Hello! I am Otter or Pearl, don’t mind which name you use, I use she/they pronouns. We are an adult!
We are a system with a variety of headmate sources, including Sanderson’s Cosmere, MCYT, and Project Hail Mary. Feel free to reach out if you’re looking for sourcemates!
Current fandoms are Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere, and Project Hail Mary. I do reblog shipping stuff!
I run many Cosmere RP blogs, @renarin-kholin-truthwatcher, @forever-a-lawwoman, @studier-of-spores @i-will-gain-power @small-dark-shape @councillor-of-gods @fencing-my-passion @motifs-and-lies
I’m feeling bad for Rlain again. Imagine learning that your friends and community were not fully wiped off the map and then like three days later you’re stuck in the horrible racism tower indefinitely. It’s cruel Brandon, give the guy a break seriously
NOTICE FOR PSYCHOTIC PEOPLES LIKE ME AND THE NEW TOMODACHI LIFE: Please please pretty pretty please be careful while playing Living the Dream, esp if you’re currently unmedicated!!!
The game treats the Miis like they’re real people and makes zero mention ever that they are not, and only ever refers to them and their POV as if they are real and you are their caretaker! While playing this honestly messed with my head pretty badly at times and made me worry a lot on if I was hurting real people/not doing enough for real people while I was playing!
I cannot imagine how much worse this would be for someone who’s unmedicated, non-dormant, or experiencing breakthrough symptoms! Do please be careful and PLEASE remember to have a way to reality check yourself while playing the game!!!
Also: If you’re not psychotic, please reblog this anyway!!! It may not seem like a big deal to you but these kinds of things are REALLY important to know for us psychotic folk in a world that is both hostile and negligent to us and our needs!!!
Things had been going suspiciously well. That should have tipped Waxillium off, to be honest. This past week, Wayne had begun to come out of his shell enough that Wax had decided it was safe to start properly training him. He'd have gone stir crazy sitting around much longer anyway, even practicing with his new dueling canes - and the bendalloy Wax had painstakingly procured for him, because, in a stroke of luck, Wayne was a Misting with an ability uniquely useful in their profession.
Yesterday, Wax had brought Wayne along for his first 'official' day of work. It had been nice and quiet. They'd broken up a pub brawl, where Wayne had proven spectacularly useful - he was fast, scrappy, and he could talk circles around people in a way that had left the violent drunks baffled and disoriented. Waxillium had had easy work after that. He hadn't heard Wayne talk that much at once before, and found it both charming and relieving to see his personality begin to reemerge. It had been such a success that Wax hadn't even scolded him for "trading" for a bottle of whiskey from the owner of the tavern. It had been rusting good whiskey, anyway. Too good for his steel shavings, even.
He hadn't let Wayne have more than half a glass. Some part of him needed to be the responsible one. A good example. Rusts. He hoped he was up for the challenge.
Today, there wasn't much happening either. Contrary to the belief of some people in Elendel, Roughs towns didn't have six shootouts per day. Most crime was on a much smaller scale, or quieter, or both. You tried to avoid shooting each other, in fact, since that was a good way to avoid getting shot. Not to mention wasting bullets, and potentially drawing the attention of lawmen or wandering bounty hunters like Waxillium.
So they had been quietly walking the streets, discussing some leads they had found on the target of Wax's next proper hunt, planning how to get more information, when the sound of a gunshot, glass shattering, and a shriek had set them both running towards the main street.
Waxillium had Pushed the gun out of the shooter's hand before he had even fully emerged from between the buildings. There were three of them, facing off against one man, who stood unarmed and pale with his back against where a store window had been a moment ago. Inside the store, a woman was calling for help.
The speed bubble went up in a moment, and Wayne grasped Wax's shoulder to stop him from accidentally walking out of it. "I can take the fellow you just disarmed. I've been practicin' with these." His grip on his dueling cane in his other hand was steady. So different from when he tried to hold a gun.
Waxillium hesitated. He looked between the men across the street. Only one of the other two had a gun already drawn, but the second seemed to be in the process. He hadn't meant to have Wayne in the thick of it so soon, but it would have inevitably happened some day. The kid didn't seem afraid, at least. If anything, there was an excitement to his determined stance. He'd been living the Roughs life for longer than Wax had. He could handle himself in a brawl against one man, surely.
"Be careful," Wax warned, "Don't get in over your head. I can handle him if I have to."
"Won't have to, Wax." Wayne gave the edges of the bubble a measuring look. "Three seconds. Two. One. Go."
Waxillium's bullet hit the man already holding his gun in the shoulder, dropping him, and the weapon to the ground.
Without giving another glance at Wayne, sure that he was bare of any metals now that he'd drank his bendalloy, Wax tapped weight and Pushed again, sending the other gun careening away, and the two men ahead of him tumbling in the dirt.
