#(( v. just take a jump. || commonwealth ))

[weywardwisdom]

Here's a heads-up for First Peoples—people who've died are named in here.

Dear sight-seers, cruising life’s highways and byways,

Is it time to change down a gear? Not every road is straight. I know I’m not!

Curious thing—from the city of Tarndanya, it’s right-hand turns, all the way to Narrung. So if you do chuck lefties, you could end up anywhere.

Enter my eldest sibling. He haughtily said anywhere else was better than ‘this hell-hole’. To be fair to Narrung, I'm guessing his visit did not make him an expert on the place.

So, born on Kaurna Lands, how did I end up here?

Enter Ngarrindjeri elder, Matt Rigney. He kindly let me stay in his family shack. He took me walking on his people’s lands. He lit a fire and we bathed in the warm spicy smoke. We drank from fresh rock pools. We breathed in clean cold air. The sun turned the waves on the lake into a trillion shining stars. He said, ‘I had a dream last night. You are walking these lands and your hair is white, and you pick up rubbish.’ My health got better. I found my own place.

But then—whose eyebrows were raised? Who chucked this little leftie? Socially speaking, that is.

Enter the local police officer who questioned me:

‘Why are you here?’

‘Why do you not have your friendly hat on?’ I wanted to say. The law-abiding me said:

‘Because my kids and I like camping’.

We were making the most of the last weekend of the summer holidays. I had no idea that the Narrung Reserve would be so crowded. There were over fifty campers. The place was packed with tents and vans, with beer-cans and stubbies strewn about. No doubt, a lot of alcohol had already been drunk.

So I was puzzled. Why was the long arm of the law singling out cold stone sober me? Then the penny dropped—we were the only ones camping in a tipi.

Why was the tipi a problem? Yes, I confess to cultural theft. But back in the 1990s I was clueless and just loved how it felt.

I looked about. For the first time, I saw people wearing bilious blotchy warrior green. I saw rifles leaning against utes. I saw lots of hunting dogs. My spirits fell. Did all these people come here for the duck-shooting season? Did we fit the profile of protesters?!

Ok, the right-wingers didn't physically chuck us out. But they tossed dead stinking carp into the tipi. Yes, in stinking hot weather. They cut the tipi's ropes too. Did they hope it would fall down and we'd go away?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narrung is still a craven haven for humdinger right-wingers. How do I know? I confess. I do belomancy—which I take to mean finding out stuff by bellowing!

Also. I read. Here’s few fun facts. Did I say ‘fun’? Delete 'fun'. Replace with 'bum'.

~ No one but stinger right-wingers have been voted into the Australien Parliament from the Narrung polling booth (Division of Barker). No one else.

~ In 1998 voters at the Narrung polling booth moved even more to the right. Most people voted for ‘One Nation’. The party’s leader doesn’t like lefties:

‘For too long conservative Australian values have been undermined by woke, lefty-Liberals’ (2023, Pauline Hanson Targets Woke Lefty Liberals).

~ In 1998, Ngarrindjeri elders went to the Highest court in the land. Why? They were looking after their lands and waters. They lost. Out of 7 judges, only Justice Michael Kirby ruled the ‘race power’ should not make things worse for First Peoples. He said:

‘It seems unthinkable that Nazi race laws could be enacted under the race power and that this Court could do nothing about it’ (2012, ‘Hindmarsh Island Bridge case’, Kartinyeri v Commonwealth, quoted in Removing Racism from Australia’s Constitutional DNA).

~ Give First Peoples a Voice to Parliament ? ‘No!’ said 78% of voters here in 2023. Yet 72% of First Peoples across this land said, ‘Yes’! (2023, Booth by booth, Indigenous Australians backed the Voice).

~ If voters at the Narrung polling booth move any more to the right, they can jump in the lake. Really, they can!

Can a bird fly with only one wing? No, but it can still do shit.

Enter a couple doing just that at the Narrung Hall:

Narrung is over-run with fierce little white aunties. Like Aunty Gay, Aunty Green, Aunty PC, Aunty Book, Aunty Sook, Aunty Art, Aunty Smart, Aunty Migrant and Aunty Making-Time-To-Sit-And-Study-The-Ants. The noisiest of all those white anties is Aunty Leftie. Ok, ok, that pun doesn’t work if you’re speaking King’s English.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you ever wonder when the right became damn-well right, and the left became a threat?

No? That’s ok. I’m going to tell you anyway. The right-wing / left-wing thing has been in English since the 15th century.

How do I know? Ambulomancy—which I take to mean finding out things by ambulation. Not by chasing ambulances. That’s just silly.

The first ambulances, by the way, were used for carting blood-spurting, hurting soldiers off the battle ground. It’s from the French ‘hôpital ambulant’—walking hospital (OED).

(Image of ambulance, by Jeanette Rowe; feet by Freepik; & text added by my Wyrid elf; fair use)

And snap—the right-wing / left wing thing began in battle too. The killer command of the day was:

‘Þan assayle þou his lyfte wynge wiþ þyriȝt’—Then you attack his left wing with your right (1450, my translation of the English translation of the 4th century Latin, De Re Militari, by the Roman war expert, Vegetius, OED).

And yes, the English were copycats. So. Enter the Roman commanders who started it. How? They put their top Roman troops into the thick of things—centre stage, so to speak. They didn’t trust the armies of their allies. The weakest links were sent to the ‘alae’—the wings. In Latin, that’s ‘dextera ala’—right wing, and ‘sinistra ala’—left wing. Also.

~ The English ‘dexterity’ first meant ‘on the right’, And ‘sinister’ meant—bad evil scary horror movies! Oops, no. It meant on the left (OED).

~ Back then turning ‘sinister’ was not such a bad thing. It meant going against the sun. Or anti-clockwise—as in:

‘A hundred Knights Circling the sad pile with sinister rites’ (1615, Relation of Journey, George Sandys, 84, OED)

So who made the right good and the left downright dodgy?

Are you sitting comfortably? It’s a story—of killer kings and starving bird-lovers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enter the right royal spoiled king of France, the one called Louis. The name means ‘warrior’. There had been 15 other Louis before him. So Louis 16th had a lot to live up to. But going to war needed money—a lot of money that Louis 16th didn’t have. Nor did his people. But he made them pay more tax anyway. One problem. It was 1789.

The French people swore they’d have no more war. They wanted to make the world a better place—for everyone. They wanted peace. And they wanted to keep pigeons. Who doesn’t love pigeons? They are cute coo-ers.

In France, those mini dodos were prized as powerful poo-ers. Prized for poo? Yep! Pigeon droppings were high in saltpetre, needed for gun-powder. Who needed the most un-powder? Their wicked warrior King Louis.

Thing is, in France, only the king’s cronies had the right to keep pigeons. And they built very fancy pigeonniers to keep them. Thing is, flocks of pampered pigeons get very hungry when there’s drought and the crops fail. That took place in 1788. Those feathered free-loaders would fly down and feast on meagre grain crops. Bread prices rose sky high:

‘Common people spent 88 percent of their income on bread compared to 50 percent in normal times’ (Drought and the French Revolution: The effects of adverse weather conditions on peasant revolts in 1789).

It was illegal to shoot them—the pigeons, that is. So guess who went hungry! Not the king and his cronies. They had plenty of pigeons to feast on. In 1789, the people wanted to eat. They wanted the high-taxing king and his cronies off their backs.

(‘Le Tiers-État portant le Clergé et la Noblesse sur son dos’)

The people wanted the right to keep pigeons too. But did Louis 16th agree? No. He belonged to a long throng of rulers who saw pigeons as their crowning glory. He locked the people out of ‘the traditional meeting hall’ (2013, Turn left for the revolution).

So the people said phooey to King Louis! But the only place they could find for their own meetings—their awesome dawning democracy—was a Paris tennis court.

To be fair, they did invite the nobs too. But the score was not love-all, when all important votes were taken at their ‘Assemblée nationale’. If you backed free pigeons for all, you went to the LEFT WING. If you wanted private pigeon-keeping to remain, you went to the RIGHT WING—whereupon a fat-cat aristocrat spat his comforter and confessed his anti-left bias:

‘Those of us attached to their King and their Religion positioned ourselves to the right of the presiding member, in order to avoid the shouting and the indecent language coming from the other side…I absolutely could not sit on the left’ (Turn left for the revolution).

And then all the right-wingers moved to Narrung. So they could keep doing their right-wing thing without anyone stopping them. Sigh! Ok, I might have stretched the truth. Right-wingers live elsewhere too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ NOTE to the groovy ‘oo’ in you—this travel guide is sponsored by nothing more than an old leftie's love of calling a spade a spade. After all, how many tools of cruel capitalist tyranny does a person really need in their shed? Or their head?

~ NOTE to the cheeky ‘ee’ in me—judging Narrung by its right-wingers is like judging the sea by pufferfish. Not everything is toxic.

~ NOTE to the esteemed ‘elves’ in ourselves—thanks for making time to come out and play.

And now, are you ready to chuck, ah, er, um, head to Narrung?

[atomcursed-archive-blog]

@againsthedark liked for a STARTER!

Margo had already lost her patience. Honestly, being taken hostage wasn't something she had planned on dealing with. It didn't help that the raider who's arm was around her neck wasn't grasping that she was travelling alone. Bullshit, he insisted, claiming no one was stupid enough to do that, not in that area, especially not some scrawny girl. He kept demanding to know where her companions were, screaming about how if they didn't come out he was going to blow her head off. His forearm pressing against her throat was irritating her, brows furrowing and nose wrinkling.

It was just as she was getting ready to attempt her escape, that a man in a trench coat, a man who obviously wasn't human, stepped out from behind a bus, a gun of his own raised. Oh, well that was interesting.

"Ha, I knew it! You're lucky I'm so patient, or your little friend here would be dead on the ground asshole. Now hand over your gun and your caps before I kill her!" The raider screamed, making Margo lean her head away, grimacing. He was obnoxious. Cocking a brow at the stranger, she looked at him as if to say 'What's the plan?' If he could distract the guy well enough, then Margo could easily get away from him.

[impossiblesuitcase]

Cut, Comb, Detangle, Repeat - part v.

Epilogue: Repeat (In Your Forever, Till For That Long It Lasts)

v.

“The floor is lava!”

The prince and princess of the Eastern Commonwealth were running around the New Beijing Palace garden, feet sloshing through the dewy grass. It was hard to tell that the children were royalty when they were running around and playing as they were now. They just looked like normal kids.

Four-year-old Peony had laid out picnic blankets and was jumping from one to another to evade the pretend lava. She teetered on a particularly long jump.

“No!” she cried as her toes kissed the grass. She dug her heels to plan her next jump and glanced over her shoulder.

Rikan stood at a distance. She yelled after him. “Come on, Ri! Come play!”

Rikan looked around, squinting at the grass. He’d played the game countless times before, but with just a thought, he could imagine a way to make it more fun. More realistic.

Concentrating, he pictured the grassy floor as oozing lava. The blankets and leaves as rocky stepping stones. And where else would lava be found, but under the Earth’s crust? Or perhaps, in a volcano. Either way, the air would be musty and hot, and the sky red and dark under the cavern of a volcano’s walls.

With the entire scene imagined, Rikan sought out Peony’s bioelectricity and slotted the vision into her mind.

Her shriek was ear-splitting.

———

It was a mild autumn afternoon, and Cinder forwent the stuffy indoors for the gardens. Her youngest daughter was fast asleep, and Cinder cradled her while responding to comms on her retina.

She was sad Kai couldn’t join them — being tied up in a meeting — but she was glad anyway that the children could have some time to play outside. Rikan and Peony were running around and from the sounds of laughter, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The joy fled when a scream spiked the air.

Cinder jumped to her feet but didn’t need to rush over — within a second, Peony was crashing into her legs with wild sobbing. Cinder set her other daughter on the bench and brought Peony into her arms, not knowing whether her soothing voice would be heard over the frantic cries.

After a moment of trying to calm her to no avail, Cinder glanced up at Rikan. She beckoned him over.

“What happened?”

Rikan sheepishly refused to meet her gaze. “Nothing.”

Cinder didn’t need her lie detector to know he was lying. “Rikan,” she warned.

He finally looked at her, and broke into panicked defence. “I didn’t mean to scare her, I swear! I just wanted to make it more fun and Peony said the floor was lava. I thought she’d like it!”

Cinder stroked Peony’s hair as she processed his words. “What exactly did you do, Rikan?”

He stayed quiet, telling her all she needed to know.

“Rikan,” she began, stern but not harsh. “Did you use your glamour to make Peony see actual lava?”

He stilled, and eventually, slowly, nodded.

She sighed. Peony was still hiccupping and snivelling and her youngest was now waking up and Cinder couldn’t deal with all of this at once. “Rikan, go get your bags and toys.”

He left obediently, and when he returned, Cinder instructed him to take his other sister’s hand.

They walked back to the palace, Peony still desperately holding onto Cinder in fear that anywhere else but her mother’s arms would be fire and magma and terror.

———

“What happened?” Kai whispered.

Cinder rummaged through the linen closet as Kai leant against the wall. Peony was now asleep in his arms, with her head tucked under his chin.

She had been inconsolable the whole evening, too young to understand that what she had seen was a glamour and not reality. Rikan had hung his head all evening and lazily picked at his food at dinner. Now he was in the living room as instructed, waiting for Cinder to return.

“They were playing, and Ri glamoured her into lava.” She handed Kai a blanket to tuck around the child.

He groaned. “We’ve talked to him about this,”

“I know,” she said, exasperated. “But I honestly don’t think he realised he was doing anything wrong.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No, I’ll do it.” She reached up and brushed a kiss to his mouth. “You get Peony ready for bed. She won’t sleep tonight unless it’s with us.”

He nodded and left as Cinder stalled by the doorway. With a deep breath to compose herself, she entered the living room. Rikan sat on the couch, worrying at his lip.

“Hi, bǎo bao,” she called. He pressed his knees together as she sat next to him.

“Hi Mama,” he murmured.

“Now, do you know what you did wrong today?”

He launched into his excuse. “I only wanted to make it more fun for Peony!”

“I know that,” she said calmly. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. But that doesn’t make it right. What did you do wrong?”

Rikan fidgeted, gripping the fabric of his pants. “I…manipulated Peony. I scared her.”

“Mhm. Ri, how old are you?”

“Eight.”

“And Peony is four. Imagine if I had manipulated you into seeing scary things like lava when you were four. How would you have felt?”

Rikan’s eye twitched in a way that indicated he was thinking deeply. “I would have been terrified,” he confessed.

Cinder tilted his chin up towards her. “Because you are older, you know more than your sisters. You knew that it was just a glamour, but they won’t. And because you know, you have a responsibility to do the right thing.”

She lifted the short on her left leg, exposing the part of her thigh where burnt tissue met metal. “You remember how I became a cyborg, Rikan?”

He traced the swivelling lines on the scarred flesh. “Levana burnt you in a fire.”

“But do you remember why she did it?”

“Because she hated you?” he guessed.

Cinder shook her head. “Because Levana’s sister burnt Levana in a fire. And because my mother had done that, Levana did the same to me. Do you see, darling? Our glamours are very powerful, and if we misuse them, we can hurt people. So can you promise me that you’ll be careful with how you use your glamour, particularly on those who are younger than you?”

Rikan nodded. “I promise. I’m sorry, Mama.”

Cinder smiled and squeezed his hand. “I know. Dad and I are going to decide what your punishment will be, and I expect you to apologise to Peony, okay?”

He nodded again fervently, with eyes pleading sincere apology. “Of course. I’m sorry, I really am.”

She kissed his forehead and stood. “You can do that tomorrow. Now it’s bedtime. You’re a good boy and a good brother, but you have to be careful. I do too, and so will your sisters when they’re older.”

Rikan buried his head in her hip, and Cinder empathised with his guilt. It was how she’d felt when she’d started using her glamour on people, too.

———

Cinder heard hushed humming as she walked through her bedroom door. Inside, Kai was singing to a sleeping Peony, who lay sandwiched in between them when Cinder slipped under the covers.

Kai shuffled the blankets around for her. “How did he take it?”

“Pretty well. He’s going to apologise to her tomorrow, and I’m going to be more militant with teaching them responsibility.”

Kai smirked. “Rikan will listen, but I don’t think a two and four-year-old will quite comprehend the moral dilemma behind their abilities.”

“I disagree,” she whispered to keep Peony from waking. “We should start them young. Say, ‘if Daddy had a cookie and you wanted it, is it okay to use your glamour to take it from him?’”

Kai frowned. “They couldn’t control me if they tried, not with my bio-lock.”

She rolled her eyes. “The point is to teach them in terms they will understand.”

Kai dropped the banterous tone. “I agree with you, love. I can’t teach them how to use their glamour, but we can both teach them discipline in using it.”

She looked down at their daughter. It was awful, knowing that such a sweet child had the capability to terrorise hundreds without breaking a sweat.

And although their children were kind and gentle, they truly didn’t understand that their glamours were a danger. Even as toddlers they would try to manipulate her into moving her hand or picking them up. Not out of malice, but simply because they could.

Cinder fell back against the headboard with a whimper. Kai pushed hair off her brow.

“I’m worried.” She dragged a palm down her face. “I honestly thought all the Blackburn stuff was behind me. But what happened today reminded me of my mother. She used her power over Levana, evil as she ended up, was then just a defenceless child. I don’t want that repeating with our kids.”

Kai stroked her cheek. “That’s why we’ll teach them.”

They couldn’t embrace with Peony in the way, but as they settled into their pillows his presence nestled close to hers.

Just when Cinder thought Kai was asleep, his husky voice cut through her thoughts. “They’re our kids, not Levana’s or Channary’s, and we’re going to do all we can. It will be enough.”

Cinder ruminated on his piece for a moment, then leaned over to kiss him goodnight.

———

Cinder had spent The Lunar Revolution afraid that she would turn into Levana. Kai had quelled that fear, and she had overcome it, certain that she wasn’t like her aunt, or her mother, or anyone from that wretched bloodline.

