#no that's not tumblr compression that's just me being stupid

[lemonisntreal]

BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLINKY BLI

[genericpuff]

On today's episode of "Rachel exaggerates things to make herself sound cooler-"

Soooo this is a lie.

No seriously, this has to be a lie. I don't make these kinds of accusations willy-nilly. This has to be a lie.

First of all, if her file sizes are truly 11GB for each episode, that would mean her file resolutions would have to be stupid high, and I just ain't buying that when so much of her art comes out looking like fried chicken.

But again, look at the backgrounds. Crystal clear. Which supports my theory that Rachel has her assistants draw the characters flat and exports them as PNG's so that she (or another one of her assistants) can slap the backgrounds in afterwards which is why when they pinch and zoom, the backgrounds look fine (as they're added in afterwards) and the characters look like they've been drawn with chalk. The shading itself isn't deep fried though, which is, again, because Rachel adds in the shading in post after her assistants have sent her all the flats.

Anyways, moving on from that, if her file sizes are actually 11GB per episode, that would mean her resolution would have to be STUPID high and that would mean there's no excuse for panels to look like this. This is not a Webtoons compression problem, Webtoons does compress images for you if you don't do it yourself but they don't result in specifically deep fried textures like this, that's ALL happening on Rachel's side. If it were a Webtoons' problem, the entire comic would look like that, not just select panels.

This is also what the panels tend to look like in book form. The book art is clearly very compressed and blurred from being too low of a resolution for print, which means either the editor is not being provided the root files, or the root files weren't ever that crisp to begin with. Either one is plausible and either one isn't good.

But of course, I'm not going to make these claims without my own proof. So here's the file sizes for Episode 12 of Rekindled, the longest episode in the series so far by panel count and page length, clocking in at 42 panels and an average of 25 layers per page (and that's including the text layers which adds a good chunk on its own, the actual art layers are like, half of that).

Also, here's what a pinch and zoom panel in Rekindled comes out looking like:

You can still pick up on some fuzziness, but the lineart doesn't look straight up chunky like it does in LO.

Meanwhile, one of my longest episodes of TIME GATE: [AFTERBIRTH] has a file size that honestly shocked me with how small it was.

Guess how many panels that episode had?

Go on, guess. Take a second. Compare it to the file size of Episode 12 of Rekindled, take your best educated guess. Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] is also a full color webtoon with full shading and rendering that I used to upload once a week. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Ninety-seven.

Ninety. Seven.

Not only is that more panels than what LO dishes out on a weekly basis, but its overall file size doesn't even come out to be 10% of what Rachel is claiming LO's file sizes to be.

This is what Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] looks like, by the way:

(don't mind the blurriness that's working against my point, that's Tumblr, not me LMAO)

But, let's face it, I didn't want to just use my own examples as a comparison, because that seems unfair. I'm not an Originals creator, I just put myself under similar pressures as one because I'm an idiot who tries too hard.

So I asked one of my Originals pals. I will not disclose their name, but they are someone who works for Webtoons Originals and has similar panel requirements and deadlines. They also work with a similar flatting + shade workflow as LO, they have cel-shaded colors and bold flat coloring.

When I asked them how big their file sizes were, they said that at 2500px width - similar to what I draw at, 2400px width - and 200-300k pixel length (again, they're drawing an entire episode on one canvas) their episode file sizes come out to roughly one gigabyte, very rarely much bigger than that.

Rachel is full of shit. This is some Tommy Tallarico level shit, exaggerating stupid things that don't matter to try and make herself seem impressive. It isn't impressive. It makes her look like an unorganized dunderhead at best, and at worst, makes her look like a flat out liar who needs to prop herself up on the dumbest shit to make herself look good. File gigabyte size isn't impressive or indicative of anything, you can achieve high quality art without your file size amounting to 11 GB, and let's face it, Lore Olympus is not high quality art. You're telling me art like this:

amounts to 11 GB?

Now the only way I can see this happening is if maybe, maybe she had like, a bajillion layers full of garbage-

Oh. Oh no. Lore Olympus. Is a sprite comic.*

(*edit for clarification: I've had people confused over what I mean by sprite comic because LO clearly isn't made with 16/8 bit sprites. Sprite comic was a term universally used back in the day for comics that reused the same body parts, heads, expressions, etc. much like how sprites are designed, often keeping an entire file full of different layers made up of these assets to make for easier development. This technique was utilized in comics like CTRL + ALT + DEL. LO is definitely not literally a sprite comic but the way its layers are designed feel very much like something that's being cobbled together like 'sprite' comics were. I'm old.)

Even with these pics for proof, with 600+ layers on one canvas, if there's barely anything on those layers, then it still wouldn't make up that 11GB file size because the amount of layers doesn't necessarily add to file size on its own, at least not by that much, unless they're actually filled with stuff. And again, Rachel's art in LO doesn't scream "highly detailed with many layers". It only had many layers because for some reason she insists on working that way even to its own detriment.

From the looks of it, Rachel's importing all of her assistants' PNG's as separate layers and adding all the shading and the extra details on their own separate layers and basically dividing everything up into tiny bite sized pieces. That's the only clear explanation I can come up with. But if so, that means she's being INCREDIBLY inefficient with her workflow that it's amounting to SIX HUNDRED+ LAYERS AT 11 GB PER EPISODE. THAT IS ABSURD. THIS COMIC IS WAY TOO LOW QUALITY TO JUSTIFY THESE FILE SIZES AND LAYER COUNTS. RACHEL DOESN'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK SHE'S DOING-

She's also very clearly using the cloud as a way to backup her work and work with her assistants. God knows how much she's spending on cloud space because of her own incompetency.

Honestly, at this point, as I sit here playing the Photoshop equivalent of Cookie Clicker, clicking the 'new layer' button over and over and over again with my mouse to truly understand what it would feel like to operate at 600+ layers per episode of a webtoon, I'm more inclined to believe she's just lying. Capping. Pulling shit out of her ass. Straight up making shit up. It wouldn't be the first time she's done that. But also because the alternative is a lot more grim - the #1 best selling webtoon on the platform is being operated like the world's worst group project and still coming out on the other side looking like deep fried garbage despite its stupid high file size.

[suleikashideaway]

All this love for ff8 flying around tumblr right now has got me thinking. 

So many people were so moved by this game that twenty-five years later we’re all banging our fists on the table and crying about it? It leaves me stunned. For so long I thought I was the only one. 

[Huge text post under the cut. As I wrote this I realized just how much soul-baring I was doing. This was emotional to write and just as emotional to share. Thank you to those of you who bravely paved the way with your personal stories so that I would feel strong enough to do the same. Sorry this got stupid-long lol]

My own journey with ff8, as it turns out, is very much tied to my journey in discovering writing. It overwhelms me to think of how my life is so much better thanks to both things. And how my life was potentially saved by both things.

Back in the early aughts I was not privileged enough to have any gaming consoles. My best friend, though, had just gotten a PS1 and the very first game she had was ff8. I would go over to her house every single Sunday afternoon and sit, transfixed, as she played through it. I had never seen anything like it before. We would read the dialogue boxes out loud (I was always Selphie, Zell, and Rinoa, she was always Squall, Irvine, and Quistis) and she was kind enough to save the important cut scenes on separate memory slots so I could see whatever she had played throughout the week. 

I remember adoring the cutesyness of Squall and Rinoa’s dynamic and crying when I saw the ending. But there was something more to it. I felt such an intense desire to have the game for myself, to play it alone and absorb everything in it. We finally got a little money and got a PS1, but my mom would only get games that the whole family could enjoy, so it was Crash and Spyro for a long time until I finally, finally got ff8 for myself. 

The intensity of Squall and Rinoa’s drama and romance was so important to my passionate little teenaged heart. He jumped out into space to save her!! And she brought him back from time compression with just her love!!! It was the story that set the bar for romantic love. 

And Squall…damn, I remember sitting, unblinking, at the scene when he’s curled up in bed…At age sixteen, seventeen, watching Squall voice these things was big:

“I’m fine all by myself now. I have all the skills I need to survive. I’m not a child anymore. That’s a lie. I don’t know anything. I’m confused.”

At the time, I didn’t know why I was so spellbound by that scene, and many of the other scenes of Squall’s inner monologues, but it makes so much sense now. I was a child made to believe I had to be fully competent and capable from way too young an age, parentified and emotionally stunted, and I was about to be kicked out into the world when I didn’t know a single fucking thing about it. 

But my love for ff8 was very private. I read some fanfic to extend that feeling of being in Squall and Rinoa’s world, but other than that, I never outwardly expressed how much this game stuck with me. I was definitely an awkward, shy kid, and luckily I found a group of weirdos in high school who had no fear in sharing their love for things like video games and anime and what-have-you. But still! Even with that! I barely engaged with the few friends who had a love for ff8. It was all very intimate for me. It was my private world. And part of me was scared of taking it too far, even amongst the nerds who took everything too far. I didn’t want to stand out in that way. I had the overwhelming urge to appear normal, and sane. And anyway I didn’t know how to articulate it.

There is a scene from my college years that is so burned in my memory and I think highlights this. I was in a very small major and so I had all the same classes with the same small group of people. In these classes was a very cool girl who I admired. One day someone brought up video games and I remember feeling paralyzed, like, “I can’t bring up my weirdly intense passion for this game! Everyone will think I’m so strange!” so I lied and said I had never played a single video game in my life. And in comes Cool Girl and starts going on and on about how much she loved final fantasy 8 and I could not fathom it. I stayed silent. I was not cool enough to go back on my lie and admit that I was just as into that game, if not more into it, and that I still thought about it regularly.

I kept my love of the game to myself, and played it once or twice when I went home on college breaks. It was enough. I was busy, and burnt out, and turns out, severely depressed on top of it all. 

That first major depressive episode lasted years. I managed to get out of it on my own through a variety of life experiences and found myself in my mid-twenties, looking for love. And what was more, I knew I had to find my Squall. I had to find someone who would constantly be willing to save me from my own flightiness, from my overly-passionate heart that didn’t think things through and constantly caused my own messes, and tell me (with brutal honesty) when to knock my shit off.

And I found him!

What I didn’t know is that I was really Rinoa all along. And Rinoa, my friends, cinnamon roll that she is, has a lot of shit to work out, too. 

It was helpful as I started spiraling into depression again: what if Rinoa and Squall were together and happy, but Rinoa had a major emotional breakdown in her late twenties? I imagined it obsessively. Thinking of their future was the only way I could fall asleep at night. (lol, any of this sound familiar, @angelosearch? <3)

Their story took such a hold on me. I could feel it wanting to scream itself out of my fingertips to the point that I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started secretly typing it up, and every time I sat at the keys, I felt better.

And I stopped disassociating. I started sleeping better. I stopped hiding in the bathroom to cry at all hours of the day. I stopped thinking that I didn’t deserve to be here. I stopped therapy. 

I felt like I had been given a second chance at life. 

About a year ago, I was finally ready to consider posting my ff8 fanfic to share with the world. I had been writing it for over a year, and brewing it in my head for (get this) about eight years before that.

I could tell, though, that I was not a Good Writer. So I put on my bravest face and went searching for a beta. I immediately found one, my amazing @failed221b-chill, who I’ve gushed about before. And my world blossomed. I discovered the true joy that writing brings me, and even just writing this essay is way better than any therapy session I’ve ever had. 

I’m finally coming into my own. I’m finally realizing I had no reason to hide my passionate self. I have to share my inner world - it’s what makes me who I am, and only in that way can I truly connect with those around me. In fact, I literally went and bought an ff8 tank top and wore it in public yesterday and felt like a fucking superhero for doing so. 

So. All that said. I’m so incredibly grateful to be here in this moment, sharing all this love for a game that clearly has affected so many lives for the better. Happy anniversary, Final Fantasy VIII! And to anyone who read this far, I love you.

[morguemaw]

Important.

So. I wanted to make this post, and my brother, and girlfriend have supported me. My brother knows this entire situation, but i wanted to come out about it because it has dealt alot of mental toll on me, and im scared of this creator. No, i dont want to interact or start drama. No, dont mention me to him. No, i dont want his apology. No, i dont want any pity. I just want to tell my story because it happened before, happened to me, and just because he has a "soft gay boy nice boy" attitude does NOT mean it wont happen again. What ill go over in this post roughly/you will get the impression of is;

Why i hate comparison

Why im fast to jump at conclusions/be defensive

and Why i mention my trauma with the UTMV community, specially under posts regarding art, art style, characters or character design.

And no, im not even posting this to try and tell people im some snowflake who cant handle criticism or compression, this is targeted to the people who have ill intent with those and go as far as to label things others do as copying or ripping off.

