Definitively Shinichiro. Although with how Dhṛtarāṣṭra is described (‘harmonious and compassionate, protects all beings’ I did doubt a bit as whether it was really Wakasa bc he is the one to have become leader of Kodo Rengo among the twelve gangs forming it). In China, he is called Zēngzhǎng Tiānwáng (增長天 lit. Growth King) because he has the ability to teach to sentient beings how to grow compassion. Virūḍhaka in Sanskrit means ‘sprouting grain’ or ‘growing large’, still referring to this idea of ‘increase’ or ‘growth’. In Japan, he has a fierce expression while trampling a jaki.

(By the way, Kakucho, Mochi, Shion and Ran are the Four Heavenly Kings of Tenjiku. But I’m still convinced it fits BD first gen better)

Alright, so what a jaki ?

Amanojaku or Amanjaku is a small oni able to see into people’s heart, to detect and inflame a person’s darkest desire and convince them into doing gravely wicked deeds. When Amanojaku is ordered to do something, it does the opposite. It is considered an opponent of Buddhist teachings and is commonly depicted as being trampled on and subdued into righteousness by one of the Four Heavenly Kings (often Bishamonten). In this context only is it called jaki. One of the most famous appearance of Amanojaku is in Urikohime (melon princess) where it kidnaps and sometimes impersonates her after eating her.

So yeah, I think I’ve found Mikey’s dark impulses.

DRAGONS

(starting with chinese culture)

The Chinese dragon symbolizes prosperity and good luck, potent and auspicious power. An easy thing to point out is the Dragon being the symbol of Chinese emperors but it is as easy at it is relevant. Because, if Black Dragon, Shinichiro, ruled over Japan, then yes, he was an emperor. Most importantly, during the Qing dynasty, the imperial dragon was yellow/gold like Shinichiro’s image color and during the Ming dynasty it was red, like Mikey’s. The Dragon is also believed to be the ruler of water, such as rain but also waterfalls, typhons, seas… It is sometime called ‘Dragon King ‘ although there are severals (5) Dragon Kings, one for each cardinal point and seasons (Black/Dark/Mysterious dragon – north - winter ; white dragon – East – fall ; Cannibar/Vermillon dragon – south – summer; Azure/blue-green dragon – west – spring) each who ruled on different sea who were metaphorical boundaries of China during pre-Han dinasty (the south sea, the west sea which were both real and the made-up west and north seas (which were ‘discovered’ later – they’re lakes. Qinghai Lake and Lake Baikai)). The last ruled on the ‘middle’, the Yellow (or gold, really) Dragon. (linked with late summer)

Also, I think if we have to link a Dragon to one of the first gen members, the white dragon would go to Wakasa and red/cannibar/vermillon to Benkei but then. Hear me out. Takeomi is the azure/blue-green dragon and Shinichiro is the yellow one. And the black/dark/mysterious is left alone. Because it’s the whole gang. But the Yellow dragon is the dragon kinda piecing everything together and that’s the point. Shinichiro as BD creator and leader embodied both the gang as a whole and himself as an individual. Black Dragon is the Black/Dark/Mysterious dragon and also the Yellow dragon and Shinichiro is the Yellow dragon and the Drak/Black/Mysterious dragon.

BUT THEN. The Dragons Kings and the Four Guardians/Gods are basically the same thing. So The white dragon (Byakko, Baihu in Chinese) is a tiger, the black dragon (Genbu, Xuanwu in Chinese) is a tortoise, the red (Suzaku, Zhuque in Chinese) dragon is a bird and the blue dragon (Seiryu, Qinglong in Chinese) is a… dragon. Japan doesn’t seem to have a Yellow dragon, they are only four of them – like the OG BD founders. (but also it kinda does ? I’m still confused about whether or not they have five or four dragons sorry about that.)

BUT THEN. Because nothing can be easy. The black tortoise is written with those kanji 玄武 (can also be read ‘mysterious warrior’) and you know what ? Takeomi’s name is written with those kanji : 武臣. (and also Senju said to Takemichi that they are the mysterious siblings once). So at the end it’s the azure dragon that is left alone. Since, while Japan doesn’t have a yellow dragon, Shinichiro’s image color is gold. Edit: The Kanji for 'Take' in 'Takemichi' is also 武.

Since the Dragon was seen as the ruler of water and water-related weather phenomenas, many temples were dedicated to them and they were offered sacrifices when drought or flooding were happening or in time of dryness. So it was to either ask for the water to stop or to come.

The Dragon God/King worship is celebrated with sacrifices (to only name the one religious pratice I succeeded to link to TokRev –). It was on the fifth or sixth moon (/month) of the Chinese year. In 2003, the Chinese year started on the 1st of February. So six months later, it’d be August. And… the Worship of the Dragon God is celebrated especially on the date of his birthday the thirteenth day of the sixth moon. Shinichiro died on the 13th of August. (+it's the first day of Obon, the Japanese days of the dead that lasts from August 13th to August 15th; ghost are said to come back on earth and visit their family)

Yeah.