That fear returned in blaring colours once her children got older. Glamour, manipulation. It was a problem all Lunar parents faced, but Cinder regarded it as more than just a childish phase.

It sounded like the beginning of past Blackburn atrocities.

From that point onwards, Cinder and Kai meticulously taught their children to use their gift fairly. They reminded them that when they were adults, they could make the decision to dampen it with a bioelectrical lock, if they so wished.

They tried their best, but Cinder still feared that it wasn’t enough, or that she hadn’t taught them what they really needed.

Mechanics had blueprints. Empresses had protocol. In comparison, motherhood felt like a chasm of options and uncertainty.

She wouldn’t know the fruition of her efforts until there was nothing else she could do.

———

Thirteen Years Later…

———

Peony—also known as Her Imperial Highness, Princess of the Eastern Commonwealth—was glad she hadn’t inherited some of her parents’ worser traits.

Her dad, for example, put salt on watermelon. Irredeemable in her eyes.

Of her mother’s traits, Peony was glad to have dodged procrastination (instead, she’d gotten the exact opposite, and was now extremely impulsive… ). Remember that one thing Cinder had to do? That one thing that she was dreading and therefore never got around to?

Abdicating the Lunar throne did not mean that the Blackburns were free of all ties to the monarchy. Particularly when it came to all its assets—chalets, jewels, artefacts.

Yeah, Cinder hadn’t remembered either, likely on purpose. In the past she had done a rather brief skim of the assets and taken a few of the crown jewels with her. Everything else she left in the government’s hands, promising to “get to it soon!” and “come back when my kids are old enough to decide what they’ll keep.”

Sixteen years later, the department in charge finally sent all the goods to Earth, carefully packaged and protected so that “Her Imperial Majesty can discern what will be kept for the Blackburn line on Earth.”

Code for “So Selene can finally sort this out like we’ve been asking for over a dozen years.”

Now the New Beijing Palace storage rooms were filled with Blackburn paraphernalia, and Rikan and Peony agreed to tackle the task to spare their mother.

Their younger sister weaseled her way out under the guise that she was drowning in homework. The so-called drowning hadn’t stopped the youngest princess from hanging out with her friends, but Peony couldn’t blame her. Going from room to room of useless trinkets did not make a riveting afternoon.

“Am I going to have any use for Queen Esmeray’s solid gold toothbrush holder?” asked Rikan, perusing the ornaments. They were all nestled in beds of velvet, and most made out of gold or silver or crystal or any number of impractical materials.

“As long as you don’t use her actual toothbrush,” said Peony.

Rikan huffed and looked around, boredom scrawled across his face. Then, his lips tugged into a smirk. “So, virtual hearings impair fairness in the absence of a reliable jury, as the courts cannot confirm whether the jurors are seeking external resources during proceedings. It inhibits access—”

“—by disabling the anonymity of trials, where victims can’t ensure who is observing proceedings. I know,” recited Peony, tired. “You’ve studied for this. Multiple times. So many times, in fact, that I could probably take the exam on just what you’ve told me alone.”

He glared at her. “I’m allowed to be over-prepared. My life’s aspirations are resting on this!”

Twenty-one-year-old Rikan was stressing over his upcoming legal exam, and absolutely everything unrelated to it went completely forgotten. She doubted he even remembered they were on Earth when his mind was so fixated on Luna’s legal precedents and statutes.

“You could become an actor,” she offered.

He snorted. “Right. Me, because I’m so good at that.”

“They’d take you on for your title and pretty face, regardless of your acting ability.”

Rikan baulked at the comment. With a blend of his parents’ features, he was very handsome, and subject to as much adoration as his father had received at his age. He didn't mind it until people seemed to care more about his looks than his opinions. Then, he hated it.

Peony had darker hair and softer features than her siblings. She was hailed as beautiful by her proud citizens, particularly since she looked like Kai's mother, but thankfully not enough to face constant media swooning.

Rikan shuddered away his discomfort and gave the room one last scan. “C’mon, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can get to my flashcards.”

Peony rolled her eyes and followed him, peering into the next room.

It was like a museum to the Blackburns with all the priceless items on display and protected by security scanners. In the Lunar palace, maids and housekeepers often prattled on about the great history of spectres and toys that so-and-so who was her great-great something or other grandparent had treasured.

She never found any of it particularly remarkable, and today was seeming like a similarly lost cause.

“This is useless,” she grumbled. “We’re not doing anything.”

“We’re studying for my exam,” Rikan countered.

“No, I haven’t found anything yet.” Rikan had already scored some weathered books from King Cyprus’ collection, but Peony had had no such luck. “I agree with Mum—this is a waste of time.”

“No it’s not! Look here.”

He dragged her to a wall where three tall metal rods stood proud centre. According to the description, they were ceremonial poles belonging to their great-grandfather, King Marrok .

“These? What would I do with them?”

He spread out his hands. “Picture this: Giant shish kebab.”

She barked out a laugh. “You’d have to fight me to get to eat them.”

His mouth quirked. With a shared thought, he snatched up the poles and tossed one to her.

She had only a second to brace herself before he lunged forward in a fighting stance. “En guard!”

Peony swivelled the baton for better grip. She backed up three steps, gridded her feet to the floor, and surged ahead.

The two began sparring. After an undercut and three successive strikes, Peony frowned. “Do you think we’ll get in trouble for this?”

“Nah. It’s legally our stuff, and Mum would probably love to know we're defacing Blackburn property.” He grinned. “Speaking of property, what prompted the High Court to rule the Zhao Hu case as ultra vires?”

“Aren’t I the one asking the questions?”

“Yes”—a matched strike—“but you need to know the answers in order to quiz me.”

She stumbled on the rug and Rikan lowered his stick while she found her footing. “You’re overthinking this,"

He charged again. “If I fail, I can’t become a lawyer, Pe-ah.”

“Eh,” she dismissed. “Mum and Dad can get you automatic entrance.”

“That’s nepotism, and it’s bad.”

She feigned offence. “Can’t even have nice old fashioned corruption anymore.”

Rikan shifted the pole into one hand and strung the other through his hair. “I don’t think I’ll fail, but there’s always a chance and—”

Peony took advantage of his distraction, smacking his baton to the floor.

“I win,” she preened.

Rikan gaped. He shuffled backwards until he hit the velvet storage trays. “You’re right, I’ve lost my weapon. But did you expect me to have...”

He left his phrase hanging while he spun around. Peony struggled not to laugh as fished through the random items for a replacement.

He brandished his new weapon. “Aha! Bet you didn’t expect me to have a backup!”

She squinted. “It’s a hairbrush.”

His brow furrowed. “Well, yes...but how do you know it’s not a sword, that I am merely glamouring as a hairbrush?” He pulled up a quick glamour, morphing the hairbrush into a sword.

She dropped her rod to the floor. “Because when I touch it, I won’t be stabbed.”

He aimed it at her. “Or will you?”

She walked over and pried it from his hand, to which he instantly dropped the glamour.

“Okay, you won’t, it’s just a hairbrush,” he admitted. Whenever they used their glamour on each other as a joke, they made it abundantly clear that it was in fact, a glamour, as per their Mother’s insistence on being responsible.

Peony examined the silver paddle, tracing over the lines. She brought it up to the light so the sheen glimmered brighter. “It’s pretty. Did the label say who it belonged to?”

Rikan glanced at the ‘Channary Blackburn’ in golden tactile script and grimaced. “Ah, creepy evil grandmother, no thank you.”

Pushing its former owner out of mind, Peony considered the brush objectively. It was sturdy but delicate, the bristles hardly worn. She combed it through her hair to test its effectiveness, and decided immediately that yes, this she would take.

But then, she wondered if keeping their grandmother’s things would be sacrilegious to their values. Backsliding into the Blackburn past.

She tensed and looked up at him. “I need a new brush, but…would it be weird?”

Rikan stretched out his arms, shaking away his own discomfort. He lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s just a hairbrush, Peony, of course you can take it.”

Peony beamed and pattered her fingers over the hilt once again.

———

Cinder decisively ignored all the Blackburn memorabilia, and now it was finally returned to Luna, she was content to never think of it again.

The further away she was from the Blackburn legacy, the better.

She stood behind her desk with an unintentional air of authority. The clock was ticking over to noon. After lunch with Kai, she had three other meetings and legislation to approve before dinner. But even with a busy schedule, she was content.

In the office she’d inhabited for a quarter of a century, Cinder was comfortable with the predictability of her life. She cherished the stability she had as empress, as Kai’s wife and as a mother.

But a touch of spontaneity now and then was nothing bad.

“Mum? Can you help me with something?”

Peony stood by Cinder’s door, hair several centimetres shorter than it had been that morning.

“You cut it?”

“I’m realising that I’m impulsive.” Peony tossed her head around, watching the strands sway back and forth. “Can you feather the ends for me so it’s not so blunt?”

Cinder came over hesitantly. She was understandably cautious—she’d never cut hair before and hated the thought of damaging her daughter’s healthy head of it. “Are you sure? I have no experience.”

Peony grabbed her hands and pulled them out of the room. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. I trust you.”

Peony led them to her bathroom. The pattern on the tiles was hidden behind dark chunks of hair which Cinder avoided stepping in as she was handed the scissors.

“Just make it neat on the ends.” Peony ran her fingers up her back until she reached the desired length. “Up to here. I’d do it myself, but you know, dud hand.”

She’d jarred her wrist days ago after round two of sparring with Rikan. Rikan took all the blame for instigating the game, but Peony had been rather unapologetic about her own carelessness. She appeared to have inherited that from Cinder.

Cinder took a breath in and commenced the first snip. She didn’t dare to take off more than a millimetre at first.

Peony glanced over her shoulder. “Try to cut a little more than just the particles, Mum.”

“I will, I will.” After a few more miniscule snips, she grew bolder once she discerned the weight and depth of the scissors.

Her fingers knotted in a section and when she tugged too hard, Peony flinched.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” Cinder hissed. “I told you I’d be bad at this. We need a comb.”

Peony rubbed her scalp. “It’s my fault, I should have brushed it through first.”

Peony retrieved a brush from the bathroom counter. Once it was placed in her hands, Cinder realised it was Channary’s brush. The very same one that Cinder had known and used on Luna as a lonely, newly-minted queen.

Cinder stared at it, trying to discern why it was here and not still on Luna.

“It was the only thing from the Blackburn stuff that I wanted,” Peony explained.

Oh yeah, that. Cinder had done such a great job of trying to ignore it that it actually slipped her mind. She began to detangle the knot.

“...Have you seen the brush before, Mum?”

Peony’s nervous tone gave Cinder pause. Clearly, she had interpreted Cinder’s surprise as aversion.

“Yes, when I was around your age. Seventeen or so.”

When Peony stayed uncharacteristically silent, guilt nagged at Cinder.

“Don’t feel bad about taking it, darling.”

Peony’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I thought it might creep you out,” she confessed.

Cinder hesitated. “Not really, it’s just…strange to mix this aspect of my life”—she waved the brush—“with my life now.”

Peony hummed. Cinder could practically see the cogs turning in her head by the slant of her shoulders and listed head.

Once Cinder lowered the brush, Peony lifted her chin. “I was thinking about it. I know you always felt bad that people slandered us for being Blackburns. People claiming that we’d turn out like them. But I think every family has it’s bad parts, not just the Blackburns.” She shrugged. “And it’s not like Dad’s side is much better. How many unethical policies like the cyborg draft had they instituted?”

Cinder clucked her tongue in agreement. “Dozens. Believe me, I’ve spent decades as empress trying to reform all those policies.”

“Exactly.” Peony turned to face her. “But I never had to worry about all that, because you made sure none of the bad things that happened to you happened to us."

Cinder managed a smile. “You make it sound like I did something prize-worthy. I just wanted to give you what I never had. Understanding, respect. Mostly, well, love.”

That love was clear in Peony’s face. “Well, I want to give something in return. We’re the only Blackburns left, and I don’t think we’re terrible people.” She smirked and laid her palm on the brush. “This reminds me of what our ancestors did, but one day, my kids aren’t going to think of it as ‘evil Queen Channary’s brush.’ They’ll think of it as mine. There’s no more hurt in it.”

With quiet tenderness, Peony wrapped Cinder’s metal fingers around the handle. “Let’s take the hurt away from the Blackburn name, Mama.”

Cinder grasped her daughter’s hand. Their grips were alike, firm and steady but never too harsh. Close but not cramped. Soothing, as though the very molecules of shared space emanated comfort. It was love, not based on some survivalist maternal instinct, but something carefully nurtured.

Cinder’s cheeks stretched in a proud, grateful smile. She had nothing to worry about, not when her children had grown up to be more brilliant than she could’ve ever envisaged. Far more brilliant than herself.

She enveloped Peony in a hug. “Thank you. You are so wise.”

“I got it from you.”

“But you didn’t really,” she insisted. “I got my wisdom from everyone else."

Peony lay her cheek on Cinder's. “That’s what families are for.”

A lightness came over Cinder as she turned back to her work. A few cuts later, she stopped to evaluate. “Okay, that looks good. I think,” she cringed.

Peony laughed with exasperation. “I trust you, Mum. For as much as I love you, I wouldn’t have let you come near me with scissors if I thought you’d ruin my hair. That’s why I didn’t ask Rikan to do it.”

Cinder’s heart panged. Rikan had been studying Lunar law on the neighbouring moon for the past month after nailing his exam.

“I bet he’s been eating junk food this whole time. I’m going to nag him about it.” Peony glanced back at Cinder mid-laugh and frowned. “I know what you’re thinking, Mum. It’s not forever.”

“I know,” Cinder said sadly, laying her chin on Peony’s shoulder. “I just miss him.”

“Aren’t I a good enough consolation?”

“Decent,” Cinder teased. With a once-over, she pushed Peony to the mirror. “All done.”

Cinder flipped the brush from hand to hand as Peony inspected the cut. She caught a glimpse of herself and the smile lines around her mouth, which she had been first surprised to discover until Kai had told her that she was always smiling. He too wasn’t immune to the effects of ageing and now had some grey threaded through his sideburns. It made him no less handsome.

“It’s exactly what I wanted!”

“Phew, I feel marginally better,” Cinder laughed. She slid the brush through the hair once more, but Peony coaxed the hand back up.

“Keep going. I like when people brush my hair.”

Cinder grinned and began to comb in a rhythmic pattern. “I heard it shows the trust between the individuals,” she recited, not remembering the source. “That’s why it’s common in families.”

“Where’d you hear that from?” Peony murmured in a low, relaxed tone.

Cinder paused, the memories flooding back both naturally and via retina recall. Her sister Linh Peony and Iko in the bathroom at Phoenix apartments, Peony cutting Cinder’s hair.

Now it was still New Beijing, but in a palace, and Cinder cutting a different Peony’s hair.

How things came full circle.

“It was my sister. Actually, it’s probably not even true. She was always reading scams on the net.”

“I think it’s true. Do you like it?”

She set down the tool. How many times had Cinder’s friends and family cared for her by brushing or cutting or touching her hair? It was far more than she’d ever realised, and too many to remember each occurrence.

She kissed the girl’s cheek. “I do. And you look lovely.”

Linh Peony had been right. On Luna, Cinder had had a mother and a cousin and friends who loved her, of which she had lost some and regained others. She’d had her sister, the family given to her who she loved and adored and missed.

Cinder was pieces of all her family, good and bad. She kept the good in mind: Linh Peony and Iko, Kai, even Torin at times. The rampion crew of course, and now her own children. It was more real than any of the token families she’d known in the past.

Peony’s copper eyes went dark as the sun dipped behind a cloud. “Thanks for the haircut, Mum.”

“Auntie Iko would’ve done it if you’d asked. Or Uncle Thorne, for that matter."

Peony stuck out her lower lip. “Nah, I’ll stick with you.”

It was past noon now, and Kai would be waiting for her at lunch. When she left, Peony would leave a message for him: ‘do not ruin a perfectly good slice of watermelon with salt.’ Cinder would laugh and deliver the message faithfully, and Kai would say that their daughter was just as headstrong as her mother.

The sun returned its light to the room. Cinder squeezed Peony tight, just because she could, and resolved to keep this in her heart in case she ever forgot.

Cinder wouldn’t stay away from the Blackburn legacy, because it was them, and there was nothing she wanted more.

Notes

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

Cinder’s children are called Rikan and Peony in this fic though I personally think they would have these as middle names or nicknames rather than first names. However for ease of readership and to keep with the consistency in the fandom I've written them without specifying whether they are such. For that same reason, I haven’t provided their second daughter’s name because it would be OC.

taglist: @just2bubbly @lunamaximoff22 @spherical-empirical @gingerale2017 @shelbylmkaider @cinderswrench @zephyr-thedragon

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

Can I request how the guys would react to a SS who plays guitar and they find one in an abandoned building or something and SS starts playing it for them? Your writing is really good btw!!

thank you for requesting! i will do this as regular companions, non romanced. thank you for the compliment, sweet anon! ;v; ❤️

-

they both explored the building with caution, pointing their gun at every corner they turned, ready to shoot anything that came their way. after clearing out most of the area, they reached the final room, slowly opening the door. “wow, this place is pretty well kept,” sole commented incredibly, “given that we live in a shithole, of course.” he looked around the room and noticed that it might’ve been abandoned only recently, seeing that they had left a lot of belongings behind, “yeah, i guess so.” as he looked through the drawers of every container to find some sort of helpful loot, unlike the useless shit sole usually picked up, he had heard an excited squeal come from them. turning around, he caught them bouncing in excitement as they held up an almost near to perfect guitar in their hands. “oh my god, it’s been forever since i’ve seen a guitar!” raising his brow in confusion, he observed the instrument himself, “do people even play these things anymore?” sole only gave him a big grin as they beamed, “wanna see me play?”