Yes, im okay. Yes, im going to continue what i do. No, im not wanting to send anyone after him. Please, just read what i have and understand that the way i am is because of something i have kept to myself and only 2-4 other people for the past 5 years.

Introduction.

To get it started, ill be calling this creator, he/him, by his publicly known name. However, ill also possibly switch from his name, to part of his username/nickname.

This creator in question, is the content creator named Lizherubones, also known as TwistedBones, thebastardbutcher ( here on tumblr, too. ) , ButcherZone, and his oldest username, Zippy3006. He sounds familiar because he was one of the bigger creators in the UTMV, back in the dark ages of fontcest being the normal. However, i will call him William, as that is his name, and its public information. He also goes by Will, so im sorry if i call him any variation of those names/usernames.

Other things you may read about in this is an old discontinued app called DoodleClub, a OC of mine named Ezher who is the reason why im making this post, as i wanted to draw and post him again, but the timeline will be abit scattered as trauma and blocked out memories happened because of this, however another important person, despite being lightly mentioned is another victim who i will simply call Az as of right now.

Ill try to keep this as short as i can within reason, there will be time gaps, there will be references to previous things mentioned, and if it gets rough i may even stumble on how i type and mention things too soon or later on, im very sorry.

The Start.

During the time of 2015-2016, i had first found Undertale. During it, i joined a app called DoodleClub, its where i met my brother, Glitchy. During this time, i had also joined Tumblr. With the rise and popularity of Undertale, i had seen alot of artists, some other popular names you may recognize is NSFWshamecave, BlogTheGreatRouge, and a few others whom aren't important to the story other then to get the gist of it, Lizherubones was one of the artists i had encountered, and grew attached to. I adored his style. To me, it was a perfect mesh of cartoony and pleasing aesthetics and anatomy that i just.. Well i loved it. This is when i got stupid. On DoodleClub, i would post artwork of either 100% traced or partly traced artwork of his, along with my own where i weakly attempted to mimic his style. Soon tho, i got too comfortable. Sometimes i sent him asks on or off anon, i drew him fanart, and on DoodleClub i even changed my username to "Twisted Bones", because i really liked that name. However, sometime a user, who i will just call Nutty for right now since its what i remember them by, they found out. Slowly, a few others did, and Nutty ended up reporting me to William. Now during this i never got screenshots, one screenshot i remember Nutty posting was one of William saying i was a loser for tracing, or something similar but equally short.

This ended fast, as people were on my side. But it didnt end there. Same day Nutty reported me, and word got out, i decided to confront William myself. I explained that i was sorry, i wouldnt do it again, and i saw him as a idol and wanted forgiveness. I was terrified and at my grandmothers trying to hide me talking to a almost 30 year old man about traced work. The first trauma tick with him, was when he threatened legal action against me, saying and i quote, 'Your parents will have to pay alot of money'.

May i tell you a few things;

I was a CHILD at the time. 11-12 years old, not even classified as a Teen yet. I couldnt legally be sued.

He lives in Chile Brazil, i live in Michigan USA. After about a year, and also after a third situation that happened that caused me to do alot of at the time feeling smart teen research, he couldnt have even attempted a law suit because of the fact i wasnt making money off the traced work, and that the laws are different in both states and countries regarding copyrighted content. Not just that but.. He was too far, and would have to come to me. Which again, different locations = different laws, and so on.

As stated above, i made 0 money or even thought to off his traced content. In my mind at the time, i just traced to learn the style, and ill even say it that from what i remember, i didnt trace enough to have it be my main thing.

After this, he commanded me to delete all my work, and to never return to the internet. Which i did.

Return of the Deja Vu (Instagram Arch).

Skipping to 2017, my slow return to the internet. I had gotten Instagram and decided i still wanted to draw. However, like a cow being branded, his style still stayed in my mind. Though, this time it was just muscle memory.

During both this interaction and the previous, both times William had stated his art , characters, and even worse the colors used on them were copyrighted.

In the end of this, because the more important one comes next, is people kept tagging him in my work. Saying it was familiar, asking if it was his characters, ect. Which lead to him messaging me on my now forgotten account, once again threatening the law to me. This time, however, i just told him to leave me alone as i wasnt doing anything. He had also made comments and remarks on my artwork like, "This just looks like a human version i did", or "Looks like a draw i made." ect, ect. I had made a very old, possibly lost Reddit account talking about this, which was made just within the same week of him telling me these. This situation ended fast, mainly because i went inactive on this account. If the name Zure/Zhure sounds familiar, that was apart of my user at the time.

The Big Blowout (Twitter Arch).

This is where my links and pictures come in. All are screenshotted from Twitter. This is also where i can provide more proof of things. I will mostly gloss over everything, as its foggy for me. The timeline is roughly 2019. On twitter, i still was ignorant and blind to this all. Rose tinted glasses. I wanted to just be seen by someone i looked up to and just get a small sorry if he even felt any pity. On Twitter, i began posting. I began to also like his art, but never followed. Just to try and gain his attention. This ended badly, however. After i first not only made a suggestive Human Swap Sans, at the time not realizing at this point what i was doing was taking inspiration from him rather then trying to copy, but i had also made a OC named Ezher.

Ezher was the main breaking point.

This is Ezher;

As you can clearly see, yes, he looks alot like William's own OC, Rheiz. , However, i remember clearly the source of what i liked most about Rheiz was the marks in his hair and the dark to light hoodie he wore. Something extremely important, but when i made Ezher, William was a faint memory to me at the time. So when i say source pf his OC, it was a distant memory and i didnt think much when i created him. Off topic note, but turns out that while talking to someone William considers a close friend, all i did was make Ezher half red, half blue and that made Ezher original. Who knew a color tied his fate. Sound familiar? Thats because mentioned earlier, William told me previously that he had characters that were copyrighted. He also mentioned that using the same colors as his characters was wrong, too.

Ezher will be getting a update and will be coming back. When Will found out about this, is when shit hit the fan. I got many, many @'s like this;

^ Mind you in the last screenshot, i was trying. I really was. A user named SnoweyBones also made a message on their Twitter, telling people to report me. This got my acc taken down. This is only a small part of what i personally could find. I roughly remember screenshotting the DMs + others, but they are either lost to time or something else.

If you couldnt tell, the gist of it was, William had made a post about me somewhere which in return led to a mob.

This scared me off the internet for abit, and i went into hiding for awhile until my brother started to give me more confidence, and i realized that everything that happened,

was all because someone was egotistical about a artstyle and monochromatic color scheme.

^ That was my old account. Very easy to find however, so it is what it is.

Things i found, Things you should know.

To once again clarify, im not seeking pity nor revenge. Im wanting to shed light and say my story about this artist, because this isnt the first time he has done this, let alone something terrible.

William has attacked another creator, this same creator he is following on Twitter and acting like nothing happened.

There was a situation creepily similar to mine that occurred not too long before my own. Similar insults and similar situations.

v link

William has a history of attacking other creators. His reasoning is that his own trauma is the cause of his actions. I have trauma with him, and the furthest i ever went was when someone used my characters (in my eyes) unique name for themselves and created a sexual variant of my OC without my consent and proceeded to openly complain, insult, and suicide bait members around them because i rightfully called them out for doing something with something of mine i didnt like, didnt let them do, nor would have ever consented to.

To sum it up.

Im not doing this as revenge. Im not doing this as pity. Because again, a close friend of his helped me and made me feel better during his final attack on me and helped me still connect to a OC of mine.

Im doing this because its for me a traumatic experience and a reason why i tend to act the way i do. Im scared to post certain characters, art, or ect without the fear of him coming around or others comparing me to him.

Again, my OC Ezher was the starting point of this. I want to draw him and love him again, but im scared of William.

Even if i have a whole redesign in mind, even if he doesnt remember me or even bother with me, even if no one cares or even if the community now isnt so butthole tight about stupid things like similar color schemes or aesthetics, its still something that affects me and has affected how enjoy the fandom.

Repeating this, but im not even posting this to try and tell people im some snowflake who cant handle criticism or compression, this is targeted to the people who have ill intent with those and go as far as to label things others do as copying or ripping off.

[kay-elle-cee]

Newest & In Progress

Stupid T-Shirts || Oneshot. 5.4K. Rated E. || tumblr post The last night on a group vacation, Mary pushes everyone to engage in a tacky T-shirt swap before going out. Suggestive shirts, months of pining, and one particular tequila shot finally lead Lily to reach her breaking point. Drunken kisses can be dismissed and joked about, but this—this would be crossing a line they won’t be able to uncross.

to have and to hold and to fight like hell || Oneshot. 2.2K. Rated T. || tumblr post It's James and Lily's wedding day, and emotions are…complicated. There's a target affixed to their backs — a muggleborn witch marrying the last Potter — and Alastor Moody plans to use that target to the Order's advantage. (Written for mppmaraudergirl's Alight With Happiness Jily Fest.)

Fulcrum || Oneshot. 1.3K. Rated T || tumblr post James Potter was used to being the center of the world as he knew it. It wasn’t by any kind of careful maneuvering or begging for attention, it was just…natural. Like breathing. (A James companion to my Lily fic Idolum)

In Search of Something More || 2/11 Chapters. 12.1K Words. Regency AU. || tumblr post In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

Ongoing Microfic Series

in laughter, in strife || microfic collection. <500 each. Rated T. || tumblr post Microfics using @jilymicrofics prompts, each entry 500 words or less. Mostly canon compliant.

ripples in the water || microfic collection. <1k each. Rated T. || tumblr post Microfics using @jilymicrofics prompts, each set in the restless waves rise and fall universe and 1k words or less.

Completed Fics (below the cut)

Angst

no, i could never give you peace || Oneshot. 4K Words. Rated M. || playlist || tumblr post Lots of Order!Jily angst.

to be young and at war || Oneshot. 2.5K Words. Rated M. || tumblr post Order!Jily hurt/comfort. Written for the Jily Week 2022 prompt “blood on my hands”.

Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting) || Oneshot. 14K Words. Rated M. || Playlist || tumblr post Sirius, Lily, and James deal with the fallout of the events from the end of 5th year. This fic is heavy on the angst.

The Break || Oneshot. 1K Words. Rated T. || tumblr post Lily thought she'd come to know pain by now. She’d lost so much—Petunia, Sev, even Mary in a sense—but she was a fool. This was all of that loss compressed into something blistering in her chest and compounded by every ounce of magic known to man. Companion piece to this microfic.

when resiliency shatters || Oneshot. 1K Words. Rated T. || tumblr post James and Lily grapple with isolation in the week after undergoing the Fidelius Charm. (Written for the TTB Yule Bash '22. Prompt: "In the Bleak Midwinter".)

to ache, to hope || Oneshot. 1.8K Words. Angst. Rated M. || tumblr post Written for Jily Week 2023. Prompt 'Fluff or Angst'. Check tags.

the silence in the sorrow || Oneshot. 4.3K Words. Rated M. || tumblr post Secret Relationship Order!Jily written for Jilytober 2023 Masquerade with the prompt: "What if it doesn't work?"

Idolum || Oneshot. 1K Words. Rated T. || tumblr post Lily Potter hated being wrong… and she’d been wrong quite a few times in her life.

let me make it up to you || Oneshot. 3.4K Words. Rated E || tumblr post Two weeks ago, James left for a mission in the middle of the night without saying a word. Now he's is back, and Lily's not so quick to forgive.

Fluff

Magic Like This || Oneshot. 6.5K Words. Rated T. || tumblr post What Lily really wants, if she's being honest with herself, is to spend the day with James Potter. (Written for the Jilytober 2022 Bittersweet Challenge.Prompt: "Don't Go", but make it fluff.)

Something Like Magic || Oneshot. 1.5K Words. Rated T. || tumblr post Companion piece to Magic Like This. James' POV of a certain Fire Show.

A Thrill Divine, Down My Spine || Oneshot. 2K Words. Rated T. || tumblr post “You know what I'm getting at — you're like a really good thing personified. Take a compliment Potter, God.” She turns on her stool to face him, sliding one of the firewhiskies his way. Or: Two totally platonic friends get drinks after a rough day.

my waves meet your shore (forever and evermore) || Oneshot. 6.5k Words. Pirate AU. Rated T || tumblr post Several months after her inaugural voyage, The Minnie docks for a night in Jamaica so James and Lily can spend an evening with the Potters. They're not the only relatives in town. (A follow-up to restless waves rise and fall).

and it feels like home || Oneshot. 1.8K Words. Rated G. || tumblr postJames and Lily's first night in a flat that's theirs.

Checklists and Chocolate || Oneshot. 2.5K Words. Rated G. || tumblr post Lily and James take a brief reprieve from their Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley (Written for the TTB Yule Bash '22. Prompt: "Diagon Alley at Christmas time".)

James Potter's Hogwarts Express Checklist || Ficlet. 880 Words. Rated G. || tumblr post Just cute, start-of-term fluff.