To their left, Wayne had pounced on the third man, wrestling him on the ground.
Waxillium rushed forward, mistcoat flaring, gun at the ready.
The injured man was backing up on the ground, clutching his shoulder. The other stumbled to his feet, wide eyed as he took in Wax's appearance. Then, he bolted.
A moment later, he was back on the ground with a calf bleeding from a fresh bullet wound.
Waxillium sighed, turning back towards where Wayne was fighting, intending to help- when another gunshot rang. That one hadn't been his.
The bandit by the destroyed storefront, one arm hanging uselessly at his side, was holding a different gun, now aimed straight at him. One that had ended up in his vicinity by Waxillium's last Push.
Sloppy.
Wax deflected the bullet that came for him and shot the man right between the eyes.
Then, he turned to check on where the first shot had landed.
And froze.
The third man, the one Wayne had been fighting, was helplessly trying to move away on what appeared to be a broken leg.
In front of him, in the dust, Wayne was bleeding out.
The dust was taking on the color so rapidly, the bullet wound in Wayne's lower chest sluggishly spurting blood with his heartbeat.
As Wax dropped to his knees beside him, he could hear Wayne's struggle to breathe.
"You're alright," Wax lied, reaching out to press both hands atop the wound. It was what you were supposed to do with bullet wounds, but he could hear that a lung had been punctured. There was no one who could fix something like this.
The kid would die here, only weeks after having been spared the noose.
He'd die here, and it was Wax's fault for bringing him into this, for letting him join this fight, for expecting him to keep himself safe with only a pair of dueling canes he hadn't even begun to master. A beginner lawkeeper couldn't look after a deputy, Wax couldn't look after a sixteen-year old kid, and now he was kneeling over that kid and watching him bleed.
"I'm sorry," Wax whispered, not trusting his voice, "You did good." Wayne, who still looked so lost whenever he wasn't putting on a front. Who hated what he'd done so much that he couldn't even begin to fathom why Wax would give him a second chance. Who was so kind to horses and had horrible nightmares every night and had begun making strange trades rather than stealing because he was "tryin' to be on the straight and narrow now."
It had lasted less than a month in total. Wayne's life... wasted. He'd never fully be the confounding, whimsical boy Wax had only begun to see small glimpses of. He'd never recover, or grow.
He'd leave Wax back on his own.
Wax bowed his head, fighting back helpless tears.
"... ironic," Wayne rasped, "Here I am, gettin' shot during a robbery." He coughed a wet cough, and Wax didn't need to look up to know there was blood in it.
It was a miracle he was speaking at all.
"Save your breath," Wax murmured, almost on instinct. As if it would make a difference.
Wayne scoffed. "Naw, just... gimme a second. Rust and ruin, that hurts."
Was his voice becoming... stronger somehow? His breaths less raspy and labored?
Waxillium raised his gaze, staring at the wound underneath his hands. The wound that was no longer losing fresh blood.
Disbelieving, he carefully spread his fingers to get a better look.
The bullet hole closed as he watched on.
Wayne groaned in exhausted relief.
There was nothing but unblemished skin under Wax's hands. Bloodied, but whole.
He pulled back his hands and... couldn't resist the urge to gently poke at where the bullet wound had been moments ago. It really was gone.
"You're a Bloodmaker." That was the only explanation, but Wax still needed to voice it out loud to himself. He still had Wayne's blood all over his hands and clothes. A minute ago, the kid had been about to die - inevitably, because of a mistake Wax had made in bringing him along in the first place. And now he was completely fine. The intensity and the up and down of his recent emotions left him feeling strangely absent as he tried to process. He was relieved, but the fear was still there, clinging to his bones. He'd almost lost his deputy.
"... yup," Wayne said, slowly pushing himself to sit up, "That's all my health gone though. I ain't stored any since before... then."
Wax nodded, grateful for Wayne's nonchalance and practical thinking. This was information Wax needed.
... the fact that Wayne was a Bloodmaker was also information Wax should have had before. How had he never paid enough attention with his steelsight to spot metalminds on Wayne's body? This changed a lot of things, enough that his mind was refusing to grasp onto any of them in detail at the moment.
He decided not to have the conversation right now.
"If you're all healed up," he said instead, "Help me get these men ready for transport to jail."
Wayne winced. "Right. We did a number on 'em. You hurt at all?"
Waxillium shook his head, feeling a dash of amusement. "It's all your blood."
"Ah. Good." Wayne gave him a crooked grin, but there was hesitance in his eyes as he patted Wax's shoulder. "I'm fine, Wax. Let's go."