Danse:

with a disinterested and perplexed look, he’d reply, “that’s a waste of our time soldier. we have a mission to focus on.” sole would only pout and loudly complain as danse stood by his opinion, “you’re so boring! it’s just a few minutes anyway, so we’ll be fine.” unbothered, danse began scavenging through other parts of the room, ignoring their childish demeanor and averting his attention elsewhere. as he was about to reach the handle for the cabinet, he froze hearing the sound of something soothing hitting his ears. of course, his sudden jolt didn’t go unnoticed by sole, who was observing him carefully. he didn’t realize that their eyes were on his back as they continued to strum the guitar skillfully without effort, “what’s wrong, paladin? can’t focus on your mission?” they teased, enjoying the vulnerability danse began to show. “nonsense.” he was embarrassed to be caught red handed and continued to carry on as if nothing happened. sole shrugged and resumed playing until he decided to break the silence between them. “though it is a waste of time, it is an admiring talent you do acquire. it’s nice to hear something soothing in this chaotic environment.” sole smiled brightly as they jumped up from their seat, a bounce in their step as they headed towards danse, “does that mean i can keep it?” he rolled his eyes, an annoyed tone in his voice, “fine.” he really just wanted to hear sole play again.

Deacon:

“oh yeah, i’ve heard of these things. it’s called a gwatar?” he tapped his chin dramatically, pretending as if he had never seen such a thing in his life, “a geetar? well, whatever it’s called, i can totally play it.” sole would only roll their eyes, playfully shoving the guitar in his direction, “if you’re so “good”, then show me how to play.” deacon let out a hearty laugh as he raised both his hands up in defeat. “i’m kidding, charmer,” he sat on a chair nearby, leaning back as he watched them tune the guitar carefully. “unless, of course, you wanna hear the exact replica of a fork scratching a plate then don’t mind if i do. now let’s get the show rolling.” they let out a little, nervous laugh in response to his silly comment. sole began strumming the guitar and deacon leaned forward, becoming indulged in their small performance. at first, the chords sounded a little strange, some notes sounding out of place with the others but that was probably lack of practice for - well 200 years. soon enough, it began to grow melodious to his ears and a large grin formed on his face. as sole stopped strumming, deacon sauntered up to them and crossed his arms. “i’m impressed, charmer. you should totally create a dramatic tune for whenever i enter HQ.” he continued complimenting sole on the way home, secretly wanting to learn how to play the guitar himself. maybe he’ll build the courage to ask sole sometime soon.

Maccready:

“cmon sole, just leave it. besides, it’s just some doohickey someone left behind,” maccready grumbled, “it obviously wasn’t valuable enough to bring with them so why would it be of any value to us?” honestly, he didn’t mean to be so crabby but the rain soaking his favorite duster wasn’t sitting with him very well. maccready truthfully wanted to head to a hotel or a decent looking house to dry up and hit the hay for the night, but now that sole was distracted and unwilling to leave without the guitar, he figured that his wants weren’t going to be met anytime soon. “there’s no way i’m leaving this behind, mac! do you know how hard it is nowadays to find these things?” unconvinced, maccready still went on with reasons on why sole should just abandon it. he’s probably said every reason in the book - a waste of space, too heavy, useless. sole knew it would take more than talking to persuade him into letting them keep the relic. with a sly smile, they offered him a choice to even things out, “how’s about i play you a song? if you really don’t like it, i promise i’ll leave it without a second thought.” macready only huffed in irritation, “fine. let’s just get this over with so we can go home and finally dry up.” they could barely contain their joy hearing that answer and decided to get into action, wanting to act as quick as possible before he changed his mind. they hit one chord at first, trying to adjust to the feel of the guitar again and soon began playing a small, short song. though irritated at first, maccready felt himself calm down to the sound of the guitar strings being plucked in an adept manner. he looked up at sole who raised a brow, a devious smile painting their face. “well?” after a long silence and him looking back and forth between sole and the guitar, he finally gave in, a small blush dusting his cheeks. “i guess you can.” he agree, sole whispered a small. “yess!”. though a bit less cranky, he still warned sole with a less irritable look on his face, “if that thing distracts us or gets us caught during our missions, then we’re throwing it out.” sole pouted. maccready was such a whiny baby.

Hancock:

“definitely, i haven’t seen anyone play a guitar in a long while.” hancock smiled, feeling the happiness radiating off of sole. being the gentleman he is, he fetched a chair for sole to sit on so they could play comfortably. “thanks, hancock.” he leaned on the wall and crossed his arms as he watched sole tune the guitar string by string. “my pleasure.” soles eyes lit up as they found the right notes, and gave it a small strum to test the waters. they really didnt want to risk the strings snapping and somehow whipping one of their body parts. last time that happened, it left more than just a mark. “ready?” hancock sent sole a grin, “born ready, sister/brother.” sole allowed a soft breath to escape their lips and relaxed their shoulders as they began strumming the guitar effortlessly. he watched with interest, impression dancing in his eyes. he hasn’t heard anything musically pleasant since magnolia and was delighted to learn about their talent. as sole finished their song, he shot them a smirk as he draped an arm over their shoulder. “you know what? you should really play at the third rail,” he offered happily, “and don’t worry, i’ll be your biggest fan.”

Nick Valentine:

“absolutely, it would be lovely to hear something that isn’t the radio every once in a while.” nick was thrilled to hear that sole still held their prewar talents that are seldom to find in the commonwealth. nick would put his hands in his pockets, watching as sole sat down on the chair, positioning themselves comfortably. “is there any particular song you’d like, nick? i’ll tell you if i can play it or not.” nick would think for a moment, trying to go back to his earliest memories before the great war. he had told them a certain song him and jenny use to dance to in the middle of the night and soles eyes lit up, hearing that familiar title. “i remember that song, i still remember how to play it too.” nick let a small chuckle escape his lips, “i guess today is my lucky day then, huh?” they only nodded in response and began strumming the song nick had requested. of course, nick had picked a song of his favorite genre - love. a small smile formed on nicks face as he unconsciously hummed along with the song, feeling a sense of tranquility within him. he was thankful that he was given this opportunity to listen to old school music once more, believing he wouldn’t encounter it again. sole halted on her strumming to send nick a small glance, “how was that? i probably messed up on a few chords and stuff but-“

“it was perfect. thank you, sole.” nick tilted his hat upwards to look sole straight in the eye, “you should really consider playing again sometime, i would love to hear more of the pieces that you remember.” sole agreed happily, and often played it around nick whenever they had the chance to. though rare, nick would bring home a music sheet or two that he had located during his adventures for sole to practice their guitar skills.