Fireside Chats || Oneshot. 1.7K Words. Rated G. || tumblr post Some Blackevans bonding over family troubles. Written for Blackevans BFF Week.

Tired, Beautiful, Wanting || Oneshot. 1.5K Words. Rated E. || tumblr post They've been instructed to rest while Sirius watches Harry downstairs—and that sounds like a great idea, until they have a better one.

Drunk On You || Oneshot. 4.3K Words. Rated E || tumblr post While on a weekend getaway with some friends, Lily steals away somewhere private to cool down from the sweltering heat and the alcohol in her system. James Potter, a (very fit) friend-of-a-friend who's tagged along, has a similar idea. Spilled wine, bare skin, and bold flirting do not help them cool down one bit.

Patterns || Oneshot. 950 Words. Rated T. || tumblr post Ficlet written for the Jily Week 2022 “domestic life and its familiarity” prompt.

i'll be fine, i'll be good || 6 Chapters. 63.8K Words. Rated M. Slytherin!Lily AU || tumblr post || playlist || picrew || extras From the moment the Sorting Hat is lifted from her head, Lily Evans knows nothing but the need for survival. Her Slytherin housemates despise her for her blood, and the rest of the war-worn world is suspicious of her for what qualities a centuries-old hat saw in her at age eleven. Lily Evans is never enough. Until she’s given the chance to be. Until she is.

restless waves rise and fall || 5 Chapters. 48K Words. Pirate AU. Rated T. || tumblr post || moodboard || picrew In which James Potter is a gentleman pirate and Lily Evans is his loyal but vastly more competent First Mate. (Originally written for the Jily Week 2022 “Pirates AU” prompt.)

Things That Haven't Happened Yet || 4 Chapters. 21.3K Words. Rated E. || tumblr post A @jilymicro-oops fic based on Taylor Swift's "I Can See You". A slight error in Legilimency lessons leaves Lily a bit more exposed than expected, and James in shock.

And The Roar Will Rise || 2 Chapters. 21K Words. Rated T. Newsies AU. || tumblr post Written for Jily Week 2023. Prompt 'In Any Universe I'd Fight Evil With you.'

Echoes of a Love Lived || Ficlet Collection. 13.5K Words. Rated T. || tumblr post A collection of Jilytober 2022 Ficlets for the 31 prompts.

Jily Week 2023 Master List || Drabble collection. Rated G. A list of drabbles and fics I wrote for Jily Week 2023. Drabbles currently only live on Tumblr.

it's (always) you || Ficlet Collection. Rated T. Most chapters ~1k or less. || tumblr post A collection of Jilytober 2023 ficlets for the 31 prompts.

Tumblr Prompt Collection || Prompt Collection. Various Lengths and Ratings. A series of prompts taken from lists on tumblr/my ask box. Currently all based on Taylor Swift lyrics.

[rjalker]

anyways I went through the transtape tag on tumblr after I heard about it to see what other people were saying and oh wow. what did I find? so much fucking ableism.

People saying that, because transtape didn't work for them, it doesn't work for anyone, and anyone who says it does is delusional and in a cult, comparing it to snake oil and saying people are brainwashed into pretending it works when it doesn't. (So on top of being ableist towards physically disabled people, now we're adding in ableism towards mental illnessess too!!!)

People saying that, because it didn't work for them, it will never work for anyone, and no one should ever try using it, and why would they want to anyways? Wearing a normal binder is always the best choice, for everyone, all the time, always!

Like literally everyone is perfectly capable of binding and we're just too stupid and lazy to do so -.-

Like disabled people who can't bind without sever injury don't exist and we just don't want to bind to be special -.-

So here's a fucking reminder:

Not everyone can bind. Not everyone can wear a binder. Disabled people fucking exist. No, binding is not the universal solution that everyone can and should use.

For fuck's sake, binding can and does literally fucking injure able-bodied people! and you want to fucking pretend that it's the only option anyone should ever use, and people looking for other options are just stupid and want to feel special or are in a cult?? Are you fucking kidding me????

If you can safely wear a binder, if that works for you, good for you!

But not everyone can safely wear a binder, for so many fucking reasons. Breathing problems, hypermobility problems, literally there are so many fucking health problems that prevent people from binding, I swear to god.

I haven't fucking tried transtape yet because it hasn't been delivered yet, and then I need to make sure I'm not allergic to the adhesive before I can actually start trying to use it.

Before I heard about transtape, I'd fucking resigned myself to the fact that unless I magically get rich over night in order to get top surgery, I was just going to have to deal with having breasts forever.

Because I cannot fucking wear a binder. I have dislocated a rib sweepng the fucking floor, and reaching for a bottle of shampoo. I cannot wear a fucking peice of clothing designed to compress the chest in ways it's not meant to be fucking compressed. I cannot wear a fucking piece of clothing that even the most able-bodied of people cannot breathe properly in and aren't allowed to do strenuous activity of any kind in and have to take off after a few hours so they don't seriously hurt themselves.

I cannot wear a fucking binder.

If transtape or things like it doesn't work for me, then nothing short of literally cutting these useless things off will ever fucking work for me, and that's not currently a fucking option because I'm poor and have no health insurance.

Just because something works for you does not mean it works for everyone. Just because you can safely wear a binder does not mean everyone can.

Just because something does not work for you does not mean it won't work for anyone.

I cannot wear a fucking binder. Do you see me fucking attacking people who can, do you fucking see me saying people who wear binders are lying to themselves and everyone about them working? No. Because I'm not self-centered jackass!

Not everyone can wear a fucking binder, for too many fucking reasons to count.

Stop fucking acting like binding is the only option people should ever use, and they're idiots if they try to find other options.

You people are just being fucking absurdly ableist.

[just-antithings]

Uh, did you even watch the show or did you really just call Vigilante a good organization "devoted to protecting privacy"? They literally kidnapped and killed dozens if not hundreds of people and they were the puppet of an evil AI designed to violate privacy and label people criminals and execute them before they even did anything, they were terrorists lmao

Tumblrs reading compression strikes again. No I never called them good I just highlighted some stuff from Wikipedia. How do you not get that framing an anti-gov pro-privacy group as terrorists, while simultaneously portraying them as too stupid to realize they are being taken advantage of is propaganda. That's like classic us vs them pro-state propaganda.

Also I watched part of the show, both my parents were obsessed with it so I saw a good majority of it, and personally it wasn't my taste. I don't think there was anything objectively wrong with the show it was well written and seem to accomplish the goal it set for itself despite the rush of the final season. I love other cop shows I think they hold value for a lot of reasons. Doesn't mean they aren't propaganda I just enjoy them despite that and don't let the ideas they want to push get to me by studying about the real topics they dramatize.

So like keep enjoying person of interest no one is trying to stop you. I think it has a very interesting plot I just didn't like certain minor things. The fact that it took a turn into sci-fi is really cool as well. However it having propaganda in it doesn't change (I mean most shows with cops or military do) you just gotta know how to spot it and say "ah I see it" and them move on and enjoy it with an understanding of the work. Like this doesn't need to be an argument. Textual analysis is good and to do that sometimes you need to understand why things were put into a work or why a writer made the decision they did and sometimes the reason is propaganda. Things need not be pure to be enjoyable like, you can just enjoy things, you don't need to convince me that it's actually morally or ideologically pure so that you can enjoy it. Like b99 is copaganda, svu is copaganda criminal minds is copaganda, I love all of them. I just am aware that cops ain't like that and no matter how much good favor the shows try to draw out of me a cop will never side with me and I'll never side with a cop. The easiest way to fall for propaganda is to not realize it's there.

[brightgnosis]

I know I complain on here a lot. Mostly it's because this is really my only outlet for the shitty circumstances in my life right now. Despite the complaining, however, I'm not an angry person. Really, I'm happy about 99% of the time; I love looking at the world and seeing the beauty in the joy. I'd probably be dead already by now if I didn't, frankly, because the world and the people in it can be really shitty a lot of the time for various reasons.

I just need to get the bursts of anger and upset out when they occur. Mostly because I know, after 33 years of therapy and dealing with myself, that if I don't, then it festers and becomes a larger problem. And I don't like who I am when I let it fester like that. I don't like what it does to me. So I'd much rather have a place to vent when needed, than keep it all compressed inside. And that's what Tumblr is for, for me: It's my journal. Good and bad, it goes here- and yeah, sometimes it's going to be more bad than good. And you know what? That's honestly okay.

Something I've really begun to notice over the last few months, however, that's started to bother me a lot ... Is just how many people seem to always be angry about everything. Not just angry, though ... How many of them allow their anger to make them spiteful. Hateful. Petty little people. And how many refuse to sit with their anger when it happens, examine it, accept it for what it is, and then release it in a healthy way that helps them rather than continuing to damage the world around them for ultimately no reason.

I don't understand it. And the more I'm exposed to it the older I get, the less I understand it, even ... More, I get tired of it; it's exhausting not just to watch, but to be around; it drains every fiber of my being when the people I talk to are only negative about the things going on in their life; when they never find anything positive (which isn't to say people have to be "sunshine and rainbows" and that there isn't a time and a place to unload. But it is to say that if all you're ever doing is unloading, it's maybe time to reevaluate things); when they only feel the need to constantly fight with everyone around them, or to be petty about what is ultimately stupid and irrelevant shit that really doesn't even matter at the end of it all.

Why keep yourself in those situations? Why not walk away, or block them, and be done with it? Why keep hating? Why keep being cruel, or mean, or spiteful and petty? Why not find something better for yourself? Why?

I'm so tired of fighting with everyone, and everything being a series of unnecessary escalations and extremes all of the time. I'm tired of hate and anger being the only acceptable set of emotions to experience anymore- and of pain seeming to be the only acceptable recourse to those emotions in seemingly any situation; to inflict on others ... There's a much better way.

I really struggle as someone with Bipolar II and a history of abuse, who learned zero appropriate coping mechanisms for anger growing up. And I get the negative hyperfixation and spiraling that comes with ADHD and Autism as someone who's AuDHD too. But I still managed to find it finally, and I'll fight to stay there, tooth and nail ... I just wish others in the world would wake up and find it, too.

[livingroombeat]

Living room beat progress update 12\16\23

Hi gang, are you ready for your scheduled progress update? I sure am the worlds most consistent writer. well anyway ive been doing some planning for a4 and im gonna kinda explain my current roadmap here.

-do end of a3 animation

Yeah i havent done it yet, ive just been procrastinating. Anyway though its gonna be a short one and it wont take long so this isnt like a major deal or anything.

-do a4

I have the events of a4 planned in detail already in a text file so all i have to do is write the dialogue and turn it into comics. Ive said it before and ill say it again: a3 was WAY too many comics. There were so many comics that were just a couple of words and thats just completely stupid. A3 couldve been like 100 comics but instead ended up at 300+ because i did it like an idiot. But im not gonna do that with a4, it will be pretty short in comic number but each one will have loads of dialogue. It will be super efficient.

-post

I might actually post a3 before finishing a4, but again a4 is going to be super short in page count so it probably wont take TOO long to actually make, so waiting til after its done isnt completely unreasonable.

-do new website

Blogger sucks, its a terrible platform, so im gonna make a new website and host it on github pages. It will be made so that it is super easy for me to bulk upload LOADS of new pages at once so that i wont keep putting it off like ive been doing with the rest of a3. It will be all automatic and everything so i dont have to spend multiple hours on it lol. I will also be able to do bulk changes to the page format so i dont have to go individually through each post and change it. Maybe even a back button????

-do a lot of the story

This is a super vague bullet point but i just kinda want to make my way a fair chunk through the story before doing the next point because it would be kinda annoying to just be halted after a4 for ages.

-go back and redo a0 through a3 (and maybe a4, well see how that turns out)

Ive already said it in this post but a0 through a3 kinda just suck, theres loads of changes i would make now if i made them, so i plan to go back and change them. This would also make lrb more accessible for new readers because they dont have through over 100 pages for it to get 'ok'. I also plan to have a summary page to catch people up on the story of a0 through a4 quickly so that they can get into a5 and beyond. I will probably only keep that summary page until ive finished remaking a0 through a3, but i will post it after a4 as a4 is a good break off point in the story (youll see).

-do rest of the story

This is pretty self explanatory. Theres loads of story to go.

Among all of these points is also planning a5 and beyond as what i said before isnt true. I originally wasnt going to change the actual story i had planned but i changed my mind on that, the main story is being changed quite a bit.

The thing is i noticed the problems with the structure but didnt notice the ROOT cause of those problems, the fact that the characters act as too much of a conglomerate and have literally 0 independence.