So, now that we’ve established how Shinichiro is linked to the dragon let me add that people who are deemed excellent and outstanding are compared to dragons in chinese culture.

In Japan, once knowledge/believes from China (Tang dynasty) came in, buddhist raimaking ritual prayers involved dragon kings. And the rain ritual was performed regularly.

Still, Japan already had dragons before Chinese people came in. Japanese dragons are also linked to their emperors since it is believed a Dragon is the ancestor of the emperors. They are more nuanced than the helpful Chinese dragons – Japan has dragons who are both ‘good’ and ‘bad’, they’re humanized. They’re shapeshifting masters – if a human sees them in their dragon form is because they decide so, otherwise they’re able to look and act like a human (and mate. There . You have your explanation as to how a dragon can be a human’s ancestor.) or any other thing/being they want to appear as. Some rule from the clouds and others from the water. The one coming from the water are linked to bodies of water and rain (which seems to be most of them, the dragon is seen as a water deity) like their chinese counterpart. They very rarely have wings, when they do their wings are as small as those of a bat.

The Japanese blue/azure dragon is the guardian of cities. The japanese white dragon (O Goncho) which appears every 50 years as a golden bird, its cry means famine is coming.

Dragons symbolize wealth, perseverance and wisdom in Japan.

ADDITIONAL STUFFS

- The Dragon and the Tiger are seen as mighty rivals (龍虎, Ryūko, the kanji are literally 'dragon' and 'tiger') in Japanese culture - hence, Kazutora being the one to kill Shinichiro was a good way to show the balance was no more (as neither the Dragon nor the Tiger ever win against one another) + might be the reason why Mikey chooses his neck to have his dragon tattoo and why he chooses the left side (Kazutora having his tiger tattoo on the right) - it's for the symbolism

- Four clans dominated politics during the Heian period. Now, the four clans don’t seem to hold any informations that can be relevant to Tokyo Revengers. Except for one. And I don’t see in what but it has to be. It’s the Tachibana (橘) clan and you’d think, what a coincidence but op it might not be the same kanji. It is. It is and it’s beautiful but I can’t find how it can be important. It’s probably isn’t, honestly. But. But it’s here.

- The logo of Ragnarok was a Byakko. A white tiger, so a Byakko, was said to appear when the emperor rules with absolute virtue or if there was world peace. Ironic for a gang named ‘Ragnarok’. (But then wasn't Shinichiro —?)The Byakko is the guardian of the West, it is the white dragon. In Chinese art, it often depicted alongside the dragon. In Japan, the dragon is often seen with a tiger so it honestly surprises me there aren’t that much tigers in TokRev. I can name Kazutora but no other character comes right to my mind when thinking of tigers.

- The Kanji for Kodo Rengo (煌道連合) mean stuff:

煌 : glitter, gleam, twinkle

道 : road-way, street, district, journey, course, moral, teachings

連 : take along, lead, join, connect, party, gang, clique

合 : fit, suit, join. (The verb 合う means : to come together, to merge, to unite, to meet)

‘Rengo’ does fit Kodo Rengo well, since it is a gang made of several gangs who came/merged together. ’Kodo’ is also something, that while it doesn’t seem to hold that much meaning (i’m not fluent or anything in japanese, i can’t tell if it really doesn’t)

On the other hand, Ragnarok (螺愚那六)...

螺:small, edible, helical fresh-water mollusk

愚:foolish, folly, absurdity, stupid, foolishness; silliness; stupidity; folly

那: what ?

六: six

I don’t know. Maybe it does indeed mean something, maybe it’s just because those are kanji that sounds like ‘Ragnarok’ (six is pronounced 'roku', that I know of, so it's close to 'rok' - and the other are pronounced 'ra', 'gu', and 'na' respectively in on'yomi) when put together and they weren’t gonna wrote it in Katakana but – yeah, idk. Maybe I just didn’t find what this could possibly mean…

- Chinese dragons mostly have five claws whereas Japanese dragon mostly have three ! That’s why Draken and Mitsuya’s (and Manila/Bad Toman Mikey’s) tattoo has three claws :) ! Same thing for the Black Dragon’s flag ! I’m sure these (in red) are claws ! And those are wings (in blue), and that’s the body (green) (listen, either they can draw and it was a choice or none of them can and they did their best):

- For 武臣(Takeomi) Nihongomaster gives ‘warrior, military, chivalry, arms’ as translation for 武 and ‘retainer, servant‘ or ‘an hereditary title, originally one of the two highest such titles, later demoted to sixth highest of eight for 臣. So the first kanji can be there to 1. refers to his title of ‘God of War, of warriors’ and/or 2. the black tortoise/dragon and the second kanji can be there to show how he felt down in disgrace ? He was the Vice-president of Black Dragon and then he wasn’t – he lost significance.