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

Chapter VI

Story Rating: 14+ Warnings: Violence, Murder, Mentions of Murder, Language (Things added later) Summary: Y/N is Andy and Laurie Barber’s 14-year-old daughter who is a high-grade student in Archer Middle School. Her best friend, Alice Miller had been gone for a while. They search for the lost student and find out that Alice Miller’s body has the prints of Andy and Laurie Barber’s daughter, Y/N.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII

~~~

Just like Andy promised. He pulled his car out of the garage, early in the morning stopping just at the end of the lawn as he watched Laurie step down the stairs. He waited till she entered the passenger seat and he spoke, “Joanna called. She said we should meet her at the courthouse garage.”

Laurie pauses once she tugged on the seat belt, “Joanna?”

“Klein,” He adds, “The defense attorney I told you about,” He changes the gear, “She knows the system better than anyone.” He pulls out of their driveway and heads down the road.

The drive was short but it felt long to them. Andy’s hand grips the wheel, praying that his daughter is being careful and safe around the officers. She knew not to do anything stupid. He was more upset about Neal taking the case. 

That means Neal is on the plaintiff side, meaning he could wreck this whole family apart. Make stupid accusations towards his daughter. Possibly laugh in Andy’s face. Cocky son of a bitch.

Andy takes the turn and his mouth gapes at the sight of the reporters and police standing just outside the courthouse.

“Oh, my God,” Laurie gasps.

Andy takes a turn and heads into the garage down. Finding Klein standing by her car as he pulled into the empty spot just next to hers.

Andy gently grips Laurie’s hand and they jumped out. “Andy,” Joanna greets, he closes his door and shakes her hand. His wife comes around the car with a shy smile, “Laurie, I’m Joanna Klein.” Laurie takes her hand and shakes it as well.

“Pleased to meet you,” She said. Klein never released her hand, “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.” All Laurie was able to do was nod, “Thank you.” They finally let their hands go.

“I have coffees in the car in case you need one,” Joanna offered. “No, that’s okay,” Andy say, “Has Y/N arrived yet?” He asked.

“She’s on her way.”

“How is she this morning?” Laurie asks. Joanna inhales, “She’s scared, but she’s okay. A brave one, I must say,” Joanna said causing Andy to smile gently. Laurie grabs Andy’s hand as he reassuringly rubs his thumb over her knuckles. “Andy, you’ve been through this before, but never from this side. And Laurie, this will all be new to you, so I’m gonna read you both the catechism.”

Laurie nods, almost on the urge of breaking down knowing how scared Y/N could be right now. “From this moment on, until you are back home with the door closed behind you, I want you to show no emotion at all. Nothing.” 

Laurie nods. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but it’s important, okay?”

Andy looks over, “We’re potted plants.”

“Laurie?” Joanna asked, the nodding was not the answer she wanted. His wife nods, “Yes.”

“Unfortunately, every expression, every reaction will be interpreted against you. Smile and they’ll say you’re not taking it seriously. You cry and they’ll say you’re faking it. Do not answer any questions they shout at you. On TV, only the pictures matter,” Joanna continues.

Andy nods and looks down to his wife who blinks and lowers her head. “And most important, any sign of anger, particularly from Y/N, will confirm people’s worst suspicions. You have to remember that, in their eyes, it isn’t just Y/N who’s guilty.”

Laurie looks up and inhales softly. 

“You all are.”

.

Y/N stared out the security bar window, watching the kids hop onto the buses to head to school. She wasn’t going to school today. Maybe never now. She twists her fingers and hands in her lap as she felt the eyes of the passenger officer who watched her in the rear view mirror.

She kept her eyes out the window.

.

“They’re looking for confirmation, so don’t give it to them,” Andy nods and Joanna smiled, “Okay. Remember, poker faces.” Laurie nods and faces her husband as he nods his head at her. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Andy said.

The three walked out of the garage and headed up the sidewalk. Heading straight for the reporters who stood outside the front. Andy tightens his hand in Laurie’s. We’re okay.

“There they are!” Someone shouts. 

They reached the crowd of reporters and ignored all of them. They shouted in their ears, hovered phones and microphones towards their faces but they were silent. Andy felt Laurie huddle more closely to him as they walked up the stairs. 

Y/N’s name was mentioned so many times, it sounded like sirens in Andy’s head. The shouts were cut off once those doors closed and Andy stopped when Laurie did.

She let out the air she held for so long, “Oh, my God.” It looked like she was gonna pass out so he gently holds her arms. “Are you okay?” He whispers. She nods and his arm snakes behind her back, guiding her behind Joanna.

They went down the crowded halls, the eyes watching them pass by sent the hairs on the back of Andy’s neck to stand up. For the first time, he’s never been in court without being it his job.

Someone was doing it for him. For his sweet girl. They reached the courtroom and sat in the front. Andy held his coat in his arms as he waited for Laurie to sit then he did. 

His eyes wander over to the right and spotted Duffy and Logiudice who both glanced at him like they didn’t know him. He looks away with a intense stare and brought it to the front. “Now what?” Laurie asks. He leans a bit, responding with a calm voice.

“Now we wait.”

.

After 10 minutes of waiting, Andy’s palms began to sweat. His hands shifting every second as he stared at his lap with a blank expression. The flashes of the tattooed wrist with a blade in hand. He heard the door open and his eyes look up.

“Hear ye! All rise,” The man shouts, everyone in the courtroom stands up. “The Honorable Justice Rivera presiding. This court is now open. Please be seated,” Andy watched Rivera sit at her stand with a sigh.

He sat down with the courtroom and glanced at Laurie. “Good morning. Let’s get started. Bring in the defendant,” Rivera states. Andy’s chin rises to look over to the left side of the room.

The door opens to two officers with Y/N walking in between them. He was happy to not see cuffs around her wrists. The officer gestures to Joanna to have Y/N sit by her and she nods as she walks over to Joanna.

Reassuring his wife that she was okay, he reached over and laced his hand with hers.

Y/N looks over to the crowd behind and spotted her father before sitting down next to Joanna. Joanna’s hand gently rubbing his daughter’s back to keep her calm. Y/N looks over again and Andy made contact with her. 

Her scared face made him raise his brows up to give her some sign that he’s there with her and that it’ll be okay. She takes that sign and turns away, swallowing thickly.

“Indictment number 08-44-07. Common Wealth versus Y/N M/N Barber. The charge is one count of murder in the first degree,” The woman in front of Rivera states as she sits down. 

“Is the Commonwealth ready?”

Neal stands up, “Yes, it is, Your Honor,” He sits at the table, starting to pull out a file. “Ms. Klein, how does the defendant plea?” Joanna looks at Y/N and softly says her name and the two stood up.

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Joanna states.

“Let’s go to bail argument, Commonwealth?” Rivera says. Neal stands up, “Yes, Your Honor. If I may, we all know the defendant’s father, who is here with is today,” Andy saw Neal turn to him. Andy kept his blank expression. “We all have find feelings towards Mr. Barber. I, for one, have considered him to be a mentor for many years.”

Andy almost rolls his eyes at Neal’s lack of empathy. Andy wasn’t the defendant. He did not need to be mentioned since Neal wanted to be cocky that he got the case instead of his “mentor”.

“Mr. Logiudice, I presume you know Mr. Barber isn’t accused of anything,” Rivera states.

Neal grins, “Of course, Your Honor. But his history with this case is of great relevance to the argument I’d like to make regarding bail,” He says. Andy looks over to Neal, glaring at the back of that ridiculous rock that he considers a head and brain.

“Make it then, counselor.”

Neal slips a paper out, “Yes, Your Honor. Commonwealth seeks a bail in the amount of 500,000 cash, five million surety,” Andy’s head cranes back while Laurie looks at him in disbelief.

“Oh, come on,” Joanna says. The crowd began to chatter, “Commonwealth feels the defendant poses a particular risk of flight in light of the savagery of the crime-” Andy shakes his head at Laurie as she looks back at their daughter, “-and the overwhelming likelihood of her conviction,” Neal finishes.

“Your Honor, the defendant has no priors. She has no history of arrests-” Joanna starts. Rivera interrupts her.

“The court does not consider the defendant a flight risk in the least. Bail is set exactly where it was yesterday. Ten thousand. A hundred thousand surety. I’ll be sending this case to Judge French for trial, with pretrial set for August 21st.” Andy hears the echo of the gavel impact and he exhales softly.

Joanna smiles, “Thank you, Your Honor.” Andy watches as she leans into their daughter’s ear and whispers. Seeing Y/N nod, she walks over to the officers. He saw Y/N look at them worriedly.

Andy nods at her. “What happens now?” Laurie asks.

“It’s okay. They’re just gonna take her. It’s just procedural. We’ll see her in a minute.” Laurie watches her daughter disappear with the officers. “Let’s go.”

.

Andy drops the check on the form, sliding it towards the woman behind the glass as she takes it. Joanna turns to the couple, “When you get home, there are gonna be reporters. My assistant Ellen will swing by with some groceries, but you can’t stay shut in. Tomorrow you’ll run a couple of errands, you’ll fill up the tank. Whatever. Just let them get their pictures and they’ll leave you alone,” She says.

Andy writes down on the papers by the booth with the 10,000 check.

Laurie seemed to be distracted as she rushes pass Andy and he quickly looks over till the woman at the booth spoke, “There’s one more thing for you to sign.” He turns to the woman, leaning forward and looks over to Laurie.

Seeing his daughter being released by the officer’s cuffs, Laurie pulls Y/N into a hug. He stares at them for a few more seconds till the woman spoke again. “Sign here, please.”

“Sorry,” He signs the paper quickly and slides it towards her, walking away towards his girls. He sees his daughter and she holds out her arms. Withour hesitation, he pulls her into his chest. His hand caresses the back of her head, “Are you okay?” He asks.

Y/N nods, “What now?”

Andy pulls away and looks at her, “We go home. You stay close to us, okay? There are reporters out there.” Y/N nods and Laurie strokes her hair. “Come on, sweetie.”

Joanna smiles at the family before opening the door out to the front. “She’s coming! Y/N Barber!” The reporter shouts. Andy gently grasps her arm and held her close. Y/N heard the clicks and shouts of cameras and reporters shouting for her name.

Joanna fought through, making way for the Barber family. Y/N was returned back to the car safely.

.

The drive back was short this time. Looks like the reporters had already been hanging by their house for a while. Everyone scrambling for their cameras. Andy tried to ignore hitting a reporter on his way to his garage. Luckily they didn’t follow them completely up to their home. 

Once that garage door closed, Laurie let out a sigh. She pulls off her seat belt and looks behind. Andy glanced in the rear view mirror and sadly frowned at Y/N. “I don’t have the heart to wake her,” He says, Laurie glances over to see Y/N fast asleep in her seat. She reaches over and touches Y/N’s knee.

Andy knew she barely slept in that cold cell. Laurie didn’t have the heart to wake her as well, but she had to. “Y/N, sweetheart.” Her eyes slowly open and she lazily sits up. “We’re home.”

.

The family had gotten into their home safely, Andy immediately closing the blinds while Laurie tugged her coat off.

“Are you hungry? Can I make you something?” She asks Y/N. The girl rubs her eyes, “No, I just wanna sleep.” Laurie grins and kisses her forehead. Andy walked in seconds after.

“Hey,” He turns to her, “We’re really proud of you. The way you stood up there today, that took a lot of guts.”

Y/N looks up to her parents, “Yeah... it was pretty scary. More scarier than the shows we watch.” Andy manages a grin on his face. “It’s okay now.” Andy comes up to her and pulls her into a hug. 

“I love you,” He says. 

He could feel the tug on the back of his suit jacket. “Love you, too.”  He rubs her back and kissed her head. “Go get some sleep.” She pulls away from him and began to walk over to the stairs.

“Oh, and... I never got my phone back from the police.” Andy slides his hands into his pockets. 

“All right, we’ll get you another one. Maybe a new laptop too.” Y/N shifts. “They took my computer?” She asked.

“Yeah. It’s just something that happens when--” He cuts himself off, knowing she didn’t see what they did to the house. Laurie had to clean up Y/N’s room after they searched their house with a warrant. And Andy went out to search for Milo.

“It’s just something that happens,” He said.

Y/N lets out a soft okay and walks up the stairs to her bedroom. Just seconds after, the house phone rung. Laurie walks over to the phone, thinking either Joanna or Toby was calling, maybe someone who found Milo was calling.

“Hello?” She asked.

Andy glances up to see the terror rise on her face as she slowly pulls it away, “Oh, my God.” Andy rushes over and grabs the phone. “Who is this?” He asks. The phone buzzes in his ear and he hangs up the phone.

Laurie covers her face as Andy looks over. Their first threat caller. And it won’t be their last. “I’ll call the phone company tomorrow and have them change the number.” She nods weakly as he walks over to her and pulls her into his chest.

.

After a few minutes, Andy walks up to his daughter’s room. Her door was cracked open and he gently opens it. The sound of her music playing and her soft snores. He sees her turned away from him. He walks over to her bed and sees that she never covered herself in a blanket. She must’ve crashed just as soon as she got to the bed. She still laid in her jacket and shoes.

He takes the blanket from the edge of her bed and pulls it over her body. Being cautious of not waking her up, she was a heavy sleeper this time. He takes that advantage and strokes her hair before leaving the room.

Making his way down stairs (not downtown) and heads into the living room, seeing Laurie on the couch watching the News. “She’s out cold. Probably sleep through the whole night.” He looks up to the screen and reaches for the remote. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” He picks the remote up and turns it off.

Laurie turns, “Have you seen what they’re saying online? What they’re calling her?” She asked. Andy puts the remote down and his hands go to his hips. “We gotta block this stuff out.”

“They’re saying she looks smug and remorseless. She’s not even 15 years old,” Laurie says, completely heart-broken by what they’re calling her online. “Oh, honey, it’s par for the course,” Andy said. 

“What’s gonna happen when she sees this? Nothing’s ever going to be the same for her again. This is gonna follow her around for the rest of her life-” Laurie rants.

“Laurie,” Andy says, sternly. She stops, “What?” Andy shifts a bit and grazes his beard. The thoughts rushing to his head as his wife stares at him. After 17 years of not telling her, it has to come out. Either the best time or the worst time. “What, Andy?”

Andy sits on the arm of the chair, “Listen, I have to tell you something. Something that’s gonna come out soon.”

“About Y/N?” She asked.

“About me. My family. My father.”

.

.

“Y/N, before we begin, I wanna make something clear,” Joanna began, “You’re the client here. That means that as much as possible, you are the decision maker. Not your parents, not me. You.” Y/N sat at the table with Andy on her right and Laurie on her left. Joanna had sat in front of her with a pen in hand. 

“To the extent you want to leave the decision-making up to your mom and dad, that’s understandable. But by law in Massachusetts, a kid your age charged with first-degree murder is tried as an adult. So I’m gonna do my best to treat you as an adult too, okay?” She asks.

Y/N nods in response, “Okay.”

“Now then,” Joanna looks at the papers, “The theory seems to be that Alice Miller was bullying you. You got a knife, and, when the opportunity presented itself, took your revenge.” Andy and Laurie look at Y/N in confusion.

“Wait, she was bullying you?” Laurie asks.

Y/N glances over, “Not really... I mean, kind of, but-”

“What do you mean ‘kind of’?” Andy asks. “You never said anything until now. Why haven’t you told us,” Laurie asks.

Y/N swallows, “I don’t... She was a bitch to a lot of people. Not just me.” Andy’s brows furrow. “Hey,” He says, he didn’t expect her to say that about her best friend, “Well, you still should’ve told us. How was she bullying you?” Joanna puts her hand up to Andy.

“Andy, Laurie. Please.” The two turn away and go silent. The woman brough her attention back to the girl. “Now, as far the attack itself, there don’t seem to be any witnesses. You have admitted to being in the party, you went with Alice to that party. And a fellow student alleges you had a knife you would bring to school on occasion,” She says.

“That would be Derek Yoo and Henry Collins,” Andy says.

Joanna looks over, “So it is a very circumstantial case. Now, there’s the fingerprint. But fingerprints are a very limited form of evidence. Often there’s an innocent explanation.” Andy turns to Y/N.

“So you feel confident?” He asked.

Laurie looks over and sighs, “There’s one other thing.” Andy realizes what she was going for. He craned his neck a bit. After he told her, she’s gonna say it now. In front of their daughter, is she serious? Laurie looks over to Andy if he were to be the one to explain it once again. 

Y/N looks at them in confusion. “Dad?” She asks. Andy shakes his head. “You said yourself it’s going to come out. We’re going to have to deal with it. Better she hear it from us now than see it on the news,” Laurie said.

“I’m sorry,” Joanna says, “Deal with what?” Y/N looks over to Laurie. “Mom?” Laurie’s breathing was very shaky. “Apparently, there’s a history of violence in our family.”

Y/N shoots her head to her father, his head hung low. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry you have to find out this way, but it’s true,” Laurie says, gently placing her hand on her daughter’s.

“Dad, tell me what she’s talking about?”

“Y/N,” Joanna says, hearing her voice raise a bit loud. “Dad?” Y/N leans forward. Andy shakes his head, “Sorry about this, Joanna. This is my fault. Laurie just heard about this last night.”

“Heard about what?” Y/N asks for forcefully. Andy shifts in his seat, “My father, your grandfather...” Slowly, he raises his head to her, “He’s in prison. He’s been there for a very long time. Last time I saw him I was six years old. My mother took me to see him in prison right after his arrest.”

The similar words come out of his daughter’s mouth sounded just like his wife’s. “But you said you never knew your father,” Y/N said. Andy nods, “I know,” He says, “I was ashamed of him.”

Y/N jaws tenses up, “So you lied to me.” Laurie said the same thing. It crushed him, knowing he lied to his whole family. Andy inhales, “I did not tell you the whole truth. No.” Y/N’s hand grips in her lap.

“What did he do?”

Andy lets out a sigh. “He killed a girl. She was a community college student, they found her body in a boarded-up row house on Congress Ave. She was stabbed to death.” 

Y/N’s bottom lip quivers, “What?” After that no one spoken. It was silence as Andy removes his eyes from his daughter who shook in her seat. “Now I understand,” Joanna says.

Y/N’s head turns to look at her lap. “I’m not saying Logiudice won’t try to dredge this up in some capacity, but he won’t get anywhere with it,” Joanna adds.

Y/N shakes her head. “Except maybe in the court of public opinion,” She said.

“Are you sure?” Laurie asks. Andy sighs, “Laurie’s concerned that the prosecution will somehow argue a genetic predisposition.” Joanna glanced at Laurie. “I was reading about it online this morning. Apparently, there have been cases like this where that kind of thing has been used as evidence. They call it the ‘murder gene’,” Laurie states.

“That’s ridiculous,” Joanna says.

Y/N looks over but her eyes never moved off the table, “You think I have the murder gene?”

“No,” Andy says, “It’s just a phrase.”

“Our only worry is if something like this could be used against you,” Laurie says just after. Y/N turns to Joanna again. “I highly doubt it would be admissible. That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try, but if they do, we will fight it tooth and nail,” The old woman says.

Y/N stands up from her seat, “I have to go to the bathroom. I don’t feel good.” Joanna looks down the room. “Mary, would you please show Y/N where the bathroom is?” She calls.

Laurie reaches for Y/N’s hand but her daughter never grasps back when Laurie does. The woman nods, “Yeah, of course. Right this way.” Y/N follows the woman out of the room and Andy sighs.

He turns to Laurie, “Jesus Christ. Did you have to bring it up right now?” Laurie shakes her head, “She has a right to the truth. I won’t tolerate any more lying. Not from you, not from her.”

“From her? What, the bullying?” Andy asks.

“She never said a word about it. She made it sound like they barely knew each other. And the fingerprint--”

“She explained the fingerprint. She found the body, and she panicked,” Andy interrupts. Laurie’s shoulders rise up, “She never said a word about that either,” She said, “I just think we all need to come clean with each other. No more secrets.”

Andy gently nods at her and the tension slowly died. 

“Maybe this is enough for today,” Joanna said.

.

After that session, the three head to a pizza parlor in town for lunch. Some place to clear their minds, maybe discuss a few things. Andy and Laurie watched their daughter stare out the window, “You should’ve told me,” She said.

“Sweetheart, we’re all still figuring out how to process all of this,” Laurie says. Andy jumps in, “I didn’t tell anyone, Y/N. I was afraid of how people would look at me,” His shoulder lift, “Just like now I’m afraid of how people will look at you.”

“Why shouldn’t they?” She asks, she stares at them coldly, “It’s who I am right?”

“Y/N,” Laurie softly scolds. 

Andy turns, “It’s okay,” He says, looking at Y/N, “She’s angry at me, and I don’t blame her.” Andy looks up to Y/N who rolls her eyes and turned her head. Andy leans forward, “That’s not who you are.”

Y/N looks at him, “How do you know?” Andy doesn’t respond. “Maybe Mom is right. Maybe I’m--Maybe I’ve got the murder gene.”

“I never said that,” Laurie defends. “The murder gene is bullshit,” Andy said.

“Maybe not. Maybe I’m just like him-” Y/N says.

“Hey!” Andy says a little bit too loudly. He looks around, “Enough, okay? He’s one guy, one bad man. He has nothing to do with you. Don’t you see?” Andy asks, that last sentence was more harsh, “This is what I was worried about. This is why I kept it from you.” Laurie leans forward to cover her face.

“You had a right to not know. To start with a clean slate. Not have it hanging over your head like--” Andy used his hand to hover it over his head till he spots the woman come over with a pizza and watches her place it down on the table.

The woman looks at Y/N with a grin, “Thank you,” Laurie says. The woman straightens up and stares at Y/N, losing that grin she had for a second. Andy looks up and cuts her gaze with a harsh, “Thank you.”

The woman walks away causing Andy to mutter. “Shit.” Y/N looks over to the employees who spoke and stared. Then the whole restaurant did. The eyes were getting uncomfortable to Y/N. She felt like she needed to hide.

Andy stared at the pizza, feeling the eyes on them now. “Just ignore it,” He says, reaching for the fork and knives wrapped in the napkin. He pretends to be normal as he reached for the pizza.

Y/N looks away from them and watches her parents start to eat. Minutes later, she joined. And the eyes never left them till they did.

.

It was a few hours later and Andy had hung by Pam’s home for a while now. Spotting her car come in view, he takes a step into the light and her car stops. He sees her behind the wheel as she steps out of her car. He sees a girl walk out of the other side. “Andy,” Pam said.

Andy sighs, “I’m sorry. I didn’t-- I thought you’d be alone.”

“I get her every other week,” She remarks. Pam looks over to the girl, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s a friend from work. Wait here,” She said. Andy watched her leave into her home to put on the television for her daughter. He gently dragged his feet against the pavement as he waited.

Minutes after, he hears her walk up. “She’s gotten big,” He said. Pam walk passed him, “Let’s talk out back.” He follows her to the back side of her house as she lets out a sigh.

“The fuck are you doing here? You trying to get me suspended?” She asks. “I need your help,” He said.

“With what?”

“Leonard Patz,” He replies.

“Jesus Christ, Andy,” Pam said. “Come on, Duff. We both know there were red flags there,” He starts. She shakes her head, “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?” He asked. “Shit like ‘we both know’,” She says. 

“You know that if Lynn hadn’t moved on to Y/N so fast, Patz would still be on your radar.”

“How do you know he’s not?” Pam asked. Andy shivers under his coat, ”Is he?” He asked. Pam shrugs, “I haven’t forgotten about him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But he’s not a priority,” Andy said.

Pam shakes her head, “Not anymore. No.”

“He is to me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Pam said, “What exactly are you getting at?” She asked. Andy looks around, “I wanna dig deeper into Leonard Patz. I wanna see his case file,” He sounded like it should have been obvious for a cop like her. “So?” She asked.

“So, you seized my computer,” He says. Pam scoffs at him, “No one would need to know,” He says. “Even if they did, it’s not illegal. It’s just improper.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember that when I’m writing speeding tickets on the Pike,” She snaps.

“Please, Duff,” He says.

“No. I get why you’re pursuing this. I’d probably do the same thing if I was in your shoes, but I’m not,” She says. Andy’s head drops, “I’m asking you as a friend. All I need is his file.”

Her back straightens up, “A friend?”

He was confused, “What?” She grins, “Come on, man. We worked together. It’s not like we ever hung out. The first time I set foot in your house was with a warrant.”

Andy was taken back from that. He guessed the talking over the years was just waste of breath. “Wow, that’s-- I always thought we were friends. I’m sorry you didn’t feel the same way.” Pam shakes her head at him.

“Look, don’t get me wrong. You’re a good guy. But if this is what you think an actual friendship is, it’s you I feel sorry for.” Andy lifts up his head to the sound of the door creaking open.

“Mama?”

“Yeah, I’m coming, sweetheart,” Pam turns to Andy again, “Is that all or?” Andy doesn’t respond so Pam sighs and walks into her home. He turns his heel and walks off her porch. What a waste of his time and breath.

~~~

All right that’s it! I’m sleeping!

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[princess-of-france]

MARGOT What pair of reverend hypocrites were here! Didst ever hear such sacrilegious dross?

CATHERINE From the town highwayman I did, but not From fathers of our holy mother church. By my faith,—

MARGOT Which they have none.

CATHERINE Ay, faithlessly, These ministers besmirch the very weeds God graces them to wear, concealing up With rich brocade their base irreverence. Would I might shred that fabricated piety With mine own teeth! And do they thus presume Themselves baptizèd as their ancestors In holy wisdom? Is this England’s church? Is this how angels operate sur terre,   Conniving means by which an anointed king Should plunge his helpless kingdom into war, His loyal countrymen up to the ears In bloodshed, on sly promises of wealth? O, scorpions of sanctity! To pay For vicious cruelty from unhallowed coffers! To purchase death, patron annihilation, And all to block the commonwealth a law Would faintly curb the gluttony of their lives! Bon dieu, c’était une hunte!

MARGOT Mayhap his Majesty favors their fraud.

CATHERINE May God forbid it! ‘Twould be worser still, If he should sway more to the part of knaves As here complotted so degenerately In crystal comprehension their vice. Nay, Margot, I’ll not think it, for to know The hubris pricking on such hungry schemes And still accede to their ignominy, Simply to break his fast upon a battle, Would prove this gross Plantagenet so great A tyrant, so devout a harbinger Of death, as he would stymie every language For words commensurate to his depravity. No proper king could be so without grace.

MARGOT Indeed he could, and likely is, for what’s A man if not a king of rage? And what’s a king, But yet a man who may rage anywhere? This sovereign’s late aggressions blistering Our coast, from Aquitaine to Brittany, Attest his appetite for cruel abuse, Since violence sans purpose is butchery— Unless thou thinkst he rightly weighs his own Just claim, through Edward’s bitter lineage, Unto the throne of France.

CATHERINE He has no claim And shall not war with France; it is insured.

(Henry V, Part 2; Act I, scene i)

CATHERINE Didst thou Not call me Catherine?

KING HENRY V Ay, perforce I did, But only once, and many names beside.

CATHERINE How did it taste, that name upon your tongue?

KING HENRY V Like velvet wine. A Burgundy, perhaps.

CATHERINE Wouldst thou drink it again?

KING HENRY V Until I’m drunk.

CATHERINE It may give thee great pounding in thy head.

KING HENRY V Good. ‘Tis the mark of purest alcohol.

CATHERINE Mayhap the wine shall not agree with that Stout soldier’s stomach thou didst lately boast.

KING HENRY V Then argue with it will my stomach straight, Yet purge it not, nor wish I’d not imbibed.

CATHERINE And if the wine grows bitter?

KING HENRY V Drink I still. For bitterness infects us all, at times, But loving patience runs it off its track.

CATHERINE What if the wine grows discontent with waiting For some infrequent jest to spark a fire In th’ barren ice castle of a woman’s duty?

KING HENRY V The duty of a queen is to her crown, So, must she rule by him that plays the king. It is her royal right and his great need,  Or else two kingdoms fall to cold neglect.

CATHERINE Suppose the wine doth take a latent shine To some poor drinker whose lips be not thine.

KING HENRY V I do not know.

CATHERINE Nor I. I know nothing. This wine’s vintage hath not been tasted before. Then who can say what foul effect it may Engender in our blood? And what fair words Can reassure what must be kept in cruel  Obscurity, until this virgin bottle  Gurgles forth the unseen, satin prize? If thou shouldst cease to love me,—

KING HENRY V Never, Catherine.

CATHERINE Two words, too much; I prithee speak no more, Lest perjury becomes thy poltergeist And haunts thee past the brink of love forsworn. ‘Tis time, methinks, to put our vows to bed, For Time alone shall prove their verity Or our capriciousness. Come thou, sweet King, I shall believe thy rhetoric tonight; Perchance tomorrow too. Yet I do call On thy soul’s tenderness and beg thee, lord, Bestow what education thou hast gleaned With patience humbler than a shriven monk, For schoolgirls know, as scholars oft forget, That earthly wisdom hath a painful cost. Then learn me gently, learn me skillfully, Whilst I do strive to learn thy gentle skill. A herald’s work is never done, yet mine Concludes with this last, final embassy, Which thou must break thy pattern and accept Or lose to stubborn pride thy willing wife: Love me, Henry, with every breath thou hast. Leave fortunes to the future, wars to the past. Come crown thy unmade monarch; she is thine And I am yours and you forever mine.

        [Enter ALICE, two years later. She rocks a whimpering baby in her arms.]

ALICE O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars, and at his heels, Leashed in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. 

        [Enter the QUEEN, dressed all in black.]

ALICE Mais pardon. Est-ce le moment?

         [The QUEEN nods. The Queen nods. Carefully, ALICE hands her the child. They exit. Enter a funeral procession. The court of England is dressed in mourning black. A blue-and-red silk sheet covers the marble casket of King Henry V. Enter the DANCER.]

