“So? What’s the grand plan?”
Cody planned to have a mild to semi severe breakdown, thank you. “We contact the Order as soon as comms are running again.” Half the ship had been thoroughly fried when… this… happened. They had managed to send out a distress signal but that had been it.
“And in the meantime?” Obi— Gen— Kenobi asked. “I do what? Twiddle my thumbs?” He waved a hand around.
Stars, it barely had any of the callouses Cody knew so well. Or that little scar at the thumb’s knuckle from Obi-Wan accidentally cutting himself, getting citrus juice all over it, and letting out the longest, high-pitched, suppressed noise as he “let go of the pain and into the Force, Cody, through acknowledgement of what has befallen my body and spirit”. And now he was looking at the shiny-faced version who had much of the same hardness lurking in his eyes already as the man Cody knew. The same kindness, and, to Cody’s everlasting grief, the same brattiness.
“Some sleep would do you good,” Cody replied. The dark circles on that kid, Force.
Ken— Obi-…Wan sighed in that particular way that let Cody know this compliance would find an end soon enough. The kid ran a hand through his hair in a motion so familiar Cody’s heart constricted, and shrugged an irritated shoulder. “Might as well,” he muttered. “And where would I sleep?”
“Here, in your quarters.”
The kid’s brow contorted into a skeptical crunch. “With all the blaster oil and cleaning kits, and, you know, armor I assumed this was your room.”
“It is,” Cody confirmed without thinking like some kind of especially obtuse idiot.
They watched each other stagger into brain static in record time. And held each other’s gaze far, far too uncomfortably long. Cody’s eye twitched.
“Oh,” Obi— the kid said, blush blooming on his cheeks as he looked more closely at Cody, studying him. “Oh.”
“Peaceful rest,” Cody strangled out and turned around to very calmly and in a most dignified manner book it out of the quarters.
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the clans use salt for healing and cooking if i remember correctly.
im only saying this because would someone ever name their kid "saltkit"
Yes! Saltkit is a valid prefix in BB, but only after moving to the Lake.
Before then, they make a sort-of-salt out of burning dandelion root. They consider this material a kind of soot, fine ashes produced by burning something. The rough translation of this spice is "soot-salty-taste."
Salty (taste) = Byyle
(Comes from blood-taste)
Soot (ashes produced by finely burning something) = Keybo
(Used alone in artsy contexts, usually describes bistre, a pigment made from soot and water.)
Plant Salt (of coltsfoot or dandelion) = Keybyy
To specify if it comes from Dandelion or Coltsfoot, you'd say Keybyy Raerra or Keybyy Hakprru. There aren't two dedicated words for the difference; these are both considered "types of dandelions" by Clan cats.
Dandelion = Awpo
Any flowering ground plant with fluffy yellow petals.
This is why they didn't previously have a word for salt itself! They would only ever encounter raw salt as an animal lick, which they'd call Byylebon. Salty-useful-rock. Because it was associated with humans, they wouldn't steal them or interact with them much.
Rraash is a Townmew loanword, a word they adopted for raw, powdered salt during their time trading with BloodClan. At the Lake, they now collect raw sea salt during "Salt Patrols," which are beach trips where a big collection of apprentices are brought to the ocean to learn how to collect and process salt.
So, depending on how the parents would like to name their child, those translations could be;
Byylemew = Saltykit
The taste of salt. Could refer to the flavor of blood, the taste of the ocean, or the spice made from burned dandelion roots. Has a very food-y connotation, probably named by gourmands.
Keybyymew = Saltkit, Spicekit, Seasoningkit, Rubkit
This is a very ThunderClan sort of name. They traditionally used a lot of keybyy in their recipes, as it's very important for a good marinade and making ham. Though, it wouldn't be too surprising to see it used in WindClan too.
Rraashmew = Saltkit, Brinekit
Raw salt. Made from boiling ocean water during large expeditions to the sea called a "Salt Patrol." Used as a medicine AND as a spice, important in controlling parasite infestations, fighting infection, and preserving food. Could just be referring to an off-white colored pelt, food, or even strength in battle for its association with treating wounds.