- to add to Benkei’s name (Arashi Keizo), I don’t have more to say about ‘Keizo’ but Arashi (荒師) – 荒 means rough, rude, wild and 師 : expert, master, professional, teacher, a religious figure. And Benkei (as in, the mythological figure) was a troublemaker (at least as a child) and a (rebellious) monk

Edit.: Saitō Musashibō Benkei (西塔武蔵坊弁慶). Well. This Kanji seems rather common. Or did Wakui do it on purpose ?..

- I didn’t find anything about Wakasa and it pisses me off. Nor about him, nor about his name (Ushiwakamaru aside), nor about ‘white leopards’ and how they’re seen in japan. (EDIT: figured out the 'white leopard' part somewhere in this post)

- If someone knows what temple South’s name refers to, please tell me. His name means temple of the south it has to be important. Him, Senju and Mikey were called ‘the three deities’ there’s must be something and i don’t see it i hate this

Edit: Ok, so at the very start Christian missionary (and Japanese Christians) practice their religion in 南蛮寺; Nanba-ji. (reminder: South Terano; 南 寺野). 南蛮, 'Nanban' means 'South Barbarians' and was used to describe Japan neighbor countries at first (Southern China, Southern Asia, Ryukyu Islands...). But then it got used to describe European foreigners - mostly Portuguese (and Spanish) people (explorers, missionaries, merchants). The word 南蛮 isn't commonly used in Japan nowadays

I also recommend y'all to go search about irl Rokuhara Tandai and the fact they had two chiefs, the less powerful one being the one from the south (of kyoto)

- Brahman is 梵 and means the unchanging, infinite, immanent and transcendent reality which is the divine ground of all matter, energy, time, space, being and everything beyong this Universe (hinduism). The nature of Brahman is described as transpersonal, personal and impersonal. In chinese (figuratively) it means quiet, paeceful, undisturbed.

Bonten is 梵天 (can be read as Brahma (not Brahman)) and is either an alternative form of Brahman or it can refer to Brahma, one of the three supreme deities and the Hindu god of creation.

Remembering Senju dies in Bonten timeline I – yeah. She was Mikey’s childhood friend if not Takeomi and Sanzu’s sister.

[starbuck]

i love thriftbooks so much for aggressively notifying me that books are COMING, but not telling me WHICH BOOKS.

i don’t even remember how many books i ordered at this point but, by god, three of them are going to be on my doorstep tomorrow and i am already in heaven.

[hollowflight-propaganda]

🥀(for the WoF ask game)

🥀 Opinion on the Graphic Novel style?

I think it's good! I own the first 4 of them, but I've never actually read through any of them in whole. But yeah, I think it works for what it is! Some facial expressions are done very well, and I absolutely love how the NightWings are depicted.

[hugsqueeze]

All of this is OLD but I want to post it since I have been struggling to draw lately and I've been THINKING about this. And I still like a lot of these little details I made for this project... heehee... There are MORE characters than just these two but I have yet to draw them. Haha *RIPPING MY KEYBOARD APART WITH MY TEETH*

Ive been kinda trying to figure out how (or if) it would be possible to show the cutsie tootsie outfit that the main character wears because I am very fond of it... And I think maybe MAYBE it would be possible to make the playable character customizable? Through character creation methods... I am afraid though because it seems. Complicated of course. Not to mention custom pronouns if that is needed. (Which it probably will be considering the player is spoken about quite a bit). ARGH >_<

[despairforme]

      Wakes up like? What year is this?

[the-kipsabian]

writing this fic makes me want to shake something so badly (positive)

[bambino1294]

the absolute severity of the change in my ability to work quickly post-covid is insane

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Damn I forgot how long it takes to make a good reclist. Between getting a good list tracking down all the fics writing all the relevant info and then a little comment if I have something to say, that stuff is time consuming

[luobingmeis]

sometimes i monologue to myself for what feels like hours abt 3zun/nieyao and then i end with the very lxc statement of “well, they both have their reasons” :’)

[icewindandboringhorror]

just out of curiosity I saved all of my worldbuilding slideshows as plain text then copied the text into a text editor that actually has a word count function, and it was too long to even put in one document without getting an error gfhvhvh... total is 323,390, and this doesn’t count the additional ones I’m not done with yet but am waiting on... these are just the like 5 slideshows I’m working on turning into videos... e v i l 

[romy350-romyakari]

Baack on finishing that fic related project. But should I finish the KHOCweek posts this montb at best

I want to get them done but i will do them slowly through the month and hopefully also end this fun little thing I am cleaning up and get to nail the look this month too ﾟ+.ﾟ(´▽`人)ﾟ+.ﾟ