DANCER But pardon, gentles all, The flat, unraisèd spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object. Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! Since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million, And let us, ciphers to this great account, On your imaginary forces work.

        [Enter QUEEN CATHERINE, aloft, holding her infant son. ALICE, EXETER, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER look up her.]

DANCER, cont. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high uprearèd and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder.

        [The DUKE OF BEDFORD takes the king’s crown from off his brother’s casket. He sets the crown on a pillow, held by the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. Exit GLOUCESTER.]

DANCER, cont. Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts. Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance.

        [Enter, to one side, KING HENRY V. He looks up at his wife and child.]

DANCER, cont. Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth, For ‘tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings.

        [Enter GLOUCESTER, with the crown. He approaches the QUEEN.]

DANCER, cont. Carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hourglass. 

        [Exit HENRY V for the last time. GLOUCESTER kneels before his monarch and holds up the crown, nestled in the blood-red velvet cushion.]

DANCER, cont. For the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history, Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray Gently to hear, kindly to judge our play.

        [Below, the English and French court sinks to its knees. All hail KING HENRY VI. CATHERINE holds her son and looks out into the darkness. Into the future. Lights out.]

(Henry V, Part 2; Act V, scene iv)

To my beautiful friends,

Started from the bottom and now we’re here. And I’m emotional.

It has been the greatest honor and a joy to share the Gentle Herald Project with you all over the past three months. Thank you so much for giving me the space and support to introduce 2H5 to Tumblr. This project means the world to me and so does our wonderful Shakespeare community. Till the next French campaign, mes amis!

Oh yes, and HAPPY 598th BIRTHDAY, KING HENRY VI! ♥

xx Claire

@harry-leroy @suits-of-woe @skeleton-richard @lizbennett2013 @henriadical @aquitainequeen @dedraconesilet @stripedroseandsketchpads @sleepinelysium​ @ardenrosegarden

[maggie-the-ghoul]

Into the Nuka-Verse: Familiar Echoes (chapter one)

Hello! 

Here is chapter one my incredibly self-indulgent Ghoul Crew fic, based loosely on Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. Why? Because I felt like it XD

Thank you to everyone for trusting me with their OCs! Specifically @threegoblinsinatrenchcoat @ghoulhugs @arcanemimesis @rosegaarden @vectober @railroad-blues @spacialkiwi <3 love y’all :)

(under a read-more because it’s kinda long!)

Into the Nuka-Verse: Familiar Echoes

Chapter One: Famous Last Words

The Slog

“Eleanor.”

Eleanor Adams gasped awake, already reaching for the dagger at her bedside table as she sat up. She had been dreaming- pleasant dreams, of warm arms around her and a soothing voice in her ear, but then the voice turned into a raspy whisper that had sent a shiver down her spine.  

Her room was dark, and empty. Or so it seemed. Years of experience meant she knew better. Steadying her breathing, she called out, “friend or foe, show yourself!”

Something shifted at the foot of Eleanor's bed, and suddenly she could feel an eerie, but familiar presence. “It's me, child. Apologies for startling you.”

“V?” In her sleepy haze, Eleanor hadn't recognized the voice. She rubbed her eyes, but even as they adjusted to the dark, there was no sign of the eldritch's shadowy silhouette. “I can't see you.”

“It's better if I stay hidden,” V answered tersely. “Something is happening, and there isn't much time to warn you.”

Frowning, Eleanor set her dagger back down. “I'm listening. What's going on?”

“Convergence. The fabric between realities is being torn down,” V replied. “I don't know who or what is causing it, but if they're not stopped, everything could be destroyed. This reality, and countless others like it, gone in a moment.”

Eleanor blew out her cheeks. 'No pressure, then.' “So, what do we do?”

“For now, stay alert. I need to find the source of this disturbance before we have any chance of stopping it.”

“You're going alone? Will you be alright?”

V chuckled. “Yes. I'm more worried about you, and the others here. The longer this goes on, the more chaos it will bring. Hold still for a moment, please.”

Eleanor obliged, keeping still as she felt V's presence draw closer. When a sudden cold touched the left side of her face, she didn't flinch. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you can protect yourself,” V replied. “Every reality has a distinct aura. If you look at anyone or anything that's not from here, you'll be able to tell it apart with the eye I gave you. Until we find out where the danger is coming from, only trust those who are close to you.”

“Understood.” 'Barely,' Eleanor thought to herself, trying to make sense of what V was telling her. Multiple realities? Sounded more like science than the supernatural. She'd need to do her research for this. “What should I do if someone from another reality shows up?”

“Trust your judgment.” V's presence drifted away, their last words lingering in the silent room.  

“Gee, thanks,” Eleanor muttered with a sigh as she got out of bed. There was no way she'd be getting back to sleep tonight.

As she waited for the kettle to heat up for her tea, Eleanor grabbed a few books she thought might be useful, and made a mental note to visit her mother later. While her tea steeped, she processed V's warning, which hadn't held much information, and even less instruction.  'Step one: learn more about multiple dimensions. Step two: keep an eye out for people or creatures who don't belong in this reality. Step three...' well, she still needed to figure that part out. Detain them? Send them back? Have them over for tea? Eleanor let out an amused snort at that. On second thought, though, the idea didn't seem that far-fetched. Perhaps patience and kindness would be the key to this.

'Besides,' Eleanor thought as she opened one of her books, 'how much trouble could someone from a different dimension even cause?'

The Commonwealth

The wasteland could be vast and barren, but it also held limitless potential, if one knew where to look for it. One particular person was currently on a journey to find that potential. Deep in thought as he sipped his coffee and basked in the early morning sun, he reviewed his findings. The immediate area was quiet, which suited him. The main road wasn't too far, so it saw decent foot traffic from traders and travellers, and this particular part of the Commonwealth was quite safe: the Minutemen had seen to that. Two days he'd been camped here, and he hadn't seen so much as a mole rat. So, not a bad location.  

Looking up from his blueprints, Bastion Graham squinted at the open plot of land in front of him, trying to picture the structure he had in mind. Without warning a strong gust of wind whipped up from behind him, blowing his hat clear off his head. “Hey!” As he reached up to catch it, his blueprints and pages of notes scattered off the stump they'd been resting on. “Oh sh...” He managed to grab them out of the air, before they landed in his campfire.

While he settled back into his seat, he could hear someone approaching behind him, but he was too preoccupied getting his papers back in order to bother looking. He didn't sense any immediate danger, which was good enough for him. Either his instincts were just that good, or just that lazy. Heavy booted footprints drew closer, until they stopped directly behind him. “Um, 'scuse me?”

Bastion's head jolted up at the familiar twang, the accent easily placed but the voice less so. Had he been gone from his brothers so long he'd forgotten what they sounded like? The thought was so distressing he jumped to his feet and spun, ready to offer apologies and an eager greeting. But the face that came into view wasn't Mike's, nor Elliott's, nor either of the twins'. For a split second he thought he was looking at the ghoulified visage of his very human, very dead brother Patrick. Somehow, that actually would've been easier to explain.

Bastion was staring at himself.

Himself, but not quite. The Bastion standing in front of him still had long hair flowing down his back, instead of the shorter cut he now sported, and was wearing a Minuteman uniform. No, he was wearing the General's uniform, or a different version of it. If it weren't for the variations in its appearance, he'd swear he was looking at an image of himself from fifty years ago. This man had the same height, same build, same weight on his shoulders, and all the physical features that he was used to seeing in a mirror.

What was going on? Had his mind finally given in to the weight of his loneliness? The doppelganger at least had the courtesy to look equally confused. He took a step back, visibly collecting his thoughts before speaking again. “Sorry to, um, disturb ya. I was out with a patrol, when suddenly I found myself alone. Saw yer campfire, so I figured...” he shook his head. “But now I'm feelin' even more lost.”

“Well...” Bastion glanced around, racking his brain for an appropriate response, before settling for what he knew best. “Have a seat, while ya get yer bearings. Would ya like some coffee?”

“Oh.” Other Bastion smiled, not at all surprised by the offer. “Thank ya kindly, that would be nice.” Unshouldering his rifle and setting it aside, he flopped to the ground by the fire. “Nice lil camp ya've got here.”

“It's not much, but it's comfy enough.” Bastion rustled around in his pack until he found another empty cup. Perhaps he was being too calm, but his mama had been thorough when she taught him proper hospitality. “I'm, um, workin' on a project, tryin' to find the perfect spot fer it.” They fell into silence for a minute as Bastion poured what was left of his coffee and handed it to... himself. 'This is so fuckin' weird.' “So, General, huh?” He gestured at the other man's getup. “That was me fer a time. Work yer way up in the ranks?”

The General smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. “Not exactly. It just sorta fell in my lap, and I've been doin' it ever since. Guessin' that isn't the case fer ya, though. Are ya retired, or are the Minutemen no longer a thing here? Wherever 'here' is?” His hand flung out in a sweeping gesture.

“Oh they're goin' strong,” Bastion beamed. “Mikey's the General now, and he's done a lot of real good fer the ghouls, hell fer the whole Commonwealth. The Minutemen are so stretched out they've got two headquarters, at the Castle an' at the Slog.”

Other Bastion's expression flickered to sadness when Mike was mentioned, but in an instant it was gone. “That's wonderful. Makes me real happy to hear that, ya've got no idea.” He took a sip of coffee, and hummed in satisfaction. “So, the Slog is thrivin'?”

“Gets bigger an' busier every month. As a matter of fact, Lottie's the sheriff-” Bastion was interrupted by his doppelganger suddenly choking on his coffee. “Wh-what!?” He sputtered in-between coughs. “Elliott is a what?”

“Heh, it's true. Don't blame ya fer findin' it hard to believe though.”

“...Elliott, a sheriff?” The General shook his head. “Just when I was beginnin' to think our two worlds weren't that different...”

Bastion felt a slight indignation on Elliott's behalf, but he ignored it. “Two worlds, eh? I s'pose as theories go, it's the one that makes the most sense. Maybe we should get ya to the Slog, find someone who might know more.”

Taking off his hat, the General ran a hand through his hair. “Far as I know, this sorta thing hasn't happened before where I'm from. Guessin' it's the same on this end. Who would be able to help?”

“Honestly, I ain't got no idea.” Bastion exhaled hard. “Start at the beginnin'. What exactly happened?”

“I was with one of my squads, we'd gotten some chatter 'bout Raiders gatherin' strength north of Red Guard territory-”

“Red Guard?” Bastion interrupted.

“They're former Gunners, based in, um, Quincy.” The General cringed. “We have a shaky alliance, so I wanted to check the reports out myself. A scout was givin' me a rundown when the wind started pickin' up sumthin' fierce. And then...” He trailed off, frowning in thought, then snapped his fingers. “Purple! Everythin' around me turned purple fer a second. Next thing I knew, I was here.” He looked around. “Come to think of it, it didn't feel like I'd moved at all. Are we near Finch Farm, by any chance?” When Bastion nodded, the General grinned. “So I'm in the same spot, just... in a different place. That clears things up a bit.” “Uhhhh, does it?”

“Gotta admit, this is kinda fascinatin',” The doppelganger continued. “Like sumthin' outta those comic books Vinny liked as a kid.”

“He still likes 'em,” Bastion muttered quietly, just as the wind began to pick up behind him again. Both men turned to watch as a patch of air shimmered and warped several feet away. A hole opened up, widening until it was large enough for several people to walk through. It was deep purple and opaque; nothing could be seen on the other side of it except darkness.

“That's it!” Other Bastion sprang to his feet. “That's what I came through. I should go back through it, might be my only shot home.”

“Wait!” Bastion's hand shot out, grabbing his counterpart's arm. “Are ya sure it's safe?”

“No.” General Bastion tugged his arm out of the grip, squaring his shoulders as he strode towards the strange rift. “But I need to get back, an' stickin' around won't solve anythin'.” As he got closer he lost his footing from the strong gusts blowing around him, but the phenomenon seemed to pull him in. When he reached the threshold he glanced back to shout, “thanks fer the coffee!” before he was gone.

As the anomaly vanished, Bastion let out a huff. 'He's more impulsive than me.' And of course he'd be worried about a version of himself that he'd only just met. Well, there was no way to know if the General had made it home safe, so he'd have to take it on faith. “Alright, now what?” he muttered to himself. Either he'd just hallucinated the last ten minutes, or they'd really happened. The right thing to do was equal parts obvious and difficult: he had to tell someone.

It was a few day's walk to the Slog, the closest he'd been to the place in months, and he was long overdue for a visit anyways. He could hardly bury his head in the sand and pretend he hadn't just seen a different version of himself walk through some inter-dimensional portal. That felt like information he needed to share. As he started to pack up his camp, he thought about who he should go to with this. He didn't have to think very long. 'Michael. This sorta thing probably falls under Minuteman jurisdiction, right?' Within minutes he was packed up and ready to go.

As his feet started to carry him home, he took one last look at the area he'd been surveying. 'Hmm, maybe it's not a very convenient location after all. Should probably choose somewhere a bit closer...'

Two days later...

The Slog

“I am a maaaaan o' constant sorroooow, I've seen troooouble all my days~”

Elliott was singing to himself as he bustled about his office, trying to tidy up now that the day was nearly over. Amazing how chaotic his place of work could get in just a few hours. Empty nuka cola bottles, disorganized files, and some of Eris' effects were strewn across his and Sharon's desks. He picked up his daughter's sketch book, chuckling at the drawing of her as one of his deputies. That one's goin' up on the fridge. He tore out the page as gently as he could and tucked it into his breast pocket, knowing Eris wouldn't mind. She loved it when he and Ave fawned over her artwork.

“Elliott, you in here?” Sharon, his deputy, called out as she opened the office door, and beckoned him over when she caught sight of him. “Hey, might need your help with a situation.”

“What's goin' on?” He set the sketchbook back down.

Sharon blew out her cheeks. “Well, some folks reported a 'purple thing' appearing in the market, and then a guy that's no one's seen before appeared and started freaking out.”

Of all the things he was expecting her to say, it hadn't been that. “Purple thing? The fuck does that mean?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, I'm only telling you what the guard told me. But it sounds like the man's making people nervous, and he might need our help.”

Elliott sighed. He'd been ready to get home and go horseback riding along the river with Avery and Eris. Guess that was too much to ask. “Alright, well we better go quick then.”

*

Public disturbances weren't uncommon in the Slog. Whether it was the occasional drunk, or unruly merc, or upset customer, or bigoted asshole, there was usually a common thread: they always had a big mouth and need for attention. Residents knew to let the sheriff's office or a Minuteman soldier know, then keep their heads down while it was dealt with. Sometimes the situation could be entertaining, in which case Lance or Vincent would inevitably show up to watch and crack jokes. Sometimes it could be dangerous. This time, it was certainly both.

It was easy for Elliott and Sharon to find the culprit. He stood out among the crowd that had gathered around him, dressed in some kind of military uniform that Elliott found vaguely familiar. He thought it looked old-fashioned, but otherwise he couldn't place it. “This guy is, uh, not from around here,” Sharon muttered. “His clothes look like something out of a history textbook.” She tilted her head as she studied him. “Maybe he's an actor? I don't recognize him from the troupe, though, and none of them have ever gotten violent. I don't think this is an act.”

Elliott hummed. “I don't think it's an act either. But ya've seen the getup Mayor Hancock wears. We shouldn't assume-” “Demon creatures!” The man shrieked in a high-pitched voice. His hand trembled as he brandished a rapier at the (mostly ghoul) audience. “Satan's spawn!” He was met by boos from the onlookers, and several of the merchants, upset that their business was being interrupted, added insults to the mix.

“...Okay, yeah, he's not from around here,” Elliott agreed quietly, holding his hands up in a peaceful gesture as he took a tentative step forwards. “Dunno how he's never seen a ghoul before.” A former vault dweller, maybe, like Abby? Elliott raised his voice as he addressed the man. “Uh, sir? Imma need ya to put yer sword down, please?”

Sharon let out a loud snort that barely covered up her laugh. “Now there's a sentence I bet you'd never thought you'd say, sheriff.” Elliot huffed, his patience already wearing thin. “This ain't funny, I dunno how to fight off someone with a sword!” He was ready to draw his sidearm if needed, but he didn't want to escalate to that. This man was definitely scared enough without having a gun pointed at him.

“Stay back!” The stranger warned as Elliott and Sharon slowly approached. “Whatever evil this is, it will not break us. The Minutemen will not be defeated by witchcraft!”

Elliott froze. “Minutemen?” He shared a skeptical look with Sharon. “There's no way this guy is one of Mike's...” “Oi, Lottie!” Vincent's head popped out of the crowd. “Maybe ya need to challenge him to a duel! I got five caps on the other guy, any takers?”

“Fer fuck's sake,” Elliott grumbled, as a wave of laughter rippled around him. The situation was only getting more confusing, and more irritating, by the second. He snapped his fingers at the nearest guard. “Go get the General. Tell him the sheriff needs his help.”

Elliott watched the soldier dart off, intent on stalling as long as possible. Whoever this stranger was, he was more interested in defending himself than outright attacking anyone, so the danger was not immediate. Maybe Mike would be able to calm him down, Minuteman to Minuteman, otherwise they would have to subdue him. Risky, but it was their only other option.

Or not. As the distraught man waved his weapon around, a dark purple light seemed to emerge from where he was standing, and before he could even become aware of it he vanished. In his place was a person-sized hole, which promptly disappeared.

“Um.” Around him, Elliott could hear people muttering to each other about what they'd just seen, their tones confused and scared. His feelings mirrored theirs, though he tried not to show it. “What was that?”

“I've never seen anything like it before,” Sharon said in a low tone. “I guess that was the 'purple thing' that was reported, but... Elliott, what the hell's going on here?”

Before he could answer, a shocked gasp drew his attention. He turned to look at its source, an older man who was pointing skyward, and his stomach dropped as his gaze followed to see another thing, another rift, appear, this time several feet up off the ground. Its diameter rapidly expanded until it was much bigger than the last one, and as it grew, roaring winds accompanied it. The market stalls started to shudder and creak, while anything not tied down flew straight up into the sky, swirling around the unnatural threshold in a whirlwind of objects. Curious murmurings quickly turned into panicked shouting as the crowd scattered.