Ok what do i mean by that. Well basically all of the alternate reality versions of streve and brian, and even streve and brian themselves, could be compressed into 1 character reasoning their decisions out with themself. They have 'disagreements' but they dont have any REAL disagreements, they always come around and end up acting as a group in the end.

Now is this because im a bad writer? Probably but i can (try to) fix it in future parts of the story. So im gonna do that.

I also plan to make more social media for the comic rather than just tumblr and reddit. Like a twitter even though that site is dying.

I also also need to come up with a name to sign these posts with. All webcomic authors have some name they go by, i dont. So ill come up with one. Anyway thats all i have to say for this progress update. This one ended up being super long so hopefully that makes up for me missing so many. See you next saturday.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary31

10/5-6/2023

errand day.

it's funny how tumblr urges you with "go on, put anything." it's like a dare or something. totally psycho kind of. anyways errands were fine, basically, and i recorded two songs, but i made myself insane today anyways because i impulsively cut my hair to make my bangs "right" and i think they're fine and don't look any different actually except they might sit a little better but i miss my big hair and i should just not touch my hair until it's getting to where i want it to be again and then finally do that stuff and i feel ugly still and so it's all combining to make me really really fucked up or something and i'm basically so stupid that it hurts.

i like kept cutting tiny bits and shearing pieces off just to get like, it to fan out more and i got back in the shower like 3 times so i could re-blow dry my hair over and over and i hate being obsessive like this but i literally c an't let anything go if it feels wrong i need to keep doing it until it's right and i don't want to be like this anymore but my own life feels like a plastic bag on my face that i am trying to adjust just enough so i can breathe but not get rid of entirely, because the burden is necessary sometimes or something, and like, i keep going to the bathroom to check if my bangs look fine and if my hair looks fine and i can't stop myself and it makes me anxious and that makes my body temperature rise and it's so miserable. i am so hot even though it's like only 77 degrees in here. i am feeling slightly on fire and i can feel dampness on my forehead. and that will kind of make my bangs look worse because sweat=greasy greasy=hair sticking together and stuff. i think everyone knows. it's just awful. it's like a downward slope that's going to make me want to light myself on fire.

i want to feel like my hair is a giant blanket or scarf resting on my head, something luxuriant, or something. or at least to feel that one time out of the month, it would be really really nice. i'm really going to make myself feel awful if i keep talking about it but i don't know what else to talk about. today was good in every way i think and i'm just like this. no one really hates me except people who are bound to hate people like me, everyone who talked to me today was nice to me.

i wish i could feel like this again, i guess is how i feel.

at least all this obsessing over hair gave me an image for lyrics, so now one of the 2 min songs that had nothing has something, probably needs to be edited and fleshed out some but that's pretty good, and it won't need to be screamy the whole way through.

anyways, finally listening to a bunch of the songs, especially the more hardcore ones that are a bit older, their mixes are still kinda fucked but i think i definitely know what's wrong with them, they're a little boomy in the guitars meaning the low mids are maybe way too boosted, and the vocals could use more high end and compression, i should also see about lowering the guitars and maybe replacing them with some of the new ones i have but also, these are songs where low-mid heavy guitars are necessary and the newer songs are a bit, i dunno, sharper, i think the guitars here in some of these can sound fine they just need some brightening and re-eqing. otherwise i do have good foundations. some of the songs also need guitars placed in the left channel, i do think it would be good to have something different happening there, maybe plays on the main riff, weird alterations, someone getting really dissonant or something.

in the laundromat, i just sat and listened to orchid and stared into space, i didn't read like i wanted to, i just wanted to not exist kinda and staring into space helped with that, i also dim-wittedly put the clothes that needed drying into a broken dryer so i had to take them out and put them in a working one. #genius

okay, that's enough of today. i really want to shower already and sit and not be sweaty and hopefully get all this dumb stuff off my mind.

so,

byebye!!

[jamboarbs]

So it's been over a month now.

I'm pre-typing this. Going to drop this in your dms. I don't expect a response, and I'll take the hint and leave it at this if you don't respond.

I bet you still use your Tumblr, no idea if you still follow me because my list has been bugged for the better part of a decade. So If you saw some of my posts I'll be rehashing some things.

Long story short, Forced myself to be alone and completely lock away my emotions. I got so tired of it all I completely shut shop. Normally this would be the part where I'd admit how stupid and/or careless that was towards myself, my mental well-being, etc.

Except that it worked out somehow.

I still can't believe it myself, but it was like being compressed down into a new state of matter. Hitting rock bottom and realizing there was nowhere else to push the feelings, no one else to blame or use as a distraction. It made me finally come face to face with my self. My true, inner self and not the facade I've kept up for my entire life. A life of repression, anxiety and unmitigated hatred.

I spent 20 years basically trying to be anybody but myself because a handful of shitty people made me think it was a crime to exist. All of what I had been for the entire time you known me has been that pared down, sink water version. Too afraid of their own shadow judging them to be themselves.

And this isn't some "I totally re-invented myself nothing is wrong anymore lmao" level brainrot

I was still myself before, just incredibly neutered, and I chose to be that way for so much longer than I should have.

I still take responsibility for every way I acted and anything I've done

I'm finally able to say all this without it being run through a morass of epic irony or depression

I got to see myself for the first time, and show love inward so I can begin to regrow what was lost

So the past month has been crazy because of it, not hating every day you wake up sure does make time pass differently, it's felt like forever since we stopped talking, to the point I did a double take when looking at our dms

On a short list of notables, I came out to my coworkers as trans/bigender/genderfluid

Still.... Figuring that one out.

But my boss and trans friend coworker know, I have a support network for the first time.

I already naired all the hair off my arms once, and started displaying more femininity, as much as I can for now.

And I've stopped having my meltdowns and panic attacks.

I'm still as sensitive as ever, that is one of the things definitely still a part of me, it's just not being exacerbated by a roiling sea of vitriol tucked underneath the surface anymore.

So yeah, I'm not out here saying I'm some "completely new person" or something like that, but I am an incredibly different version of the Hunter you knew.

Which brings us to the topic at hand, and why despite all this positive change I haven't been able to bring myself to talk.

I'm scared

I'm scared I'm scared I'm scared.

Yes I felt the need to say it four times.

After learning to distance myself, resulting in finding myself. I realized a few days ago why I couldn't reach out to you like I had planned. At first I tricked myself into thinking I was mad. Made you out to be the problem in my head, because I didn't want to acknowledge I was being a coward. Because it hurts to look at flaws carved that deep right after coming out into the sun for the first time.

There are a lot of things that were said between us, I said some awful garbage. You said some things I want to believe we're in good faith, you trying look out for my best interests.

The fact of the matter is though, I lost it and lashed out because I was too afraid to address my real feelings and tell you how much you were hurting me unintentionally.

Doesn't excuse me trying to hurt you, but I'd I don't explain it this way I'll never be able to finish so just hang in there with me please.

So after all that, and the self discovery I was feeling great, cloud nine sublime.

But I still couldn't get over how we left off. Despite not being able to address it.

Because I learned the reason why socializing was so easy for me before was the fact that my love starved brain was primed to leap into the arms of anyone that would give it validation.

Now though, with the ability to self-actualize, love, and support my own mind... The thought of reaching out petrified me.

I'm finally learned how to not be a walking pipe bomb of human emotions after 25 years, but now the exact opposite was the issue.

I put distance between myself and everyone around me because the thought of putting myself back out into the world, and risking the little seedbed I had started was too much to handle.

So I'm telling you now, I'm scared. I'm afraid to even send this, and despite having my anxiety under control now, I'm still mortified about sending you this. Because I don't want to relapse, I don't want to go back. I'm starting over completely from scratch with my social skills almost, even the ones I can still use all have to acclimate to my new perspective.

The one where a potential friendship isn't all upsides, where I have to think about protecting myself first.

I still consider you the closest a person has ever come to really understanding me, and that means more than I could ever illustrate with words.

I've spent my whole life looking for it, and I don't want it to be a pipe dream.

I want you to be a part of my life as long as possible. I don't know if you could ever feel the same, but I'd spend an eternity with you if we could get us figured out.

That's it. Enjoy the novella. I'm going to go drown myself in chores now to try and feel better.

[adhdvane]

tbh on one hand i'd love to come off anon, but on the other i'm not sure i'm actually somebody to whom talking to is enjoyable? and then you'd know who got all stupid in ur askbox plus yes we're not even mutuals and i avoid twitter as a life style (even tho sometimes it's hard to convince yourself to keep doing so especially when ur favorite artist is mainly active there)

i totally get that feeling. (i only have twitter bc on of my best friends has a twitter as like the only social media they use anymore. and sometimes i spam other liveblogging shit there. esp if i'm doing it from a phone. i will never use/download mobile tumblr lol. i don't think i've like ever looked at my twitter feed? timeline? idk what they call it. and i've used twitter dm's exactly 1 time. and it was bc a digital college text book site literally had zero way to contact them on their help page. No Email. No Phone number. I HAD TO FIND THEIR TWITTER AND TWEET THEM AND THEN TALK TO THEM IN THEIR DM'S. it was pretty stupid.) honestly i struggle to wrap my head around there being artists on twitter? like twitter compresses the fuck out of art????? at least, a long time ago when i was trying to put art there, it would ALWAYS turn my .png's into .jpegs and ruin them. so i started like, hiding an invisible pixel in them so it would stay a .png. idk if they changed that or something. tumblr just always seemed like the better place for art. bc i used to be a deviantart user a loooong time ago. but then i joined tumblr and it was like O: photosets? and photosets of gif art??? i couldn't do that and make it look nice on DA. I look at DA nowadays and cry like wtf did you guys do, you ruined the UI. that green/grey is gone and it’s sad. also do not worry anon. I am not judging you about sending stupid asks. i literally ramble like an idiot and don't shut up about stupid thing. You cannot be annoying to me.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[ryoskuna]

⭑ favor fire | joker (fire force).

pairing: joker x fem!reader

notes: I love the concept of the holy sol’s shadow, so uh, former assassin!reader but also fire soldier!reader, there’s some past history between joker and reader, and there’s mentions of friends to enemies between joker and reader very briefly. this came from a request of a word + character, in this instance the word was degradation +  joker. also, I’m super shocked that there isn’t more joker stuff on tumblr? also,the title comes from the robert frost poem: fire and ice. there’s also some allusions to through the fic, 

warnings: this is smut, baby. filth. degradation, some mild choking, kissing, biting, teasing with joker’s ignition ability, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it, guys), mentions of a western style waterfall shower head, vague mentions of death, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, some slightly sadistic joker (it is in his personality after all), mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism, denial play, begging, dry humping, marking, creampie(?), and some body worship.

word count: 5,148 words.

⭑

summary: joker doesn’t account for seeing the wild card he never planned to encounter again after he left the holy sol’s shadow — you, no longer an assassin for the holy sol’s shadow, but a fire soldier standing amongst the ranks and allies of company 8.So, he pays you a visit when you’re alone in your apartment.

⭑

You thought you were past getting caught. Past being snuck up on, and more importantly, past the shock of the way you looked in a fire soldier’s uniform instead of that of the Holy Sol’s Shadow. When you defected eight years ago, it took three years for you to shake of their training, of the way they made you feel worthless — nothing more than a killing machine. No more of that corrupt white that was secretly stained with so much red. But no matter how long you showered, it seemed like you couldn’t scrub all that red off. All that crimson that you could feel, long after you had freshened up in your shower. 

For the first time in what seemed like weeks (maybe even months), you were at home, showering. Your apartment wasn’t too far from the cathedral, but after the trip to the Nether, you felt uneasy in what had become your home. It was just five minutes away from Fire Company 8, but the distance didn’t do anything to ease the guilt you felt at having seen Shinra so crippled and broken. He was one of your own, one of the team — and inevitably, the family Obi had built out of Company 8, especially since it wasn’t shackled to anything— not the church, not Haijima Industries, not the Tokyo army, and not even to the Fire Defense Agency.  To see him like that made your chest hurt, and reflect on the loss of someone you had tried to forget. 

Five-two.  His desertion of the Holy Sol’s Shadow was unthought of, but not surprising. You remembered the way the captain treated him, tore him down, and took the only thing he had to remember of his past. You remembered the way the flames tried to eat him and then spit him out as a spear, a weapon to built to destroy, as if that were all he was good for.  As if that were all you were good for. And for the longest time, that was all you thought you were good for.  But you knew better now. The Holy Sol’s Shadow had taken you when you were young, just four years old, killed your family to ensure you wouldn’t be missed. They only took orphans. They didn’t need anyone to come after you all, looking for a lost child. You were not meant to be missed. 