They wrapped everything else up without any more mishaps. It turned out, the man the bandits had been trying to rob was a former member of their gang who had run off with a sizable amount of valuables. He'd slipped away in the aftermath of the fight, but Wax had tracked him down easily enough that afternoon. He'd sent Wayne home early, and was surprised to find him bundled up on the rickety couch that served as his bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket.
"You get 'im?" Wayne's voice was scratchy and tired. There were circles under his eyes that hadn't been there when they'd parted.
He was storing health.
"Easily," Wax responded, hanging his hat and mistcoat beside the door. There were four other hats on the hooks, somehow.
Wayne hummed. "Checked in with the lady with the broken store window?"
"Uh..." Why would he need to do that?
"Wax. She might give us somethin' for free, onnaccount of us stopping that shootout right outside her place!"
Wax eyed Wayne for a moment, noting the half-grin on his face. Maybe 'free stuff' was his excuse for genuinely wanting to check in. It was a very Roughs way of doing things.
"I'd argue I was responsible for most of the shooting," Wax said dryly, crossing over to the tiny kitchen area their temporary living space provided. The stove was gas, a small luxury out here, and Wax placed the kettle over the flame to boil water for tea. He kept his gaze on his hands as he went through the motions. "How are you feeling?"
"Normal," Wayne responded without missing a beat, "Storing sucks, but I can do it bit by bit in off hours. I'll be good to go again whenever."
Wax paused. That wasn't what he'd meant. But it was unsurprising in a sad way that that was where Wayne's mind had jumped immediately. He was a good kid. Eager to prove himself, now that he'd been given a second chance.
"I'm sorry I got you shot," Wax said slowly, deliberately, "I'll be more careful in the future."
Wayne snorted, then coughed. "Mate, it was a gunfight. Folks get shot, and I bounce back." He was silent for a moment. Wax watched the kettle sit there atop the stove.
"... sorry I didn't tell before. Didn't think you'd take it to heart like that. I mean, what's another miscreant shot, right?" He laughed, but Wax didn't.
"I didn't save you from the noose just to have you bleed out on my watch, Wayne. I'm glad you're a Bloodmaker, but you did scare me."
That actually shut the kid up.
The kettle was what interrupted the ensuing silence, and Wax lifted it off the stove.
"... 's just my thing," Wayne murmured, finally.
Wax thought he understood. There was something about feruchemy that felt more personal than allomancy did. Maybe because you kept bits of yourself outside of your body. Maybe because of the meaning of their Terris blood.
Metal is your life. Metal is your soul.
"Not a lot of us out here," Wax said, "Not when the Terris have guaranteed comfort in the city."
Wayne sneezed. "... why'd you leave, then? Could've traded the mansions for the Terris lifestyle 'stead of this."
Because it was stifling. Because no one would give me answers. Because a child almost died and the Elders were angry at me for what I did to save him.
"... I wanted to make my own path," Wax said, turning to face Wayne, "Neither of the two options were right for me."
Wayne blinked back at him, a little bleary, but clearly paying rapt attention anyway. Like Wax was a puzzle he was in the process of solving. Then, he grinned. "That path could be a lot smoother if you'd brought some of that noble money with you."
Wax grimaced. "You'd like that. A higher bendalloy allowance."
"I'm just sayin'..."
Wax shook his head with that growing fondness he had begun to feel for Wayne, and moved both their steaming cups over to the couch table.
"I'm going to be keeping an eye on when you store health, but I also need you to be honest with how much you have. This could be invaluable."
Wayne nodded. "Reckon I'll get shot at again soon enough. Better get used to it."
Wax considered that uncomfortable reality, and briefly thought of Miles, who may have some experience to share with Wayne. If he didn't insist on shooting him, that was. So maybe not. Not yet.
"... I still want you to avoid getting shot when you can help it," he said instead, giving his best firm look.
Wayne gave him a mock salute. "Yes, sir. Ain't exactly pleasant anyway." He paused. "You still got blood on your pants."
Wax sighed, regarded his tea with longing for a moment, then stood up to change, leaving Wayne - exhausted but whole - to cradle his own cup in one hand. The other tapped fingers thoughtfully against his sleeve, where, hidden under fabric, it was met with the solid resistance of a golden metalmind.
It's still so strange to me how apparently taboo it is to like a post on someone's Instagram from a month ago when there are posts still circulating on Tumblr from 1550 BCE
You know i don't usually like trends involving illegal entrance into buildings but speedrunning a cult's building is actually so fun to watch. Go on Scientology speedrunners.
it's so like. when someone who's never been into MCYT says they hate MCYT I roll my eyes sooo bad because like you don't GET IT you were never invested in this YOU DON'T GET IT AND YOU NEVER WILL... but when someone who obviously dearly loved MCYT like I did says they hate MCYT I hold them closely in solidarity because yeah man. fuck all minecraft youtubers and streamers
Various Shapes of Nonsense @mysticotta - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