“Everyone stay back, get outta here!” Elliott waved people away, stumbling as he fought against the wind, which was furiously picking up speed. Sharon reached out to steady him, and he gave her a grateful nod. “This whole area ain't safe. We're gonna need the Minutemen's help to close down the market- damnit!” He lost his balance, and suddenly his feet skidded over the gravel as he was tugged towards the middle of the market. As hard as he tried, he couldn't fight against the rift's pull, and he only stopped himself by crashing full-on into a merchant's stand. “Ow!”

As he braced himself against the tempest, a scream pierced the cacophony, and Elliott's blood ran cold when he saw its source: a young girl, alone, in the midst of the chaos. She was clinging to a sign post as tightly as she could, trying to keep herself from being blown away. The wind was so strong her feet weren't even touching the ground, and Elliott could see her hands already slipping. “Shit!” Without thinking he ran, letting himself be dragged closer to the eye of the storm so he could get to her faster. He was able to reach the child just as she lost her grip, and he held her close as he clung to the sign post with his other hand, digging his heels into the dirt best he could for any kind of leverage.

“Elliott!” Sharon let herself be drawn forward until she was at the stall closest to him, using it for support. “Hold on!” Thinking quickly, she grabbed the stall's banner and tied it tightly around her arm to anchor herself.

The post bent dangerously and began to splinter. This won't hold much longer. He looked down, forcing a smile for the girl. “S'gonna be okay.” He promised, looking to Sharon, who had her hand outstretched. He let go of the sign post, and with all his strength, threw the child towards his deputy. Sharon managed to catch her without any difficulty, staying securely tied to the stall.

Elliott was able to get a grasp on the post again, but it broke as soon as he did, and the last thing he heard was people calling his name as he got pulled into the sky and swallowed up by the rift, which vanished behind him a few moments later.

*

The world stilled. Sharon lay on her back, breathing hard from exertion. Anything that had been in the air when the rift disappeared immediately fell back to earth, and she covered the child's head instinctively, though nothing fell on them. They were lucky; the rain of merchandise and debris was unavoidable for almost everyone else, and any Minutemen present or just arriving began to clear the area of people, or help anyone who'd been hurt. The entire market was a mess of debris and collapsed stands and scattered goods, and even some of the roofs of nearby buildings had been damaged. It would take days to clear up the mess.

“Make way!” A deep, commanding voice called out. “Anyone not a Minuteman, leave the market now! If yer hurt, wait fer help!” Michael Graham, sounding every bit the General as he directed his subordinates as necessary, had arrived.

Sharon sat up, unwrapping the banner from her arm before carefully checking the girl over. She was scared, but unhurt. Her mother ran over, crying tears of relief and thanking Sharon profusely for her help. As the deputy suggested they get to the clinic, Cory, a familiar and welcome sight, came into view. “Sharon! Gods, are you okay!?”

“Sharon!” Mike appeared alongside Cory. “Y'alright?”

“I'm okay.” Sharon dusted herself off as she stood, waving away their worry and making sure the mother and child were escorted to safety by a guard. “Really.”

“We were being told about a disturbance, then suddenly everyone was panicking and we saw the storm, or whatever it was...” Cory surveyed the area with a grimace. “This is a disaster.”

“We'll take things from here,” Mike said, gently but firmly. “Ya an' Elliott'll hafta catch us up on what happened. Where is he?” Mike glanced around, expecting Elliott to appear at his side, as always. When he didn't, his expression shifted. “Where's Elliott?”

“Mike...” Sharon rested a hand on the General's arm. “I- I'm sorry...”

“Sharon.” Mike's voice trembled with worry. “Where the hell is my brother?”

*

[kidcataldo]

Digby’s Big Adventure

The year is 2054 and World War III, otherwise knows as The Nuclear War, has just emerged. Unlike his three sisters (and literally, like, everyone else), young Sunny Digby is happy that Britain’s at war; he thinks a little chaos will do good for the world. An unexpected bombing at their school separates Sunny from his sisters and he gets stuck with a crazy conspiracist  named Gordy. Along with Sunny’s trusty SpiderBot, Orbi, they venture off into war zone, looking to become heroes.

Here’s a crappy unfinished first draft of the story, if you’re interested. Also, I’m not british and it’s set in britain, so the language is a little wonky. Wrote it the night my brain created the story, so I’ve changed some things since:

“Morning all,” said the man on the radio. Sunny Digby sat at his desk, attempting to fix up his latest creation, a tiny spider-like robot. It seems his spider-like complexion makes it prone to crushing. He had been listening to some tunes while working, but the nine ‘o clock news disrupted that system. With a disgruntled huff, Sunny turned the nob, lowering the volume of the radio. Clearing his throat, the radio man continued: “British Prime Minister Anthony Barr has met with American President, Salma Abdullah. The visit was arranged after both North Korea and Russia threatened to fire missiles. His Majesty, King William V, has issued—"

Sunny let out a dignified “YAK!” as he turned the radio completely off. Instead of listening to such dreadful news, he decided to put forth his full attention to the robot before him. “There you are, Orbi,” he said as the robot opened its eyes. “Go on then, get up. That’s a good girl.

“Right,” he said, tinkering with its legs. “Let’s see if you can still walk. Start off slow now… That’s it, girl.” The robot walked meekly toward the picture frame of him and his three sisters at the far end of the desk. Its legs shook so terribly, Sunny had his hands around Orbi for support, in case it decided to fall apart like the last few attempts. Successfully, Orbi made it to the picture frame still in one piece. Placing three of its eight robotic legs on the frame, it began attempting to climb. “Slow down, girl,” said Sunny, laughing. “I haven’t yet reattached your bristles to make you climb.” He let it down gently back on the desk and it began crawling to the wall. Leaping forward, it tried to attach itself to the wall. Sunny caught it quickly before it could damage itself.

“Honestly, why do you even bother with that thing,” said a voice at Sunny’s window. Sunny screamed, throwing Orbi high up in the air, and fell right out of his seat. Orbi, unable to grab the ceiling, fell onto his head.

“Bloody hell, Margo,” said Sunny. He removed Orbi from his head and started rubbing the bump that was now forming. “Will you quit doing that? Nearly killed me this time.” he said as his sister Margo climbed into Sunny’s room.

“Why do you think I still do it,” said Margo, slyly. Helping herself, she sat down on his bed and picked up the book laying peacefully beside her. “’Robotics for Dummies’,” she read aloud. “How fitting.”

“Gimme that,” he said, yanking the book away from her and tossing it carelessly onto his desk. It hit the picture frame and knocked it to the floor. “What’re you doing here?”

“You missed Maths class,” she said simply. “Again.”

He rolled his eyes. “What? Are you off to tell Mum? Or maybe Pops… Not like they’ll care, anyway.”

“If you get kicked out of Charterhouse, they’ll have no choice but to send you off to military school,” she said, a sly grin forming on her face. “I even heard Mother tell Father she wanted you to attend the Royal Navy Academy.”

“You did not,” he said. He held Orbi firmly in both hands, afraid of what his sister might do to it if he let go.

“I did too,” she said. “It was on holiday… She casually mentioned to Father about what a nice school it was and how it would man-up their little boy Sunny.”

“Quit lying to me, Margo!”

“Would I ever lie to you, little brother,” said Margo, a teasing tone in her voice.

“Let me think,” said Sunny, pretending to be lost in thought. “Yes! All the bloody time, in fact.”

“Regardless if I’m lying to you or not, you need to attend your classes.”

“I was planning to,” he said, looking down at the robot in his hands, “but someone crushed and killed Orbi while we were walking to class." He powered down Orbi and set him gently back down on his desk. “And what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be off playing football?”

“On my way now, as a matter of fact,” she said, walking up to the window. With one leg inside her brother’s room and one leg outside the commonwealth, she turned back to Sunny: “Go to Maths class, you buffoon.”

***

As Sunny was walking to class, he noticed Dr. Angular, a teacher of science, staring up at the sky. His hand covered his forehead, attempting to block the sunlight—what little sunlight they had, anyway. Beside him, some technicians were setting up an alarm of some sort beside the entrance to the science building. Sunny wasn’t bothered by them too much; he figured they were attempting to modernize Charterhouse, and it needed all the modernization it could get. He was more interested in the doctor—more importantly, what he was observing. A new scientific discovery, Sunny suspects.

“Doctor,” said Sunny, looking up with him, “what are you looking at?” When he did not respond, Sunny tugged on the sleeve of his coat. Dr. Angular jumped at the touch and turned to the young Digby boy. Sunny laughed. “Sorry for startling you, Doctor. I was only wondering what you were looking at.”

“Oh, Mr. Digby… I was just—well, if you must know, I was looking for missiles.”

“Missiles?” said Sunny, looking up. “In the sky?”

“Yes, we live in dangerous times… Dangerous times indeed.” He went quiet for a moment, staring back at the sky, before Sunny tugged his sleeve again. Again, he jumped. “Needn’t worry, young Mr. Digby. Just a precaution, that’s all. Just a precaution.”

***

Sunny spent the rest his day unbothered. The doctor is known, notorious even, for his crazy antics. Sunny is sure he’ll be searching for extra-terrestrial life tomorrow… and God the next. Before bed, he managed to fix Orbi right up, bristles attached securely and all. He tried to listen to some music while he slept, but they had interrupted the station with a special message from the British Prime Minister. Sunny clicked it off before the old man finished his greeting. And so asleep he fell, dreaming of Kings and Presidents, and missiles floating above his head.

***

“Sunny, get up!” he heard as he felt the world shake. He groaned and turned, placing his pillow above his head. Maybe if he ignores the voice, they’ll go away. “Get up, you buffoon!”

“I’ll be… up in a bit,” he mumbled out with a yawn. “I just need… some more time.”

“We don’t have time, Sunny! We have to go now!”

“Go where?” An alarm went off—the fire alarm, Sunny suspects—and the person began shaking his bed more urgently.

“To the underground!”

“The underground?” He opened his eyes and turned to the voice, his sister Margo.

“Yes,” said Margo, pulling him out of bed, “we have to—” There was a high-pitched ringing in his ear and it seemed to be coming closer and closer. It was so loud the Digby siblings had to cover their years to try and block out the noise. With a final and determined bang the ground shook furiously, knocking both Sunny and Margo to the ground.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Sunny said, panic in his voice.

“Let’s go!” Margo kept a firm grip on his wrist and led him to the window. Carefully they climbed out.

Most of Charterhouse was up in flames and robot soldiers infected the place. “What… what about Jo and Tattie? Where are they?” The chaos was so terrible, he nearly forgot his other sisters.

“They’re already on the coach.”

Tightening her grip on Sunny, Margo started running, as fast as her athletic legs could take her, and she dragged Sunny along behind her. He tried to keep up, but she was just too fast for his legs to handle. Finally, his body collapsed, and he fell to the ground. Margo was running so fast, she made it ten feet before realizing he had fallen. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, SUNNY! WE HAVE TO KEEP RUNNING!”

The ground shook again and Sunny cried out in fear. “I… I can’t!”

A very scrawny-looking robot, who had a big red ‘EVACU-BOT’ stamped on its forehead, noticed them. Scanning them, he hurried toward them. “STU-DENTS OF CHAR-TER-HOUSE, PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE. THIS AREA IS CUR-ENTLY UN-DER QUAR-AN-TINE. TH-ANK YOU AND HAVE... A NICE DAY!”

With great ease, Margo lifted Sunny up to his feet and started running again. His feet were just skimming the ground; Margo was stronger than she looked, like their mother… That, or Sunny is just incredibly light. Probably a little bit of both. As Margo ran, and Sunny glided, the EVACU-BOT led them to the exit. Headmaster Vice was guiding the students safely to the coach across the road.

Sunny plopped down to the ground as they waited in line to cross the street. With a big huff, Sunny patted his front pajama pocket. “All right there, Orbi?” he said. Upon realizing his pocket was empty, he stood abruptly up, searching around him like some wild dog. “Orbi,” he said. “I forgot Orbi!”

“Next in line,” said Headmaster Vice urgently.

“Forget the stupid thing,” said Margo, taking his arm and dragging him to the Headmaster.

“No,” he said, yanking his arm away. “I have to… We have to go back!”

“Children, come along now,” said the Headmaster, gesturing for them to come closer.

“Sunny, you can make another spider,” said Margo. “This place is about to be filled with warrior bots… We have to leave now!”

Grabbing the EVACU-BOT, he sped off back to his dorm room, without so much as a goodbye. “SUNNY! WHAT THE—” Headmaster Vice grabbed her before she could run after him and led her to the coach.

***

“ORBI! ORBI, CAN YOU HEAR ME,” he yelled, looking in through his window. Orbi was sleeping soundly on his desk, unbothered by the flames surrounding it. “Orbi, activate,” commanded Sunny and the robot’s eyes opened. Assessing the area, it quickly jumped to the wall and crawled its way out to safety, landing safely in the hands of its master. “That’s a good, girl.”

Smiling, he patted the robot’s head gently, but stopped when he heard that deafening sound again. It was so loud it blocked out the sound of the alarm. Looking up, he saw a large tubular object falling from the sky.

The EVACU-BOT beeped and said, “UR-GENT! UR-GENT! STU-DENT OF CHAR-TER-HOUSE, PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE. PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE! PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE!”

Though the bot’s words were firm, it did not practice what it preached and Sunny had to push him to start moving.

“UR-GENT! UR-GENT!” the bot kept repeating, its eyes blinking red.

As they ran, they watched as the missile flew over them and landed behind them. Again, the ground shakes and they all fall to the ground. Feeling a terrible wave of heat hit them, they watched as terrible smoke filled the air and the sky turning a deep red from the fire. His eyes burned; he could barely see. “O-orbi,” he said. He managed to grab hold of the EVACU-BOT and yank off the metal on his back, exposing his wires. “Orbi… Orbi, fix him up.”

The spider-bot crawled inside the EVACU-BOT and started rearranging its wires. “UR-GENT!” it still said. “UR-GENT! UR…GENT! UR—” Suddenly his blinking red eyes turn a firm green and it stands tall, as if it were a WAR-BOT. Noticing Sunny laying on the ground, the robot helps him up with ease. “I WILL SAVE YOU, FAIR CIT-I-ZEN,” it says to Sunny.

Sunny climbs on top of the bot’s exposed back and it begins speeding forward, quick like a flash. The next thing Sunny knows is he’s being dropped off at the gate with a former EVACU-BOT, rewired into a WAR-BOT, saluting him farewell.

The night air is filled with black smoke and heavy flames. In the distance he sees the coach, listening as its engine starts. He runs quickly. He sees his sisters, Margo, Jo and Tottie, in the back, banging on the glass window, encouraging him to hurry. Another missile lands, and the ground shakes furiously. Sunny almost falls to the ground, but his persistence kept him balanced. He reaches for the coach, stretching his arms out far.

Suddenly, bang, something hits him, and he gets tossed up in the air. He hits the ground hard, with an ache in his right arm and head. He watches, through blurry eyes, as the coach drives off. He sees legs of a man, hovering over him, checking if he is dead. He is not dead. Not yet. “You okay, kid?” he hears, the words echoing in his head. “You okay? You okay? You okay?” With a groan, he closes his eyes. 

[shellheadtmarc]

v; fallout group verse - closed

This, is in all honesty, mostly because I know people have to be going, “...what the fuck,” about shenanigans.  This, hopefully, will clarify those to a degree.

Consider all of this, but let’s make some changes.  In the aftermath of the bombs, Tony and Stephen Strange ( @rahasyamay ) run into each other, each doing their own putting out of fires, metaphorically and literally.  The Sorcerer Supreme has, ah.  A lengthy lifespan, too, so Tony and Stephen end up as a close knit family unit (the romance thing just isn’t a thing for them, if there has been hanky panky it was very brief and no doubt loneliness-induced) in the years following the bombs.  Shortly before the pair follow the BOS into the Commonwealth (relative on what shortly means), the courier from the Mojave arrives in New York, Elle Days ( @gwinnetts ), and ends up being adopted by Doctor Wizard Dad and Tired Iron Dad.  

Tony and Stephen leave for the Commonwealth, with the plan being that Elle will follow them in at a slower pace (meaning once they’ve scoped things out and made sure it’s safe) on the motorcycle Tony’s tinkered on for her in his spare time.  And it...Mostly goes to plan until Elle is jumped by a courser and her AI version of Yes Man ( formerly @securitrcn ) is taken.  Elle ends up in Goodneighbor, with her Superhero Dads starting to get worried when she doesn’t arrive on schedule and they find the wreckage of her bike.

Fort Hagen is the place Tony and Stephen claim at first, where Tony takes the actual military post and Stephen claiming the Fort Hagen Blood Clinic.  The intentions are a makeshift lab for Tony, but Stephen sees potential in the clinic with aspirations to turn it into a working hospital, since he can’t use his hands like he did anymore, no, but he can pass on his medical knowledge, and the clinic will eventually become a functioning, real teaching hospital.  From here, the two agree to go separate ways, both looking for Elle, both scoping out the Commonwealth on the whole for similar and differing reasons.

Stephen will meet the Cabots and find out the Commonwealth is hiding a lot of bad news goodies of his particular interest that he wants to secure.  He’ll also end up with Croup (later nicknamed Mooch by the Avenger squad, Recoup by everyone) Manor as a somewhat makeshift Sanctum Sanctorum in Boston.  It also doubles as something of a respite for healing and a veterinary clinic!  And yes.  Bats is in attendance.   You get used to him.

Fun fact!  Tony won’t sleep in the main building.  It’s creepy in there and while yes, he knows whatever’s going on can totally be explained by science, he will later use his boyfriend’s reluctance to sleep in the main manor and use one of the smaller surrounding buildings he and Zetta ( @gwinnetts ) builds as an excuse not to.  Croup Manor is weird and no one likes it.  Except Stephen.