You weren’t like the others though. You felt grievance when you killed an infernal or even a human being that threatened the church. No matter how much you tried, your consciousness ate at you and at the pit of your stomach like a hungry fire, never to be satiated. Finally, you couldn’t take it, there had to be a better way… you wanted to save lives, not take them. You couldn’t take any more of the way the infernals’ fire felt around your hand when striking their cores, and you couldn’t take anymore of the way that you felt when watching the light fade from a human’s eyes. It was too much. 

Your fingers work through your hair as you push it into a towel after shutting off the water spilling from the ceiling of your shower stall, shaking water from your ankle.  Your bare feet pad on the floor, eyes looking around before pushing your finger against your lip in thought. The hairs on your arms rose with goosebumps, and you froze in place. Your fingers push a towel around your chest, before you swallow, growing tense. 

Something was wrong.  As you slowly pull open your bathroom door, grabbing what you could use for a weapon (a metal bookend), your eyes land on the open window, letting a gust of air in as well as the smell of food from a few street vendors. Something smells like melting or burning sugar, and fresh fruit. But even closer is the smell of smoke, heavy and oddly sweet too. You step over to the window, but that isn’t the source of the smell of smoke.  No, the smell of smoke is coming from your home. You juggle the thought of being caught naked versus changing and being potentially attacked — and you think you rather be caught naked with the upper hand than be clothed and caught off-guard. 

You could call out to them, but that’s stupid. It wasn’t like they’d tell you, “I’m an intruder and I’m in your kitchen! Want a sandwich?”  You’re quick enough to slide on a black pair of panties, a bra, and the pair of leggings you set out on your bed before soundlessly walking over to the doorway where the smell of smoke strengthens. Walking down the hall with your bookend in hand, you freeze when you see the figure standing in between your dining room and kitchen, picking up a trinket laying on the table. You squint and raise the bookend, before the figure revolves around and the sight of his purple eyes causes you to hesitate. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” he remarks, putting out his cigarette in the palm of his hand before closing his hand into a fist, surrendering the cigarette to the ashes he created.  

You would know those eyes— well, eye, anywhere.  It’s too unique to be mistaken for anyone else. That sneaky smile that promises trouble and danger forms on his lips, but there’s a darkness that lurks in it, and you are all too familiar with it. “Five-two,” you breathe out, and as his name falls from your lips (the only name you knew him as), you think of nights spent whispering in the dark as children, whispering about the mysteries of your world and the truth — how the truth was the only tangible thing to be pursued. And like an idol, oh how you listened to him. How you looked up at him like his word was gospel, like his words were the only thing that mattered. And like a follower, eager to prove your worth, you patched him up after every beating from the captain.  But he still has that look in his eyes, the one that put people in categories of predator and prey, and from the way he tilts his head, looking at you… well, he hasn’t decided which one you are yet. 

He gestures wordlessly without a finger to put the bookend down before he sighs. “Three-eight, put the bookend down,” he orders when you hesitate, but at the usage of your title, you set it on the counter. “And Five-two isn’t my name. Not anymore.” He corrects in the same breath, and he looks at you with a tilt of his head as if to ask if you even remembered your own name. Of course you did. You whispered it to yourself in your sleep, practiced carving it in wood under your bed on the frame while in the custody of the Shadows. You never felt like three-eight, even though you felt like it more so when you were with Five-two.

You part your lips to ask what is he doing here, or what does he want from you, but he beats you to the punch as he moves closer to you and begins to circle you like a predator. So, you do the same — the two of you doing an untouching waltz, a tango, a dance for two. Between two partners with too much history and too many unanswered questions.  “I saw you with Company 8. First it was at the Rookie Games,” he grins, turning a card in between his fingers. You realize it’s his ignition ability, a card made of fire, that dances in between his fingers.  “Then I got word you were in the Nether.  So, I followed you today. Wanted to see what you were up to — but I was surprised to see you as a Fire Soldier, especially after being a Sha—”

“I was never meant to be a Shadow. That wasn’t my choice. Just like it wasn’t yours,” you sharply remind him, catching the card he throws before compressing it in your hands, smothering the fire before it could even touch your hand. In turn, it’s replaced by the sharp pop that comes from your fingers playing with lightning, dancing across your fingertips, pulsing like a heartbeat. “Now, what do you want?” Your voice is sharp and stern, unyielding and annoyed at having your time wasted as you speak. 

“Kusakabe. Where is he — how is he?”

Your eyes narrow in suspension as you clench your jaw. “If you think I’m going to tell you where Shinra is so you can kill him, you’re mistaken, Five-two.”

Before you can realize it or even stop it, your hand playing with lightning is pressed to the wall, and  you, yourself is pushed against the wall, his hand on your chest below your neck, his eyes growing dark.  “I told you that wasn’t my name anymore.” 

“You never told me what else to call you,” you remind him matter-of-factly, before he lets your hand go where it falls back to your side.  

“Joker,” he breathes out, looking away from you as he shuffles in place, loosening his grip on you, but only slightly.  “Call me Joker, y/n.” And the way his name falls from his lips is so quiet, you almost thought you hallucinated it.  Hearing it from his mouth sends a strange feeling into your stomach, both with familiarity and fondness as if he had never left you. It’s almost too much and makes you want to squirm away from him, but instead, you just look into his eye.  And all you see is the sixteen year old boy you loved, who left you  and who you watched the Shadows destroy to remind him that they could touch everything he cared about. That they could destroy everything he cared about. 

And it burns him. He wonders if you two could have survived had he brought you with him, instead of leaving you in the hands of the Shadows. He wonders if you would have even left with him. But seeing you, here, with the orange jumpsuit of the Fire Force laying on the chair of yours closest to the front door of your apartment, part of him thinks you would have. He regrets leaving you there, but his decision to leave had been an impulsive one, unplanned. And it had gone all downhill after he had left.  You were out of the Shadows’ reach, for now, that much he knew, and he could see.  He doesn’t mean to touch you softly on your face, and you don’t mean to lean into his palm, but you do, and that’s a language all of it’s own.  He had done it in you all’s youth to promise he was always there, to remind you he would never leave you — that if you didn’t have any comfort, you had him. 

You want to swat his hand away because you knew that was untrue, he had left you alone to fend for yourself for four years after he had left; he had left you alone to ruin.  But, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him for it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to curse his name or pull away — because even though he was on the outside, he had gone through hell of his own. You remember the way the Shadows came back after killing the family that had taken him in. The Shadows had corrupted him, burned him, scorned him, and left him to the harshness of the world to suffer.  You could see it in his eye, and you could see the way he longed to ask you for more as his lips give a wobble when he hesitates to ask the question that’s on his mind. He doesn’t want to speak for the fear of bringing everything down with you, but in place of words, tension grows, especially when he grows closer to you, and lets his hat drop to the floor at your feet. 

“You left me,” you mumble, and his eyes meet yours again, with sadness before he shakes his head.

“I know.” He makes a tsk noise with his tongue before he clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

He opens his mouth to ask what you mean, but instead, you pull his face forward with your hands, and your lips press to his. The kiss is hot, hungry, demanding; and somehow forgiving, as if being a representation of a trial by fire. It floods you with heat — or maybe that’s your ignition ability dancing around in your body, humming and begging to be released. Or thanking you for being fed, being reunited with the fire it learned how to dance with first. Joker feels it too, his hands moving to hold your hips and root you in place against him. A low growl rumbles in his chest as if to demand more, and he can taste both the sweet mint of your toothpaste and the underlying metallic feeling from your ignition ability. Likewise, you can taste the smoke from his mouth, and you practically inhale it into your lungs, begging it to consume you. Begging him to consume you. 

His cautious touches aren’t enough, and you tug on the front of his waistcoat to pull him closer as he reinforces your place against the wall, pulling away for air, and to see the haze in your eyes.  They were right to say fire was desire, or in desire laid fire — the sentiment was the same regardless of how you read it.  His thumb reaches up to brush over your cheek, his thumb following the line of your jaw down to your lips, which practically beg him to kiss them again. So he does — but this time, he tugs on your lips with his teeth, growling more as your fingers curl into the hair behind his ears.  His tongue parts in between your lips, and dances with yours, working it to submission with ease before he pulls away to leave you gasping for air. 

“I thought Fire Soldiers didn’t play with devils. I thought it was too sacrilegious,” he breathes out coolly, eyeing your flustered face. 

“Good thing I’m not religious, and if the sentiment bothers me, I guess I’ll ask our sister to pray for my forgiveness.” You reply, needy for more as you claw at his waistcoat.  “Now finish what you started.”

“Oh, I will. I just needed your permission.” 

“Permission granted.”

Joker chuckles as he moves to kiss the side of your neck at the exposed skin, humming as he lets his fingers trace the muscles of your back. “Is this what you meant by you didn’t want an apology?”

“Actions speak… louder… hgn,” You groan as he sucks on the delicate skin on your neck, his fingers tracing the skin around your waist. “than words.” 

He hums some kind of acknowledgement of the sentiment before you feel grabbing your hands and pulling you down the hall to your bedroom (and his point of entry), before he shuts the door with the heel of his shoe. He pushes you onto your bed where you fall back and lay, your chest rising and falling with dark, curious eyes, longing for more. When he looks at you, he sees the love you promised to give him, that you willingly gave him as a child, and that was what made him hold onto the Shadows so long.  It was you, and your love that acted like a form of righteousness so much so that it was holy.  He may have stopped believing in Sol, but he believed in you, and now he was believing in you again. He was believing in you like your love was religion, and he needed to beg for forgiveness. He could do that later, but he knew he was on a time limit as you’d soon go back to Company 8 and you would belong to the Fire Force again. 

His fingers unbutton his waistcoat, pulling his scarf off but leaving the bandana over his eye, as if you hadn’t seen the wound a hundred times before. As if you hadn’t dreamed of it, when you dreamed of him and thought of a better life for you and him — although those were the dreams of a child. Dreams in stereo, that played on repeat. He thinks of the last time he had touched another human, that wasn’t with murderous intent, or in a fight — something about the tension making his blood raise, in the same way it was pulsing in his ears right now, but it was all for you. 

And he needed more of it. There’s a hum coming from him as his hands dance with fire on his fingertips, but you can’t feel it — it doesn’t burn, it’s more of a tickle as it licks at you, greeting you back into its grasp. His fire is home — remembering you and the way you reached out to touch all 52 cards of his when you were young, and in the same way, how he would watch how the lightning  you made danced to the changing beats of your heart, pulsing and whispering I love you when you could never say the words where others would hear. But he knew, and you knew, as you all had come up with your own language filled with gestures and touches only meant for the two of you to see. His shoes tumble against the floor as he kicks them aside, making his way over to you and his gaze is hungry now. 

You lay back and watch as he pulls the buttons loose on his shirt before pulling it off and adding it to the growing pile on the floor. You can see the silvery scars on his body in various places and as he leans down to kiss you, your fingers trace them, apologetic as the ambiance from the open window fills your bedroom.  He looks as the daylight goes over your skin, turning you into something even more beautiful.  His ear goes over your chest as he hears your heartbeat, breathing fire and circulating it through your body.  

Time is not your friend, and you know it as you rest a hand on his cheek. “If we’re going to do this, you need to hurry. I’ve got to get back to—”

“I know,” He exhales as he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He’d be poetic later, at a more appropriate time. So, he kisses you again with the same fervent way he kissed you before, this time, his hands palming over your breasts, little mewls leaving your lips as he slides his hands under your bra, plucks at your nipples, feeling them harden under his fingers. He can feel you squirm under him while you feel that fire build in your belly, spreading through you.  He’s on a power trip, a power high, and you’re simply reinforcing it. 

You need more, need him to stroke it more and make it grow, and he plans on doing exactly that. His hips are rolling into yours through your clothes, your legs over on his thighs as he kneels in between your legs. As he kisses you, you’re hellbent on letting it consume you, and you’re just as desperate, rutting against him as he he pulls away, whispering against your lips. “You need it so bad, huh?” He grins as you whimper, desperate for touch. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this intimate with anyone, and he’s working you like a harp, with delicate plucks and strokes, playing you to his own accord. You whine, as his hands tug your leggings down your legs and toss them to the floor, and he can see the growing wet spot on your panties, a smirk on his lips. “You don’t have to tell me,” he adds. “Your body tells me enough, little princess. Or do you prefer to be called my little slut, my wild card?”

You whine at the nickname, processing him pushing your bra up to expose your nipples to him before he’s pulling the right one into his lips and sucking ruthlessly, his tongue lapping at it, only to restart the cycle. He does show some mercy by putting his knee in between your legs, letting you grind down on it, much to his amusement. His lips let go of  your nipple as he chuckles darkly, his purple eye blazing with mischief and excitement. “Ah yeah! There’s my dirty baby,” he grins, “Yeah, so desperate. So needy, didn’t want anyone else to touch her. Only I can touch her,” he remarks and you repeat his words. 

“Only you!” 