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Hello Internet Stranger looking up G Gundam on Tumblr dot com!
This is an idea for a fic set in an Alternate Universe involving Queer Non-Canon Relationships between the characters of the series.
If you are not looking for this content please scroll on.
If you ARE looking for this content - and you're ok with reading my and other's Headcanons for this Alternate Universe I've haphazardly spun up -
Then go ahead and feel free to:
Check The Tags Of This Post For The Pairings
and click the Read More below!
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Ended up outlining a completely different fic as a Segway for an explanation instead of making progress on the Royal Flush Haunted Honk AU's Clown Motel Fic like I wanted to but uh....
For y'all's review for the AU: A Prequel Outline - Divorce Saga Domon
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Hey real quick - I'm thinking of maybe changing the timeline to 2 years post canon as opposed to 3 years and change post canon.
The reason being: I had a thought that this scene could either be part if the fic or if it's getting to big then it could be a stand alone tie-in prequel fic as part of this AU but - like
Immediately Post Divorce Domon Needs Space and runs off. As one does. And he runs to Earth because he just wants to Get Lost for a while.
He has Argo smuggle him out to avoid detection.
Argo has Andrew help stow Domon in a storage hanger of a Neo Canadian supply ship that's returning to the US - they have trade often enough and share agricultural resources - which leads to Domon ending up in New York when he hits Earthside pavement.
He's privately worked on his English the last couple of months and after being dropped in New York with a different hairstyle, outfit, and accent he's unrecognizable.
He considers making his way west to get some solitude in the wilderness, but something about that initial plan feels off now that he's on the ground.
Chibodee is also Earthside for a special series of prize fights aimed at raising charitable appeal for the US in the eyes of Neo Americans.
Domon decides to hit up Chibodee for a fight on a day between matches hoping it'll clear his head and give him the clarity to decide on a course of action. What ends up happening is an unexpected heart to heart via blows and a breakdown.
Domon is happy for Rain and Kyoji, and he knows it's not true; but he feels like he lost a piece of himself when his relationship with Rain fell apart.
Domon's instinct is to run after that but Chibodee knows this city and Domon doesn't hide out for long before Chibodee drags him back to his place to stay and just "Chill out and breathe. You don't have to be anyone but yourself here. You can take as long as you need to find out what everything changing means for you." Friends and teammates stick together.
So Domon spends a few weeks with Chibodee sparring and hanging out in New York. Chibodee does a frankly awesome job at containing his feelings because he's focusing on Domons feelings and being a good friend first and foremost. Whatever he's feeling can wait until after Domon is done going though it.
There's a bit of a twinge in Domon's heart as he leaves that he can't really place.
After he returns to Neo Japan and gets settled back into life with his family, The Dreams start.
They're mainly set in New York. Small things first like noticing Chibodee's smile and his eyes. Then sparring sessions that begin to turn lurid.
He thought these kinds of dreams would stop after he was married.... he doesn't know what to do about this.
I just figure it gives more clarity and sense of time for the journey from Comphet Marriage Dissolution to Feelings to Confession. Idk.
But I got stuck on a bit and then had this thought and needed to get it down before I lost it and it was so long it made sense to make it its own post as opposed to several replies.
The Maize and Clown Motel will probably still be 3 years and change post canon for clarification.
@thedragonchilde @amplexadversary @youreaclownnow
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I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.
Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.
Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.
When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs.
Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off.
He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone.
If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.
Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts.
He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.
Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken…
Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones.
He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down.
He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?
A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead.
He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?
Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”
As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before.
He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.
Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!”
Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?
He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?
The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him.
Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.
—
“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed.
He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.
She didn’t.
Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said, “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“But--”
“-- But I’m better, yeah.”
Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing.
“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.
She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”
“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.
After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts.
“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.
“They almost killed me. You saved me.”
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