Meanwhile, Tony cuts a path through the Commonwealth to get information.  Diamond City points him at Bunker Hill, Bunker Hill points him to Goodneighbor.  In Goodneighbor, he meets a former Gunner by the name of Robert Joseph MacCready ( @gwinnetts ), hires him for info on the Gunners, and intends to leave it at that, intending on making his caps back with a few games of pool before striking out to see what he can see.  When he leaves Goodneighbor, he’s still got a short, smartassed merc with him, and decides what the hell, he can make use of an extra gun.  Besides, he’ll be able to foist this guy off on someone else, and he’s just a merc, right?

(Wrong, Tony.  You are very wrong.)

Time passes.  They meet the sole survivor of Vault 111, Zetta Reynolds ( @gwinnetts ).  Thor ( @torrrden ) shows up at the 11th hour as usual wondering what the hell has happened before ending up befriending a bunch of super mutants.  Croup Manor becomes something of a meeting place/gathering place/family dinner location despite how weird it is.  

And then, after years of telling the universe, “GIVE ME BACK MY RHODEY,” the universe complies with Tony.  Rhodey ( @alloyally ), still part of the United States Air Force during the Great War, having been in many of its campaigns, and playing a bit of a game with the US Government concerning Tony’s anti-war shenanigans before the war (”I’ve been told to tell you that your behavior isn’t appreciated and you need to stop.  Wanna get take out?”  “It has been noted and ignored.  Pizza?”), disappeared not long before the bombs fell.  Given his deployments, this wasn’t an unusual thing, no, but Tony has never been able to find another speck of information about him in the years since, and has assumed him dead.

In truth, in the decades before the war, Jack Cabot exchanged some of his immortality serum with the government, in exchange for tech to better examine and understand his father Lorenzo’s weird crown that has seemingly driven him mad.  The government has been trying to remake the super soldier serum since its success with Steve Rogers/Captain America, and with that serum in hand, do so again, this time with Colonel James Rupert Rhodes.  Rhodey’s been out for a while, and is discovered in stasis by the Brotherhood of Steel, who wake him, orient him, and use him as a unique asset with the rank of Knight.

You can imagine how long he stays with the BOS once Tony finds out he’s alive.  Spoiler:  Not long.  And you can imagine how attached at the hip Tony is with him after the fact.  Spoiler:  It goes something like “I’m in the bathroom, I can hear you breathing out there.” 

You can imagine, too, how well MacCready reacts to that without having a reason to react to that way.  Spoiler:  Like a jealous boyfriend.  That has no right to be jealous.  But is gonna be jealous anyway and thank God, these two knuckleheads finally talk it out.

While forever in development and constantly being added on to (including more and more people being dragged into it), some other highlights include: + Sexual tension!  Mistakes being made!  Tony and Zetta doing the do!  Because they’re both too smart, too stubborn, and you know the whole trope of, “Make me,” being sexual tension that leads to actual sex?  That’s it.  That them.  Plus he got a nice booty and Zetta ain’t stupid. + MacCready’s quest changes!  Tony moves too slow for the whole idea of affinity and gets into a snit when MacCready takes off to take care of the Gunners by himself!  Zetta tracks his scrawny little merc ass down and calls in the calvary (Tony)!  Iron Man as Iron Man gets some play!  Lots of Gunners die!  Mostly because the won’t back down! It’s a mess!  Angry Tony!  Lots of bad feels all around! + The Rock Saga!  It’s legit verse canon now!  Robert Joseph MacCready is the worst boyfriend ever! + Stephen and his crush on Daisy of Goodneighbor!  Respecting KLEO because she’s a strong independent woman who don’t need a prime directive! + Duncan gets brought to the Commonwealth!  He’s officially the most protected kid ever with Tony being Tired Iron Dad and MacCready being MacCready!  Bonus points for the toy soldier going to him like it should have all along!  Dad!Tony reading Tolkien on request at bedtime because he hates Tolkien!  Changing the ending because you don’t tell a kid as young as Duncan his favorite in the Hobbit (Kili) dies! + Elle being loved! + Yes Man being loved and appreciated and encouraged to grow as his own person! + The Overboss that leaves Nuka World because he’s sick of the raiders unruly shit is a legit former Golden Age pirate ( @pyratetm )! + Avengers Assemble becomes a thing again! + People using Tony as a flashlight!  Tony getting annoyed by that! + Changes to all major questlines to make them canon divergent as hell because this is as much fix-it as it is rp! + Colonel James Rhodes becoming General Rhodes of the Minutemen! + M.O.E. the rebuilt synth!  He’s a first run prototype of the OS and personality matrices and is buggy as hell!  Everyone loves M.O.E. anyway! + Keep tuning in to find out what other bullshit we shove in this verse because this is already really long!

Featuring: @starkunlimited - the Commonwealth mechanic/Iron Man/various npcs @alloyally - the Commonwealth angel/War Machine (Iron Patriot sucks) @rahasyamay - the Commonwealth knock off Gandalf/Sorcerer Supreme @torrrden - the Commonwealth alien viking golden retriever/ God of Thunder @gwinnetts - the Sole Survivor/worst boyfriend ever/cutest courier ever/various npcs @justificd - Detective Depression/various npcs @securitrcn - the ai that could/an albino scaley smart boi/man who makes whale noises @beenpole - Mayor Buzzkill/anime thing 1/anime thing 2 @ersetze - Egg Spy/possible various others @inplakabl - when good girls go bad @pyratetm - you don’t fuck with the overboss

[atomcursed-archive-blog]

@mementomorphosis liked for a STARTER!

Margo found herself hunkered down in an abandoned apartment just outside of Diamond City, seated on a dingy, stained carpet, back resting against the flaking wall beneath a shattered window. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go into the city. From what she had heard, the citizens didn’t like people who were different, going so far as to ban ghouls all together, and anyone suspected of being a synth was attacked or kicked out at the very least. Still, it was her only real chance of finding answers about the Institute and who, and what, she was.

Sighing quietly, she began gathering the supplies she had just finished going through, tossing them into the pack she always kept on her back. At the faint sound of something moving beneath her though, Margo froze, amber eyes flicking to the closed door across from her, hands slowly moving to load and ready the laser pistol at her side.

She waited, and waited, and waited, listening to each and every sound that came around her. The creaking floor boards, the slight breeze whistling through any and all holes in the walls and windows, the rustling of someone going through boxes and drawers. Going looking for whoever it was, as tempting as that may have been, would only sign her death wish. So Margo sat, waiting patiently, until the door in front of her began to creak open slowly, and she came face to face with a ghoul. Gun raised at his head but not fired yet, she stared him down, brow cocked in a questioning manner.

[theobaldfast]

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[vamonumentlandscape]

Petersburg

At one point, Petersburg was the second-largest city in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Because of its location along the railroad as a hub city, the Union sought to capture Petersburg to isolate Richmond, Virginia's largest city and the Capital of the Confederacy, during the Civil War. While there were some Confederate victories during the siege of Petersburg against the forces of General Ulysses S. Grant, such as the Battle of Crater, General Robert E. Lee was forced to abandon Petersburg and Richmond in early April 1865. The war effectively ended at Appomattox just a few days later. The city rebuilt itself during reconstruction but was never really able to regain its former status. Beyond the Civil War sites, Virginia State University, Pocahontas Island (one of the oldest free Black settlements in the country), and numerous antique shops, Petersburg appeared to be on life support. We intended to visit the nearby Pamplin Historical Park to see their rumored idealized Civil War narratives, but we had to get back to Lynchburg. Petersburg is a city with so much potential, but it is without as much tourism as other parts of Virginia. We encourage all readers to make a journey to this city that is rich with history.

It took us a little while to figure out where Blandford Church and Cemetery was in Petersburg. Apple Maps was struggling and so were we. Ultimately, the Virginia is for Lovers website gave us an exact address and we were on our way. We apprehensively rode into the large cemetery that holds over 30,000 Confederate dead. It did not ease our tension when we entered the parking lot of the visitors center to see vehicles with stickers of the Confederate flag and Trump 2024. We walked in knowing that we had a very different perspective than those inside. We were greeted by two men, one elderly gentleman and one young man. They both were very kind and asked what brought us to Blandford. Josh jumped right in and told them the Cliff Notes version of what our project was. The young man was immediately curious and asked more questions. He ended up offering to give us a tour of the monuments in the cemetery. We followed him through the old roads of the cemetery and made our first stop. It was a monument put up to honor those who fought and died in the War of 1812. The cemetery's earliest grave was from 1702 and the brick church was founded in the 1600s. The history that this cemetery and church holds spans far before the 19th century. The next monument he showed us was a large arch that was dedicated to the 30,000 Confederate dead. It was about a 60 foot tall archway that was titled “To Our Confederate Heroes.” It was put up in 1884 by the Ladies Memorial Association of Petersburg. The organization was formed in 1866 to commemorate the loss of the Confederate dead in the community. The association was responsible for collecting the remains from across the south to create a mass grave of the Confederate soldiers. It was said that the women’s organization wanted to have a solemn place for the Confederates to be buried respectfully. This arch acts as a gateway to the Confederate cemetery. Out of the 30,000, only 3,700 of the soldiers have names upon their graves. It was said best by our tour guide from Historic Jamestowne who is actually a Petersburg native, Mark Summers. “You should never disrespect the dead.” Despite the obvious that none of us support the cause these men fought for, we toured the cemetery with deference. We went to the next monument to the Confederate dead which was the usual private “Johnny Reb” statue atop a column. Our tour guide, who had on a CSA belt buckle and proudly let us know he was a member of the Sons of the Confederate Veterans, began to tell us, in his words, “a southerner's perspective.” “You have to seek this out, it is not used as intimidation to others if it is in the cemetery. It is here to honor the soldiers that are buried beneath him. The private looks to the north ready to face any invaders,” he said to us first describing why the statue is not offensive. This statue is in a cemetery and is in the middle of a Confederate graveyard. There are no Lost Cause sentiments attached to the memorial. Despite the fact that our tour guide's words may be riddled with Lost Cause rhetoric, there was not any on the statue. The young man continued on with his “southerner's perspective.” “But, those statues on the court house grounds, people who want to take them down don’t know why they are there. The court house grounds were where the mothers and daughters said goodbye to their men who were going off to war. It was the last place they ever saw them, so this was a good place for the monument as a memorial,” he said. All three of us could not believe what we were hearing. There is no truth to that statement. As soon as we got back to Randolph, we sought out a Civil War expert and lead American Historian, John d’Entremont, to fact check his statement. He assured us that he was not correct. It was complete Lost Cause propaganda. After this monument stop, that was the end of our tour. We thanked the guide and prepared for our tour of the historic church.

Our tour created a lot of conversation for the research team. We all have differing thoughts on our visit to Blandford and seeing those monuments. We encourage you to ponder whether you think Confederate statues in cemeteries should be taken down or allowed to stay. The monument landscape has always been changing and will continue to change. We are here to encourage you to think for yourself, analyze the monuments, the facts, and come up with your own conclusion.

After seeing most of the Confederate graves and signage at the cemetery, we met up with an older gentleman named Gene to lead us on a tour of the Blandford Church up the hill. As the oldest building in Petersburg, the church stands as a memorial for those that died in the Civil War. Our first stop was the grave of Richard Yarbrough, who died in 1702. His grave is the oldest in the entire cemetery. Gene then led us into the dimly lit church. The sun was shining through the beautiful Tiffany stained glass windows. Gene told us that in the 1880s, the Ladies Memorial Association of Petersburg sought to make necessary repairs to the church, which had been abandoned for some time. They added a pulpit, pews, and requested former states of the Confederacy to contribute funds for the stained glass windows. Border states like Maryland and Missouri agreed to be included, but Kentucky declined only due to funding issues. The Ladies Memorial Association appropriated the money on their own to include the border state. Gene told us about each of the saints represented in Louis Comfort Tiffany’s designs. Finally, Gene made it clear that the Confederate flag half-round window above the main door is the only one of its kind made by Tiffany. The city website lists the church as a shrine to the Lost Cause, which it most definitely is. The windows and engravings throughout glorify the mission of the Confederacy, and never mention the enslavement of human beings. There needs to be an overhaul in the interpretation of the church. That being said, Gene was very kind to show us around the church. The church and the cemetery are must-see locations for those trying to understand the issues of upholding the Lost Cause lies.

Our very last stop on our summer adventure was at Virginia State University. In our research of newspaper articles, we saw where VSU removed four names from dormitories and academic buildings. Byrd, Eggleston, Vawter, and Trinkle Halls are all now in the process of having their name changed. The official statement from the university reads: “ … the current names do not reflect the rich heritage and spirit of the Virginia State.” Harry Floyd Byrd and Elbert Lee Trinkle were governors of the Commonwealth in the 20th century who held beliefs that VSU does not support. Dr. Joseph Eggleston was a member of the Board of Visitors who also held questionable beliefs. Charles E. Vawter was the school’s rector and the university has decided he does not reflect what VSU would like to portray. Instead of jumping the gun and quickly removing the names and replacing them without thought, VSU has a team of scholars, former students, and current students to find names that do reflect the mission of the university. Now the names are simple (Building B, T, V, and E) and only temporary. VSU is taking the correct steps in using their renaming process as an educational opportunity for faculty, students, and alumni.

[heyyitsnica]

Sports Blog

The Women’s Rhythmic individual all-around competition at the 2016 Summer Olympics was held at the Arena Olimpica do Rio. The competition consisted of a qualification round and a final round. The top ten gymnast in the qualification round advanced to the final round. In each round, the gymnasts performed four routines (ball, hoop, clubs, and ribbon), with the scores added to give a total. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MaxT2vguGXQ)

Court Dimensions

An Olympic floor exercise mat is required to be 12 meters by 12 meters, which equals 39.37 feet by 39.37 feet. The standard distance from one corner to the opposite corner is 1,697 cm or 55.68 feet. Allowances are made for competitions in case the floor exercise measurements are not precise. For the length and width, the 12 meters has a 3 cm margin of error. For the measurement from corner to corner, the floor has to be within 5 cm of the standard measurement.

Equipment

Sportswear/Leotard – in order to move freely, a gymnast is required to wear leotards, especially in classes and during competitions. This is the most important thing that is needed.

Ribbon – band that the gymnast must keep constantly moving by forming very precise figures, such as serpentines, spirals and circles.

Hoop – rigid apparatus used in a wide variety of manipulations, such as rotations, throwing, rolls and passing through.

Ball – is a sphere that a gymnast manipulates to bring out suppleness and corporal expression, as well as the contrast between power for throwing and gentleness for catching.

Rope – apparatus whose length is proportional to the gymnast's height. It is mainly used for jumping.

Club – apparatuses that are manipulated in a choreography made up of rotations, throwing and asymmetrical movements.

Basic Skills

Rhythmic gymnastics is a sport in which gymnasts perform on a floor with an apparatus: hoop, ball, clubs, ribbon or rope. The sport combines elements of gymnastics, dance and calisthenics. The basic skills that you would need to acquire is to be strong, flexible, agile, dexterous and coordinated.

Rules of the game

No jewelry of any type can be worn.

Hair must be tied away from the face at all times.

No shoes are allowed on the gym floor. Bare feet or gymnastics shoes (i.e., beam shoes) are recommended. Socks and tights are unsafe in the gym because they are slippery on the apparatus/equipment, mats, and hard floors, therefore they are not allowed.

Girls attire: Gymnastics leotard or biketards only. No skirted or dance leotards, buckles, belts, or zippers. Fitted shorts or pants may be worn during warmups. (Gymnasts may be asked by the coach/instructor to take them off during equipment time.)

Boy's attire: T-shirt tucked into shorts or pants that are not too baggy. No buckles, belts or zippers.

How to officiate the sport

On an international level, all of competitive gymnastics is governed by the International Gymnastics Federation which was founded in 1881, and is the oldest established sports federation in the world. Each country then has its own national governing body which is affiliated to the International Gymnastics Federation. In Australia this governing body is called Gymnastics Australia. Underneath the national governing body each state has their own state association and this state association in co-operation with the national governing body coordinate and provide for the participation by Australian athletes, coaches, and officials in gymnastics and approved national and international competitions.

The International Gymnastics Federation is the international governing body whose policies and guidelines each national association must abide by, which is utilized for officiating within the Commonwealth Games. Officials are made up of the competing countries to ensure equality and unbiased outcomes in terms of judging within the games.        

Nationally according to Gymnastics Australia - the main organization of governance, coordination of event and management of the Gymnastics image, reputation and athletes, officials within Gymnastics, whom comprise of both coaches and judges, must attain a national Gymnastics Australia Accreditation in order to officiate and coach at the Commonwealth Games. This of course is just in terms of Australian officials. This accreditation can be achieved through the attainment of competencies and testing through numerous courses available. In terms of major events, further qualifications must be attained to then achieve a Technical Membership of Gymnastics Australia.        

This technical membership will then lead to the acquisition of regular information updates in regards to the organization and furthered education such as educational courses and workshops. Additional attainments will include Insurance and Risk Protection - in terms of liabilities and Communication with all members of the organization at all levels (which can be seen as a positive in terms of networking and building business relationships). This henceforth leads to officials and judges agreeing to abide by Gymnastics Australia’s Policies and Regulation, which comprises of policies and ethics.

[fandomverseofanthony]

The Vampyre Of Time And Memory

Hey guys, it’s me. I. bet. you. thought. that. I. waaaaaaaas. DEAD!

Whaaaaaaat? TWO references to Queen’s of the Stone Age? (Hint: Druncle’s lyrics are not of my creation, but a song of QotSA)

Jumping back into the massive fandomverse of Fallout, I wrote a story featuring @ohmdo‘s Druncle and @vectober‘s V! (Also mention of @spacialkiwi‘s Trish and @commonwealth-hugs‘s Abby!) Enjoy!

              The gentle feeling of warmth. A familiar caress of the cheek. Hazy memories of a better time, long since passed...

Waking from a deep slumber, Anthony was disappointed to find that he was all alone, laying within a heap of scrap metal. A single ray of light pierced through the smog, beaming down on him. Raising a hand in front of his face, he tried his best to keep himself from being blinded.