His knee isn’t enough, but it’ll get you off for now, while you change the angle of your core coming down on his knee, changing your pace to get more friction that causes gasps to leave your lips. You’re so close, so close at the way you rock your hips, getting friction across your clit just like you need,  your wetness soaking into his pants.  His lips are kissing a trail down your chest and stomach, above your navel, and as he reaches the top of your core, he kisses it through the fabric, before pulling his knee away.  

“I hope my baby didn’t think I’d just let her cum from my knee,” he chuckles, his thumb dragging your bottom lip down as you suckle on his thumb before he pulls it away. “Now don’t move,” he warns, and all you see is a flash of a card — the Queen of Hearts — before it cuts through your panties, and he pulls them from your body, tossing the remains to the floor.  He brings the card to his lips as he blows it out, and then tilts his head to look at your expression.  Your eyes slowly open to look at him as you try to catch your breath and his thumb brushes over your pulsing clit, having felt the way your cunt pulsed for him on his knee. “Such a needy little thing, and all this over me?” He teases, parting your thighs more with his hands before he goes eyelevel with your cunt, blowing his breath out and watches you shudder. His lips suck and his tongue licks at your throbbing bud, humming at your taste. 

You whine and croon at the attention, your hips bucking and he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you down as he lets his tongue glide up and down  your cunt. “Such a sweet little cunt on my pretty little baby,” he hums before he sucks on your outer lips, then lets his tongue go back to flick your clit before he decides to add one finger, slowly pushing into you, letting his finger thrust in and out before he adds another, curling his fingers in a come-hither motion before returning his attention to sucking on your clit, and letting his thumb circle the bundle of nerves. 

You moan his name, hips arching again, and you’re close to unraveling underneath him as you babble, “I’m—”

“Go ahead,” he murmurs in between your legs. “Come for me, baby. I want to drink you up.” He gives a nip and a bite at the inside of your thigh before his tongue becomes merciless with determination to let you cum, his tongue spelling out his name over your throbbing nerves, and when you finally fall apart with a sweet moan of his name, he smirks against you before licking up your release. He pulls away once he’s gotten his fill, his chin coated in your release, and grins at you. He pulls his fingers out of you, and they’re coated in your juices, but he’ll get to those. 

“Did you want a taste, dirty girl?” He asked, and when you beckon, he leans down and kisses you, getting your release on on your chin that he wipes away with his thumb before licking his fingers clean. With one orgasm for you, he can concentrate on the bulge in his pants, aching and throbbing — begging for release as he unbuttons his pants and takes them off.  You can see the outline of his hard cock in his boxers, and you reach to palm it before he smacks your hand. “No,” he scolds, before chuckles. “Let me do this, dirty girl. Or are you too out of it to understand?” He chuckles as he looks into your eyes. 

“Need you, please,” You beg, and he stands up to slowly slide his boxers off before pressing his finger to his lip. 

“You’ve got to be a good girl. You don’t want those people on the street to hear you getting fucked like a needy little brat. But, make sure I hear how good I make you feel with my cock in that pretty little cunt. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you nod, and you watch as his boxers free his cock which slaps against his abdomen, already leaking with pre from the tip, and he takes his hand, stroking his cock and pushing the pre-cum around it. Your eyes look at it, and look at him, all together — standing before him in the nude, holding his cock. 

“Good little whore,” Joker sighs as he kisses the inside of your thigh before biting down on the skin and leaving a matching mark to the previous one. “And another rule. You don’t cum until I let you.”

You process his words, but your head is already thinking, spinning and reeling at how you’re going to try and not cum just by him putting it in. You need it, you need him, your hole clenching around nothing as he hovers over you, pulling your legs over his shoulder. He lets his tip drag through your cunt, coating it in your sweet juices. Then, he lets it slap over your cunt, patting it as you whimper and groan and he chuckles. 

“Here we go, needy slut,” he hums as he kisses your neck before pushing the tip in. You bit into your lip as you can feel him slowly splitting you open, but it feels so good you can’t think — your walls already pulsing around him, trying to hungrily suck him in faster than he’s willing to give.  “Look at me,” he demands, and your eyes part to see him sinking into you, more and more, your groans getting louder before he bottoms into you all at once.  

“Fuck,” he groans. “Such a tight little cunt, and I can’t wait to fill you up with my cum. Gonna be so good.”

“Please,” you beg, even though you’re not exactly sure what you’re begging for. 

But it’s like Joker knows, and he’s willing to oblige. He begins to slowly thrust into you, with full thrusts to fill you each time. And the way you croon and mewl and wrap your arms around him encourages him to speed up, although it’s taking a lot of his control for him not to fuck you into next week. He does push your legs back into a mating press, his face hovering over yours as he looks into your eyes, watching your face scrunch up into an expression of sheer bliss. 

“Yeah, feels good when I fuck your pretty little cunt? Your tight little cunt? Is this mine? Tell me, little slut.”

“Yeah, yeah, nghh,” you pant, your nails digging into his shoulders as he works up to a quicker pace, and presses his hand right over your lower stomach, which makes a cry of pleasure leave you.  You can feel that fire in your belly return, especially as he strokes that spot in the midst of your gummy walls which suck him in, and he loves it — the way your cunt clings to him like a vice, refusing to let him go. He can feel the way you tighten, and he knows you’re getting closer.

“God, you take my cock so well, but I can’t hear you, baby,” Joker reminds you as he taps your cheek, stopping only to your dismay, causing you to whine. “I told you I’d stop if you I couldn’t hear you. So, now you’ve got to beg for me to let you cum. So, beg.” His eye is dark and his gaze is vicious. There’s no way he was letting you off easy, not with that look in his eye.

“Please, please, Joker, let me cum,” You start. “I want to come around your cock, I want to, please, please, please.” Your pleading sounds like a broken record as you repeat words over and over again, so he starts back with slow thrusts again before his other hand wraps around your neck, leaving you gasping for air. 

“Want to see my pretty little slut cream all over my cock so I can cum in you, fuck my cum into you and watch it leak out,” he groans, closing his eyes as his pace becomes more erratic.  His hand that’s on your lower stomach begins to rub at your clit, specifically his thumb going in circles, as his thrusts continue to hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you shudder around him, pulsing and massaging his cock before you unravel with a loud cry of his name — open window be damned. His eyes open, although half-lidded, and watch you come around his cock, your release coating his cock, and he grins, humping you through your orgasm as you begin to whine as he prolongs it and overstimulates you. 

He doesn’t care, chasing his own high, and you clench around him, and with a few more thrusts, he’s cumming inside of you, groaning as he can see the mix of your cum around his cock. He pants to catch his breath, and then slowly pulls out, watching as his cum seeps out of you, leaking onto your bed before he then lets his thumb trace your jaw.

“You did so good, y/n.” He smiles as he kisses your forehead. “My wild card.” He murmurs, pulling away to put his clothes back on. “I’ll see you around, Fire Soldier.”

Before you can say anything else, he’s clothed and gone, and you’re left half-dressed on your bed, his cum still leaking from you and unspoken words on your lips.  But he had to leave, or else he’d forget his mission, and he’d stay, even though he couldn’t offer you anything.  

And that felt like ice in his veins, but even he knew ice could consume you just as good as fire. However, he knew desire and his pursuit of the truth would ruin him. He wouldn’t bring you into that too.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh Season Zero: The Yo-yo Crimes of Jounouchi Pt 2

OK, last we left off, we were in a different Youtube video. This one I grabbed off of 2 different videos (you’ll see their watermark in the corner change) and it makes me appreciate the quality that our other episodes have been, honestly. A little bit of compression going on in these, just to give you even more of that nostalgic feel of watching a bootleg anime from the 90′s your brother got from his weird high school friend’s Napster account.

Because this is done with subtitles on, it takes more caps to cover it. Part of why I rewrite the dialogue in these recaps is to help abridge stuff, and so consider yourself warned...there’s a lot of caps in this one. For most of you, that’s probably not much of a problem. But I’m just letting you know because...I sure wasn’t expecting it to be over 40 caps for half an episode, and I’ll probably just type less to make up for that. (Tumblr keeps Erasing All My Words anyway, so this is for the best, but that’s a tech issue I already went into in another post.)

(read more under the cut)

So, to start off, Yugioh and co. walk up to a bar like a really weird version of a bar joke and are like “do you know where we can find the yo-yo gang?” And, much like a video game npc, the bartender was like “I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about, and I heard every part of their intimate conversation. Let me give you all the details, children.”

Hey, PS, there’s an entire Wikipedia entry about the bar joke. And that is wild. Apparently the first bar joke was from Ancient Sumeria, and Wikipedia was like “Here is the Sumerian joke, but we Do Not Get it. Please don’t try to get it.”

The joke being: "A dog walked into a tavern and said, 'I can't see a thing. I'll open this one'."

Damn. I can’t believe the Sumerians were onto meme humor before we ever invented memes. They were in the Galaxy brain over there in the land before time, holy crap. Depositing their memes knowing that 7,000 years later mankind would look at the world’s first joke and be like “I don’t get it!” while all the millennials and zoomers with our MB of nonsense memes on our phones are like “No. I get it.” Good on you Sumerians, that is freakin the best joke ever made. 7000 years to get to the punch line of confusing the hell out of all us. Bless.

They promptly tell Miho that everything was resolved and that she should go to bed and she was like “Cool!” and exited stage left. Bye, I guess. Anzu also went home, but she didn’t have to be tricked into doing it, she just went the hell to bed.

(PS, I just realized that if I want to write less...I should probably not look up Wikipedia articles about the world’s first ever bar joke. But y’all, habits die so freakin hard, and I just feel like it’s very pertinent to this Yugioh recap, although I know it’s really not.)

Yuugi and Honda decide to visit the warehouse and harass Jounouchi. In the context of the show, they’re going out of their way to pull their best friend out of society’s systemic downward pull of a life of crime and most likely turning into exactly like his Father. But, the way that it’s storyboarded makes it look a lot like these kids just show up out of the corner and this gang was like “Damn it, again? OMG small children, please leave us alone!”

Honda hands over the symbolism sash, to which Jounouchi symbolically says “Nyeh.”

And Honda didn’t take it very well.

After tending to his kidneys for a little while, Honda decided to go back at it again at the Krispy Cream and do some sort of insane parkour over this completely ordinary fence.

Ah, the very first instance of real duel law where you duel over a relationship. In later seasons duel law is invoked for things like Mai’s marriage and the right to date Tea (and then just kind of forgetting you ever won the right to date Tea twice). But to think the very first time was Honda dueling for the right of Jounouchi to be part of nerd gang because Jounouchi had fallen to the dark side yo-yo gang across the street run by some 40 year old man with blue hair.

How many times is Honda gonna fight with a broom? Like are they just magnetized to his location? where are they even coming from?

Freakin janitor powers over here, put him in a Final Fantasy style RPG. I want to see what his limit break would be.

Not like it matters, because Hirotani very quickly explains why these yo-yo’s are at all a threat.

Which honestly shouldn’t be...so lethal? Seems like the weight is all you need, not really the spikes. But it’s at least stronger than Honda’s janitor stuff.

Unfortunate for Honda that he just destroyed an antique.

So with lightning reflexes, Yuugi does what he does most:

The death yo-yo ricochets back and does this little itty bitty scrape to this guy’s face and he’s real bothered by it. Although it’s like...well dude, you’re a 50 year old high schooler, I don’t think people will notice the scrape compared to everything else falling apart in your life.

And so then the Yugioh Season Zero team was like “oh shoot is it time to torture Yuugi???” and they got hella excited.

Like I thought it was just Yuugi’s class that were a bunch of disturbing criminal disasters, but I guess it’s the whole city. Like...was Yuugi’s class the good school?

I mean, it can’t be, there’s no way...

but like...is there a good school in this universe? How does anyone survive till graduation? If you so much as disgrace a yo-yo, you will get the torture treatment that I sure did expect in Yakuza games, but not so much in Yugioh, tbh.

Just a reminder: This is the third time we’ve beat up Yuugi this episode. Within the first meeting of Yuugi and Hirotani, he beat the tar out of Yuugi within eye shot of Jounouchi. So like...Jounouchi was reallllllllllllllllly lax on that deal, right? Like...he took his toot sweet time to realize “yeah this just ain’t ever gonna happen.”

And then the yo-yo wars begin.

Just like Solid Snake crawling through the radiation chamber.

Hirotani throws his Fyper-yoyo, Jounouchi intercepts with his Eireboy, and Hirotani’s completely terrible yo-yo just flies off the string again because Hirotani should have just sticked to using his fists. No wonder they wanted to recruit Jounouchi so badly, their yo-yo game is so off.

We never get a door to darkness in this episode, dipping our enemies into mind horrors. Instead, we get home-alone style traps. But, this makes sense. Not only do the show makers have to make Yuugi avoid solving problems with magic in front of Jounouchi, they also have to make it Jounouchi’s choice to leave Hirotani behind. If Yuugi did it for him in like...some sort of duel law situation...then that sort of leaves out Jounouchi’s choice in the equation.

Not like this ever really comes up in later seasons, since who even follows through with duel law and marries Mai? But like, it does feel like Season Zero calls out the later Seasons a bit in this regard. Honda got beat up because he tried to win Jounouchi back by force (or game, I guess.) That was just another form of coercion on the heels of Hirotani’s. What Jounouchi actually needed was to make his own decision to leave.

...most other anime I’d be like “I’m sure that’s just a translation error” but not this one.

So Yuugi runs to the roof where Jounouchi will never see this.

My audible sigh reading this line about fight club roof.

These stupid gang members went into Yuugi’s native territory, not just a fight club roof, but on a warehouse? They were dead before they arrived.

This was like maybe 3 frames of animation in just rapid succession, it was pretty silly and good.

Reminder that like 4 minutes ago, Yuugi was about to get like executed on a meat hook.

Speaking of getting executed on a meathook:

Hope you like the idea of glass in your eyes, because this anime’s got it.

They chase Yuugi around, in a sequence that was done mostly to conserve frames, so you rarely saw the ground until this shot:

Lots of falling down this episode, but unlike Tea, who fell from a warehouse ceiling once and just kind of rubbed her ass after and was like “ah damn it.” these guys won’t come out of it virtually unscathed.

Also, Honda is here now:

Jumping off of his symbolic sash trapeze, he decides to do in Hirotani for good.

Hey so like...walk the dog is a fairly gentle walk that a yo-yo does slowly on the ground right?

Just pointing out how sensitive Hirotani’s fingies are.

And he...didn’t appear to be dead, so I don’t have to add to the bodycount...but it’s gonna be a real long road for recovery.

And now, with the gang back together Jounouchi is back at school knee deep in make up assignments he’ll probably completely ignore since we know that in a years time, these fools are going to be trapped on Pegasus’ island, and at that point school will be just that place you talk about when you try to remember why you’re friends with Bakura.

---hey aren’t those chairs attached to the desks?

Because...holy crap, Anzu.

Honestly this is what you see before you die, but I guess Jounouchi died off screen after the episode ended, so I don’t have to add him to the deathcount (again). RIP.

Alright! That took like...8 tries to get Tumblr to save this one, but it managed! (well...I guess “managed” isn’t the word you’d use for a typing program that takes 8 tries to save)

Next time, we’ll be back to S5, for an arc I’ve heard is kind of boring. We’ll see. If it truly is, I can condense episodes into fewer posts. Or maybe it’s a secret gem? I guess we shall see.

And if you just got here this is a link to read all the Season Zero recaps from the start:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yuugi-muto/chrono

(there’s also a link to read all the Yugioh posts we wrote from the start in chrono order but straight up, this file won’t freakin save, and I just can’t even will myself to look up that link again. It’s on the home page of this blog on the right.)

[codylabs]

The Bottomless Pit

New scifi-horror story! Well, not exactly new, I’ve had it finished for a year or so now, but never shared it on Tumblr. It’s an entirely original story, so don’t expect any familiar characters or places. But it does introduce one or two pieces of worldbuilding for my original universe, which will be important for some of my other upcoming stories, so I figured now would be a good time to share it.

Enjoy.

Part 1

Once upon a time, far from here, at the bottom of the deepest shaft of the deepest mine, two boys stood regarding a pit that led yet deeper.

“You sure about this?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it’s not like there’s anything dangerous down there!”

Louis nervously leaned out over the fissure as far as he dared. It was true, there didn’t rightly seem to be anything at all down there; just blackness. The walls of the fissure passed beyond the range of their headlamps after the first twenty meters, and after that, floors and walls became nothing but indistinct void. It must be fifty meters deep, at least.

“You just let me down,” Peter pointed to the towing winch built into the belt of Louis’s suit. “Until I touch the bottom. And then when you see me standing down there walking around, you’ll be brave enough to come down too.”

“…What if there is no bottom?”

"...What do you mean 'if there's no bottom'? What else would there be?"

"I...? Uh... You know? I dunno."

"Every hole on every single one of the hundred million brazillion planets and moons in the universe has a bottom. Because if it didn’t, it would go straight through the place, and there’d be magma everywhere right? Which would make it not dark. But it is dark. Which means it doesn’t go forever.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Louis’s helmet was rattling around on his head as he shifted his weight this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position where he wasn’t sweaty. Even through a thick pressure suit, the body language was apparent. “I mean, like… Like… Okay, never mind.”

“C’mon dude. This is basic simple science stuff. And since basic simple science proves that there is a bottom, we can therefore find that bottom!”

“Yeah…”

“We know space pirates once used this moon as a hideaway. Maybe they hid treasure down there!”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s not, it’s true. And it makes sense for them to hide their treasure down in the deepest, darkest hole they could find. And what’s deeper and darker than here? Nothing, that’s what! Look, my GPS says we’re… What, a kilometer below the surface already? No mines go that deep! This must’ve been dug by the first colony! You know. Before they disappeared.”

“Yeah, well…” Louis glancing at the floor behind them. “...Well, I guess the footprints were pretty weird.”

With no wind and no water on this moon, dust and dirt and stone remain exactly as they are until something disturbs them, meaning that footprints last forever, with newer ones layering on top of old ones. In a long-abandoned mine like this, one would have expected the most recent, top layer of prints to have been left by the mining tractor; the one that dug the tunnel. In most of the other tunnels, that’s just how it was. After all, there was never any reason the miners themselves to bodily enter the tunnel.

Except here, the tread marks weren’t the last tracks.

Louis and Peter had followed a set of three tracks, tracks from adult human boots, all the way down here… Two sets had been leading up to this very hole… But only one set could be seen returning…

“It must be pirates.” Peter nodded, as he gazed down into the crevice. “It’s the only explanation… That or aliens.”

“Aliens don’t exist.”

“Yeah, and that just leaves pirates, which makes more sense anyway.” Peter explained. “See, the Captain must have needed help from his second-in command to carry the treasure chest, but when they threw it in the hole, the Captian shot his buddy and threw him in too! Because the Captain knew that all pirates are nothing but dirty thieving buccaneers, so to keep his greatest fortune safe, he made sure that nobody else knew…! I bet we’ll find an evaporated mummy with a busted faceplate down there… And riches… Riches worth killing over… Gold and crystals and ancient forms of currency that have all been forgotten for centuries…”

Louis’s body language said he was almost convinced. (Not convinced enough to believe it, but almost convinced enough to try exploring it.) “But…” He offered one last objection. “Maybe they were just explorers or something. You know, like us. Maybe his buddy just got hurt down there, so he just carried him out… I mean, it doesn’t necessarily mean one of them died down there…”

“But there’s no piton left behind.” Peter gestured to the tunnel floor around them. “And no place where one was driven in… And they weren’t using jetpacks either, because there’s no disturbance in the dust from the downdraft… Which means they had no way back out.”

That tipped Louis over the edge, and he reluctantly began to unpack his climbing gear. “Oh-kaaaay…” He sighed, as he aimed the power-driver at the tunnel floor. There was a burst of compressed air from the driver, and a piton appeared in front of the barrel, embedded securely in the rock. He unspooled a length of cable from the winch and passed it through the piton’s pulley, then handed the end to Peter. “But… Uh… If you find anything scary down there, could you bring it back up so I can see it please?”

“You’re a baby.” Peter locked the cable into his harness, and stepped up to the edge of the crevice. “How are you a boy scout if you’re such a baby?”

“I’m a boy scout because I know everything.” Louis frowned, as he braced his feet against the side of the tunnel to balance out the winch. “I know how to maintenance all the types of engines that we use. I know how to build an airtight shelter out of nothing but rocks and resin. I know how to recycle urine without ever taking off my suit. I can signal for help in 23 languages. If we were crashlanded, then I would be the hero, and you would be the bumbling sidekick.”

“You also know how to be a baby.”

“I also know there was never any pirates on this moon.” Louis added. “Those are just rumors that sprung up around the old military depot in the Eastern hemisphere.”

“Which was destroyed by pirates!” Peter reminded him as he leaned into the cable. He bounced slightly, just to convince his mind that the thin material could actually hold his weight.

“Destroyed by themselves via routine self-destruction. That was standard scorched-earth policy back during the war.”

Louis leaned out over the blackness, at an angle where the cable was supporting the majority of his weight. And he prepared to step out into darkness. “Being a baby must be standard policy too, huh?”

"In certain circumstances yes, maybe being a baby is standard policy.”

“Your mom is standard policy.”

“Negative.”

“Line down.”

Naturally, Louis’s winch made no sound in the airless environment. All Peter could hear were his own boots scuffling and sliding down the first section of the crevice sides, and the faint rhythm of the winch vibrating down through the taught cable. And, of course, there were all the familiar background sounds: the hissing of the life support in his pack, the whirring of the water pump warming his extremities. And above all, his helmet echoed his own breathing back toward him, muffled and close and incredibly loud. That omnipresent, overbearing sound of breathing used to scare him when he’d first worn a space suit; made him feel either profoundly claustrophobic and alone, or feel like Darth Vader was standing behind him.

But now he was a boy scout. And boy scouts are many things. They aren’t babies, first of all. Second of all, they’re responsible, and dutiful, and they know their equipment. Third, they can survive outdoors. So in this day and age, when most doors opened into hard vacuum, you can know for darn sure that a good boy scout isn’t afraid to be out on his own in it, locking his life behind nothing but a little fabric and glass.

This fabric and glass was rugged, and tough, and meticulously well-maintained. It was his armor. And inside it, he was as safe. Safe as he was in his own home.

Peter found that the crevice was widening as he descended. The tunnel wall dropped sideways from beneath his feet, and he soon found himself hovering on his back, suspended from his harness like a sack of freight as the walls continued to recede above him. “Louis be advised.” Peter said. “Tunnel is widening significantly. I have lost physical contact with the wall. Over.”

“How is visual contact? Over.” Louis’s voice came through Peter’s radio, as it always had.

Peter looked left, and right. The ‘hole’ they’d descended seemed to actually be some sort of chasm or fissure, running through the moon’s crust like a cut or a tectonic crack. It stretched off into blackness to either end, far further than his beam could search, must be more than a hundred meters. As for the walls to either side of him, they were widening, dropping off into the distance steadily, like the incredibly steep, jagged walls of an upside-down canyon. He could still see them, but his light could only reach so far; if they became dim enough, he wouldn’t be able to focus on them past the slight glare reflecting off the scratches in his helmet.

And no, he could not yet see the bottom.

“Mediocre, and getting worse. Over.” Peter answered.

“Do you wish to abort? Over.” Louis asked.

“No!” Peter let himself hang flat on his back again, so he was looking straight up the cable at the opening above him. The glow from Louis’s light was brightly illuminating the inside of the mineshaft, forming a jagged splotch of bright brown surrounding the cable’s end. “No…” He repeated, talking to the light. “Just a bigger hole than I thought, that’s all. Don’t blame the Captain for throwing his treasure down here; it’s a good hiding spot. Over.”

Louis ignored that.

The winch continued to spin, the cable continued to unwind, the light continued to shrink above, the walls continued to recede.

“Peter be advised…” Louis’s voice was slow and careful, not quite nervous. “Tension in cable seems slightly uneven. Over.”

“Uneven?” Peter frowned up at his friend. “Louis, please elaborate. Over.”

“It’s decreasing… Like you’re getting lighter… Are you dropping rocks out of your pockets or anything? Over.”

“No… Is your winch speeding up?”

“No…”

There was a brief moment of silence while they both pondered all this.

“Maybe your legs are going numb.” Peter suggested. “Uh, over.”

“Maybe… Yeah, I dunno, I don’t think so… Seriously, if you’re messing with me-”

“I’m not messing with you…” That gave Peter an idea: mess with him. He began to flail his arms and legs to make the line bounce. “I… I think I feel it too!”

“You feel the tension decreasing?”

“No, it’s just kind of… Bumpy… Like somebody’s shaking it…! Are you moving around up there?”

“N-no, I’m not moving an inch!” Louis said. “Uh… Oh, wow, actually yeah, I can feel it bouncing too now!”

“I think something’s on the cable!” Peter cried out. “I think something grabbed it! Oh no, I can see it! OH MY GEEZ! It’s coming toward me!”

“WHATISWHATIS WHAT’S COMING TOWARD YOU?!?” Louis was getting hysterical.

The bumping in the line stopped. All was silent on the radio. Peter held his breath in gleeful anticipation.

“Oh.” Louis said after a few seconds. “Ha ha. Very funny. Over.”

“PFFWA HA HA!” Peter burst out in a spasm of laughter. “You should have heard you! Over.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, you’ve had your laugh, now no more thrashing around, alright? Like seriously, you’ll freak me out… And if you were just planning on making a fool of me, you shouldn’t have invited me on the mission… Over.”

“It’s not a ‘mission’, and I didn’t ‘invite’ you. I said I was gonna go look for pirate treasure, and then you begged to come along. Over.”

“I didn’t beg.”

“Did too.”

“You’re stupid. Over.”

“You’re a baby. Now keep lining down; I never said stop. Over.”

Louis sighed and flipped the switch again.

The winch started spinning again.

Peter continued to drop.

Five minutes later, Louis finally spoke. “Peter come in; please tell me you’re getting near the bottom…! Over!”

Peter looked over his shoulder. “No, still can’t see a thing down there, over.”

Five minutes further, Louis’s voice had a sharpness to it. “WHEN should we abort, over?”

“Would you quit it with the abort talk?” Peter snapped, and shook his fist up at the fading light. “Just keep spooling down until I tell you to stop, okay? You’ve got, like, a barjillion meters of line in your winch, and it’s rated for, what, two tons?”

“Four.”

“Four! Four tons! That’s about 100 of me! In Earth gravity! This is, like, less than half Earth gravity, so that thing should be able to hold 200 of me, easy! I’m literally in no danger at all! Over.”

“But…!”

“Just keep spooling down until I tell you to stop. Okay? Over.”

“…Okay. Over.”

“Great. Over.”

“Yeah… Yeah, great. I will. Over.”

“Over.”

“Over yourself.”

“Over times two.”

“Over infinity. Over.”

The walls were getting wider and wider still, and Peter’s light was getting no brighter. Soon, the passing rock began to fade. Nothing mysterious about it, the walls just receded further and further until they merged with the black background, leaving nothing but blurs and shadows. And as Peter waited, it seemed that even those blurs were inching their way upward, to disappear into the ever-growing darkness he’d already passed.

Only the speck of light from the distant mineshaft remained clearly visible directly above; that and whatever length of cable was near enough to be seen. A pinpoint of light piercing down at him, and the cable pointing toward it like a finger, as if to remind him that he was not some lonely spider suspended on a web, but that there was light, and company, and good solid ground awaiting him above, whenever he should choose to return.

The last glimpses of rocks passed out of sight. There may as well be no more walls. He looked over his shoulder again, hoping, if not expecting, the floor to be coming up to meet him soon. Surely the bottom must be approaching soon, right…? But it was not.

His light had become utterly useless now, with nothing else around to illuminate. And when that realization struck him, it sowed the seed of doubt. Maybe Louis’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. I should abort, let him reel me back topside, come back later with the scout leader and a big crane and some huge ol’ searchlights… Yeah… Yeah, this hole, this CHASM, was bigger than I ever would have imagined, and one kid with a headlamp isn’t enough to conquer it…

No…

No, keep going, Peter.

It’s got to end sometime.

He looked up at Louis’s dot of light above him. It’s got to end sometime. It’s not bottomless.

Unease built.

It festered in the back of his mind, surged forward every once in a while to try to bring him to panic, to get him to give up, but each time he forced it back. More and more he found himself staring upwards at the spot of light. Strangely enough, it seemed to be getting reddish. As if blood were throbbing forward into his eyesockets, or as if he was gradually being engulfed in some fog, or filter. Perhaps this pit was flooded with trace amounts of some heavy, reddish gas, and as he descended the depths of it clouded over.

However it was happening, he had become utterly fixated on that spot of light, measuring how it faded and shrunk and reddened, trying to estimate when that final singular anchor would fade away.

Five more minutes passed.

You know, it was bizarre. He hadn’t noticed it quite as fast as Louis had, since he’d been hanging comfortably by his harness instead of bracing against the walls with the winch, but Louis was right: the tension in the line was decreasing.

How was it decreasing? How did that make any sense? No, he wasn’t dropping rocks from his pockets, no, the winch couldn’t be gradually accelerating, as the motor only went one speed… It didn’t make any sense.

Ten minutes.

The light… Was the light getting fainter up above? It seems that now, Peter could barely make out the pinprick of red light that was the opening of the mineshaft. There was only the cable, and himself, hanging in the black.

Nineteen minutes.

Nineteen and a half minutes.

Peter found himself staring at the timer in his helmet, waiting for the seconds to finally add up to the big two-oh, and he’d finally have a good round number to affix to his boredom, and his boredom was the excuse he would affix to his request that they finally abort this pointless plunge.

“H-hey!” He radioed up to Louis. “Y-you know dude, th-th-this is a drag. It’s been twenty minutes. Let’s just reverse it now, eh? This is getting silly! Bring me back up! Over.” It felt really good to finally say it actually; to admit that his friend was right; to give up. It felt good, in a way, to never have to discover what lay at the bottom of this hole.

But horror beyond all horrors, there was no answer!

“Louis? LOUIS! Louis, come in! Louis, do you read?!? Over!”

He was still going down!

“LOUIS COME IN!”

His friend didn’t respond, but the line kept descending, and the tension kept lowering, and the light was very, very red and kept fading, and Peter found himself in tears, crying and trembling.

He looked back over his shoulder again, but he still couldn’t see the bottom!

What’s going on?!? Why can’t Louis hear me?!? How far down does it go?!?

In a sudden flash of inspiration, he remembered; he remembered what he should have done in the first place, before ever starting into the pit. How could I forget? In all the movies, whenever anybody descends into the dark, they always throw a flare or a flashlight or a torch first! They always drop a light so they can get a gauge of how far it goes! It’s only smart! Heck, forget movies, I’m a boy scout! I should have instantly known to do that, how could I forget?!?

I still can!

With shaking hands he fumbled the emergency flare gun out of his belt, and loaded a brightly-colored canister into the barrel. Then he twisted around in the harness, pointed the gun straight downwards into the exact center of that gaping black void, and pulled the trigger.

The flare burst from the gun, and flew straight down. Gravity continuously accelerated it, and without air resistance, it kept going faster and faster, a brilliant yellow missile glowing with incredible brightness, speeding ever faster.

And continued.

And continued.

And continued.

It slowly faded from yellow to white to blue, growing steadily more distant and small and faint with the distance. Finally, after craning his neck to watch it for what felt like minutes, he found he could no longer even see it.

Good grief! Up on the surface, those flares are normally visible from kilometers out! Kilometers!

Louis was right all along! It’s bottomless! IT’S A BOTTOMLESS PIT!!

He looked back upwards. His panic, which was already skyrocketing, was suddenly compounded when he realized that he couldn’t see the light of the mineshaft anymore. He hurriedly turned off the light in his own helmet, in hopes that he could see better without the slight glare. Yes, that was it; if he killed all his own lights, he could just barely make out the mineshaft, shining like a red star high above. “Louis!” He screamed into his radio. “Louis, bring me up! It’s bottomless! You were right, it goes on forever! You gotta bring me up! Abort! LINE UP!!”

No answer.

He fumbled a second flare out of his pocket, and reloaded. Taking careful aim, the very most meticulous and steady aim, he pointed the missile directly at the patch of light. Perhaps if he could be a totally bona-fide sniper with this little flare pistol, perhaps if the flare traveled dead-center, then perhaps it would get near enough to the shaft for Louis to glimpse its glow, and realize that their radios had been somehow compromised, and reverse the line.

He fired.

The second yellow missile streaked from the gun, this time in exactly the opposite direction of the first.

It went straight up, growing redder and redder as it did.

A minute later, it returned to its yellow color as it came straight back down. It passed by Peter again not 10 meters to his left.

And it disappeared into the dark below with the other flare, once again fading to white and then blue. Now that Peter had his lights off, he thought he could still see the first flare glowing in the incredible distance. It hadn’t hit the floor yet.

Bottomless, bottomless…

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at anything anymore. Wanting to exchange the hungry, malicious blackness around him for the close, comfy blackness of the backside of his eyelids. Anything to pretend he wasn’t where he was. But the silence was heavy on his ears. Louis wasn’t there any more, only the hissing of his suit’s life support, the whirring of its heater, and his own breathing. And of course he couldn’t ignore the tension in his harness; The tension is still dropping! Now it’s about half what it should be; like for some physically impossible reason the cable is just stretching and I’m falling faster and faster forever and ever and I can’t feel it! Except I can feel it! I feel like I weigh half of what I ought, like I’m halfway to the moon’s center. But that’s impossible! How could he lower me so deep? And if I’m so deep, where’s the magma?!? Oh God, how can it not have a bottom?!?

God…

That’s right, God!

Without any hesitation, Peter curled into a ball, folded the gloves of his spacesuit against his helmet, and began to pray.

“Dear God…! Dear God, come in God! God come in, I’m scared! Please help! Please help it not be bottomless!” He wondered if there was some kind of enormous monster instead of a bottom, or if the moon was hollow and infested with Aliens, or if this pit led straight to hell. “Please make Louis reverse the line!” He pleaded. “Please make it be alright again…! And…! Andandand if you don’t do any of those other things God, then please, please, please make me brave…!”

He continued down.

“Please make me brave.”

He never stopped.

“A-a-amen… Over.” He stuttered. And as his prayer finished, he knew that even through a kilometer of stone, even across the vast reaches of space, even from out of the depths of this unbelievable void, God had heard him. That’s right… God is in control… God knows where this pit leads, heck, he probably created this pit! That means he knows when I’ll reach the bottom. He knows if I’m gonna get back out or if I’m gonna die… In fact, he knew all this before I ever got up this morning. He knows what I’ll find down here, and he still loves me… God loves me. He’s still looking out for me.

Even down here.

And God answered Peter’s prayer; God made him brave.

Peter opened his eyes.

And then he turned his lights back on, and found that the empty pit wasn’t quite so empty anymore. Way off in the distance to his left and right, his lights seemed to be illuminating something… Not a bottom, but something along the walls; yes, the walls seemed to be narrowing again, at least partially… That was a good sign.

The walls got nearer.

And now that they were back in range of his light, he could see something really quite strange: they were no longer made of rock. He could scarcely believe his eyes at first, but the walls were made of metal now, shinier and more uniform. On his left side, he was currently moving past some kind of enormous, curved surface, like the flank of an incredible water tank. A line of rivets bordering a seam confirmed its artificial nature.

On his other side, there was what appeared to be some kind of weight-bearing truss, like you’d see holding up the archways of an old bridge. There was another tank beside the truss too, and what looked like a ganglion of pipes, just on the edge of the range of his light.

As he continued downward, there were other structures. There were round, rivetted tanks similar to the first one, most of them smaller and miscellaneous, but a few quite a bit larger. In between the tanks and the trusses, great cuboid somethings were bolted to trusses, and the housings and shafts of unfamiliar machinery poked out and interconnected here and there. All through the labyrinthian industrial complex, pipes of every imaginable shape and size stretched and curled.

He sure was glad that God had made him brave. With that bravery, he hazarded another communication. “Louis, be advised.” He said, just in case his friend was still able to hear him. “The tunnel walls now appear populated with mechanical structures. Looks like it could be a factory or a refining installation of some kind. Maybe something else. Not seeing any movement or people, so I think it’s abandoned. And there are no lights, so I’m assuming it’s powerless. I’m also not seeing any words or language on any of the pipes, so your guess is good as mine as to who made it… Yeah. Anyway, it’s weird. Over.”

Louis evidently didn’t hear him.

“Louis, be advised.” He continued a few minutes later. “Looks like the machinery is ending. The last of it is passing out of sight, and I’m in blackness again. It was all just on the walls, and the pit itself is still bottomless… Over.”

The tension in the line was as low as it ever had been, perhaps a quarter of his own weight. He thought back for a moment to his science classes: Newton said that if he wasn’t changing speed at all, then that means the total amount of force on him balanced out to zero. Meaning the tension in the line must be equal to his weight, which meant that he must be getting lighter. But he wasn’t losing any mass, so that means the gravity must be decreasing. Somehow.

He imagined that if it continued, he would eventually be weightless entirely. It didn’t make any sense to him how that was happening, but he understood how the affect was progressing, and it was consistent and logical in its own queer way.

It was logical. It didn’t necessarily make sense, but it made a sense.

The logic and predictability of it made him feel a little better, and he allowed himself to relax. In fact, as he rested on the end of the tether under ever-decreasing stress, the inside of his suit began to seem very comfy. Indeed, he even began to feel sleepy…

Well… I can’t keep going down forever. Louis doesn’t have infinite cable in his winch, and his winch doesn’t have infinite batteries. He’s smart enough to know when enough is enough, and he’ll bring me back up eventually.

…

Thank you, God, for making me brave.

He turned off his light to save battery power in the suit, and settled back to wait.