              Anthony’s mind felt scrambled, unsure of how he got into his current position. He could only assume that the feeling was similar to a hangover. Letting out a long groan as he shifted uncomfortably in place, he combed through his memories, looking for anything that might provide some insight. His concentration, however, was broken by the arrival of a stranger, their head eclipsing the sun. Straining to focus, his vision corrected itself just in time to see that the person standing over him was pointing the barrel of their pistol directly at him.

              “Funny… I don’t remember scheduling a wake-up call.” Anthony quipped, subtly scanning the area for something to defend himself with, just in case.

              It wasn’t his first time being held at gunpoint, nor would it likely be the last. Anthony’s bad luck usually put him into unfortunate situations such as this, rarely able to talk his way out of them, but it never stopped him from trying. Experience taught him that not everyone in the wasteland was a crazed psychopath.

              The figure stood there, stoic, dressed from head to toe in black, including the mask that was keeping their identity a mystery. Their attire reminded him of the Crimson Dragoons, from the Anchorage Reclamation simulation, but far less gaudy. They were fairly tall, with the tactical clothing clinging to their toned, muscular build. He also noticed that his “Peacemaker” gauss rifle was slung over their shoulder. Whoever they were, it was clear that they were either the remnant of a well-trained group of operatives, or really good at looking the part.

               “Who are you? How do you get here?” the stranger questioned. Their voice was deep, yet smooth, not at all what Anthony was expecting.

               “Where exactly is ‘here’?” Anthony noted, single brow raised, hoping that the person would be friendly enough to provide an answer.

                Despite the stranger’s mask obscuring their expression, Anthony was certain that they were frowning beneath it. Pulling the hammer of the pistol back, they held it closer to Anthony, finger hovering over the trigger. “I’m not fond of repeating myself. Answer the question, or I’ll have to waste a perfectly good bullet. You’ll be stuck bleeding out slowly and painfully…” they insisted, a tinge of annoyance in their voice.

                Keeping his composure, Anthony complied with the individual’s request. “My name is Anthony, and I honestly have no idea how I got here.”

                The stranger hesitated, leaving Anthony feeling slightly uneasy. The silence was almost unbearable, waiting to see whether they would believe him, or if he was soon to be left in an unmarked grave. The person cautiously holstered their pistol, while Anthony let out a heavy sigh of relief in response. Pulling him out of the heap, he took a moment to observe his surroundings. Below the hill was a makeshift gathering of houses, barricades, and crude defenses. It was the lighthouse that stood behind him that gave the location. Kingsport.

                Anthony remembered visiting Kingsport in the past, but it was nothing like its current state. He wondered exactly how long he had been out for, and why he still couldn’t remember much before waking up in that heap. His last memory was in Goodneighbor, assisting Trish with some routine repairs. Anything after that was fractured, at best.

                Taking a moment to brush himself off, his attention returned to the stranger. Reaching out, he attempted to shake their hand, having a few questions of his own. “Now that we’re all nice and civil, how long has Kingsport been like this? Last time I was here, there was nothing but abandoned buildings, left over from before the war. Now this place seems to be flourishing, I can only assume thanks to you…” he paused, trying to get a name out of them.

                The person firmly shook Anthony’s hand. “Druncle.”

                “…Druncle?” Anthony’s brow raised once again, as a slight smirk formed, wondering if it was a nickname of some kind.

                They nodded. “M-hm.” The two laughed.

                Druncle held out Anthony’s rifle, “I believe this belongs to you.”

                As the weapon exchanged hands, Anthony paused. Giving a warm smile, it was as if he was reunited with an old friend. “Yeah, this has gotten me out of a lot of trouble. Saved a lot of lives too.”

                Druncle placed a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Let me give you the tour.”

                Anthony remained in Kingsport, helping wherever his talents could best be put to use. Druncle and Anthony didn’t speak much with one another at first, but something about Druncle made Anthony feel that they were kindred spirits. Every now and then they would share a drink, learning a little more about one another, sharing exploits of action, adventure, horror, drama, and the truly bizarre. Druncle typically favored a small glass of Scotch, while Anthony stuck with his usual bottle of Nuka Cola.

               Despite the sense of accomplishment Anthony felt from helping out, and the joy from making new friends, something didn’t feel right. He felt hollow, incomplete, as if a major part of him was missing, yet he had no clue what was causing it. Night after night, he found it harder to sleep. It was slowly taking its toll.

               One particular night, Anthony wandered towards the lighthouse, drawn by a haunting melody drifting through the night, telling a story of love and loss. Rounding the building, Anthony was surprised to see Druncle sitting at the top of the lighthouse, on the ledge, solemnly strumming a worn wooden guitar, while overlooking the sea.

               “Where O where have you been my love? Where O where can you be? It’s been so long, since the moon has gone. O what a wreck you’ve made me. Are you there over the ocean? Are you there, up in the sky? Until the return of my love, this lullaby…” Druncle gently placed the guitar to his side, sensing Anthony’s presence.

               Sitting down next to Druncle, Anthony queried, “Can’t sleep either, huh?”

               It wasn’t the real question that he wanted to ask. His curiosity clawing at the back of his mind, insisting that he know more about the song, but Anthony knew better than to pry into someone else’s business.

                Druncle lowered his head, finding it difficult to hide his heavy heart.

                Anthony shifted his focus away from Druncle, choosing to peer beyond the horizon as he continued. “Don’t worry, I get it. You don’t have to answer. We’ve both seen a lot, been through a lot, and it’s a hefty burden to bear…” Leaning back, he looked up at what used to be the sky, now nothing more than lingering fallout. “…sometimes I just ask myself why I always seem to survive, while those around me tend to die. Is it because my continued existence is some sort of punishment? Am I paying for something I’ve done or should have done?”

                Anthony didn’t expect a response from Druncle. Who truly knew the answer to his question? Even just being able to get such feelings off of his chest, sharing his thoughts with someone who knows what it feels like, brought him some semblance of peace.

                Druncle placed a comforting hand on Anthony’s shoulder. Rising to their feet, guitar in hand, they offered, “You ever think that... you’re here because there’s some great purpose out there for you? Waiting and all that?” They couldn’t help but let out a drained chuckle, as Anthony waved them off. “Yeah, me neither.”

                Patting Anthony’s shoulder, Druncle slowly stepped away, turning back just long enough to finish, “You can’t save everyone… guilt doesn’t change that fact. You’ll get lost in the dark feeling it. Trust me…”

                As Druncle disappeared into the lighthouse, Anthony felt a chill run down his spine, putting him on edge. Jumping up, he nervously looked all around him, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched. Quickly making his way down the lighthouse stairs, he almost slammed into a well-dressed women, on his way out of the door.

                “Ah, so this is where you’ve been hiding…” the woman scoffed.

The woman’s hair was as sleek and black as a raven, peaking out of what looked like a summer hat, both it and her dress matching in shade, with only a hint of purple throughout. Her skin was a pale bronze, with dark eyes that felt as if they were piercing his very soul.

                Before Anthony could even open his mouth to speak, she interjected, “I’ve no time for games, and any questions you may have for me will all be answered with this…” she held out an ornate rose, made out of various kinds of metal.

                Anthony was hesitant at first, this encounter definitely falling under the ‘truly bizarre’ category, but something about the woman seemed oddly familiar. Against his better judgement, he felt as if he could trust her. The moment his fingers made contact with the rose, it felt as if the last puzzle piece finally clicked into place.

               The flood of memories, of events that once were, but now were nothing more than a bad dream, rushed through his mind. Anthony nearly lost his balance, as the onslaught sent him reeling backwards. Horrific visions of Goodneighbor in ruins, those closest to him either dead or experiencing great pain and suffering. Anthony’s eyes welled up with tears as he was forced to relive every agonizing moment. Among all of the darkness, one beacon of light managed to shine through. Alaelys.

              Anthony carefully peeled back the petals of the rose, finding a wedding ring inside. The ring he made for the love of his life, the one person he was willing to go to any lengths to be with and keep safe. He made the ring, and the rose that it was encased in, in hopes of asking for her hand in marriage. It was on that day that he planned on proposing to Alaelys. It was that day that Elder Maxson loyalists ambushed Goodneighbor, laying waste to the town, getting revenge for the death of their leader.

               In the aftermath, a sharp dressed man appeared before Anthony, black vest, slacks, and dress shoes to match his slicked-back hair, a stark contrast to his warm skin and crimson red dress shirt. A devilish individual that Anthony had run into time and time again, offering to fix everything. All it would cost him was that which he holds most dear, Alaelys.

               The gentleman referred to himself as Guile, insisting that all he would do was rewrite reality, ensuring that Anthony and Alaelys would never have met, while also ensuring that several painful events and deaths never come to pass. To make things easier, he would even make sure that Anthony would not remember the deal, and what was lost.

               Anthony asked for a moment to decide. For once Guile was willing to wait, sure that this time he would get his way. Vanishing into thin air, Guile’s laughter still echoed in his absence. Anthony called out a letter, no, a name. V.

               A woman stepped out from the shadows of Goodneighbor, the same woman that handed Anthony the rose. Anthony knew her, through his friend Abby. He knew that she hated Guile, or more accurately what Guile is, what she is. They were beings not of this world, of great and terrible power, and that’s exactly what he needed at that time.

              Anthony pleaded for V to help him make things right, outsmarting Guile in the process. So many lives would be saved, and V gets to revel in the fact that Guile was tricked by a mere mortal. The very thought of it caused her lips to curl into an inhuman smile. She agreed to help Anthony out, taking the flower as part of the plan, but only because he was a close friend of Abby’s and for the humiliation that would be inflicted upon her nemesis.

              Snapping back to the present, Anthony wiped the tears from his eyes. V was taken by surprise by Anthony’s sudden embrace, squeezing her tight. “Th-Thank you…” he stammered, almost at a loss for words.

              V wasn’t sure how to respond. The only other person to ever have hugged her, and lived, was Abby, and she knew Abby would not be pleased if she killed Anthony. Instead, she stroked his hair, as if he was a pet, before lightly forcing them apart. V nodded, blinking out of existence as she stepped back. Looking back down at the rose, Anthony knew there was only one more thing left to do…

              The following morning, Druncle was going through the usual routine of patrolling Kingsport, but felt as if something was missing. They were surprised to find that Anthony was nowhere to be found. Arriving at the lighthouse, there was a bottle of Scotch with a note pinned to it.

Hey Druncle, I’m sorry that I left without saying goodbye, but every second counts. I guess you were right about having a greater purpose. Maybe we all have one, and it just takes being at the right place at the right time to realize that. I appreciate your hospitality, your wisdom, and most of all, your friendship. Oh, and not shooting me in the face, the first time we met… Yeah… This won’t be the last time we see each other, as once I reach this journey’s end, I’ll have one hell of a story to share with you, over a drink. So, as a token of my gratitude, I left this bottle of Scotch, that I purchased off of a caravan not too far from town. It cost a pretty cap, but hey, you’re worth it. Enjoy, my friend.

                                                        Until we meet again,                                                                      Anthony

[laughingpinecone]

Chocobox 2020 letter!

I am laughingpineapple on AO3

It’s a long list of character combos so the specific requests aren’t overly detailed, please draw at will from my general likes and general fandom likes in addition or as an alternative to any of those!

All requests are art or fic - for art, the stuff I like is the kind that depicts the characters doing something. I’ll always be happier with a very simple drawing of two characters walking together or sharing a cup of coffee than with an ambitious composition that looks like an Avengers poster. I also enjoy seeing them wear different clothes, getting a feel of what their fashion sense is like beyond their canon outfit(s).

Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (especially if the event the fic focuses on is made up but canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and similar formats, bonding and emotional support/intimacy, physical intimacy, lingering touches, loyalty, casefic, surrealism, magical realism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic, dreams and memories and identities, canon-adjacent tropey plots, outsider POV, UST, resolved UST, exploration of secondary bits of canon, leaning on the uniqueness of the canon setting/mood, found families, characters reuniting after a long and/or harrowing time, friends-to-lovers, road trips, maps, mutual pining, cuddling, wintry moods, the feeling of flannel and other fabrics, ridiculous concepts played straight, sensory details, sickfic, places being haunted, people being haunted, the mystery of the woods, small hopes in bleak worlds, electricity, places that don’t quite add up, mismatched memories, caves and deep places, distant city lights at night, emphasis on non-human traits of non-human characters (gen-wise, but also a hearty yes xeno for applicable ships)

Cool with: any tense, any pov, any rating, plotty, not plotty, IF, nerdy canon references, unrequested characters popping up

DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, focus on children, unrequested ships (background established canon couples are okay, mentions of parents are okay), canon retellings, consent issues

Ghost Trick

I am very interested in various characters finding about the erased timeline, but not getting their memories back, and having to live with being told about what they did but never remembering it. Exploring the ghost lore is great. All what-ifs welcome (what if they managed an acceptable happy ending but didn’t reset the timeline, what if a different party went back to the past and kept their memories, what if Alma’s ghost stuck around…) Also open to AUs here, especially for generic fantasy or sci-fi settings or the Final Fantasy ones I prompted last Yuletide .

For the non-canon sides of Jowd/Alma/Cabanela, please no infidelity? I’d be good with either setting the fic during the game timeline or some what-if thereof when the other spouse is dead or unavailable, or simply keeping them offscreen and not mentioning them (eg Alma/Cabanela beach day, Jowd/Cabanela precinct shenanigans)

For Jowd in general, I do love my big boy and enjoy milking that size difference for all it’s worth. In gen contexts too, it’s neat. him big.

Alma/Jowd & Cabanela: Sleepover time! In whose house and why? What’s a Best Friend (tm) thing to do?

Alma & Cabanela: what’s a moment just for them, how are they aligned? How are they both changed by the tale of the other timeline?

Alma/Cabanela: ghost Alma joins up with Cabanela! ...and doesn’t remember the details of her murder or it’s gonna be a very short investigation, but anyway. Bittersweet ghost romance?

Alma/Cabanela/Jowd: please give me a completely smitten Cabs who spent so long pining and can’t believe it’s happening for real (even if it’s been happening for like, two months already?)

Alma/Jowd: how’d Jowd’s strength come in useful that one time?

Alma & Sissel: plot twist, she saves him. Did he misplace his body? Miscalculate some core jump?

Cabanela & Bailey: unexpected dance partners? Cabanela is harsh toward his subordinates but maybe not so much outside work?

Cabanela & Memry: extremely unconventional mentor & pupil let loose on the town like two horrible geese

Cabanela & Missile: what will get these two exhausted?

Cabanela & Jowd: all the devotion, please! Maybe coming from Jowd as well for a change

Cabanela & Pigeon Man: new timeline friendship? PM is a magnificent Cabanela wrangler, I think, reining in the whitecoat excesses...

Cabanela & Sissel: out-noiring each other, Sissel having the time of his life following Cabanela in an investigation

Cabanela/Jowd: hurried confessions outside the prison? Jowd figuring out he reciprocates right then and there or later on? How much later? What’s his favorite thing about Cabanela and vice versa?

Jowd & Emma: I don’t want to undercut her idealism and sound moral principles in doing what she did simply to take a stand against the death penalty, but did they know each other maybe? Or does Jowd reach out afterwards, curious about this woman? ...do they collab?

Jowd & Pigeon Man: I wanna see how they get along... a tiny snippet of a case? What Are Pigeons If Not Small Chickens After All?

Jowd & Yomiel & Sissel: Sissel has two dads. That’s just how it is.

Jowd & Yomiel: Postcanon bonding with total human disaster Yomiel leaning on Jowd like a cat and Jowd being also a human disaster but like more dad-shaped?

Kamila & Pigeon Man: (overriding the “focus on children” DNW) adopted uncle doubles as science mentor!

Kentucky Route Zero

(Should Act V come out between the end of nominations and reveals, I’ll be playing it immediately and I’ll probably add a few thoughts and prompts here for kicks, at the end of this section, after a spoiler warning. Obviously feel free to stick to canon up to Un Pueblo De Nada regardless.)

I’m all for exploration of any of the game’s themes and for including any staples from adjacent genres - wanna go full-on American Gothic? Dip into surrealism? Take a leaf from Twin Peaks with tulpa / split narratives to explore the characters’ issues? I generally love AUs so if you want to sidestep the inconvenience of an incomplete canon that way, be my guest! Or of course there’s Xanadu at the height of its glory, an infinite what-ifs generator. Were the requested characters part of it, what were their digital counterparts up to? A Xanadu narrative would be great! I’d also love to hear about any new spot along the Zero or the Echo river, or an expansion of some place that’s only mentioned by Will in HATATE or only gets a few paragraphs of text. Lula getting ideas for a new installation, or an article talking about her work? Donald listening to Static between stations somehow (Donald being constantly high as a kite as per this)? Joseph who went back to the surface finds himself near an entrance to the Zero somewhere? A collection of Weaver-isms? Sad surreal bureaucracy? Feel free to bring in anyone else from any part of canon.

Cate & Will: a small, chill adventure on a new island? Extensive mushroom lore?

Joseph Wheattree/Lula Chamberlain/Donald: the disaster concave love polygon in all its glorious doom... does even Xanadu contain a single hope for them? I’m fascinated by alternative developments in which they all stayed underground and explored further, sprinkled with subterranean symbolism at will

Junebug & Lula Chamberlain: something something art! Something something we live in a society, too. Idk I’m intrigued by their strong personalities and how they might clash, Junebug’s abrasiveness and Lula’s resigned bitterness

Weaver Márquez & Donald: she was down there! They are both very bizarre individuals! How’d that go!

Will & Donald: ...conversely, as far as we know Will was not down there but Will knows everyone. So how’d they get to know each other? What’s the Bureau of Secret Tourism’s take on the Hall of the Mountain King?

Pyre

The burning found family feelings, the revolutionary passion, the tension between topside social constraints and the kind of freedom allowed by the Downside! I love all the themes, the solemnity, the heart of this game. I adore everyone in that Blackwagon+Dalbert+Celeste, so if you want to add a Nightwing or two to any prompt, please do! I also love all the Scribes and find Erisa a compelling tragic figure, while out of the other triumvirates, I’m “love to hate them” for Manley, Brighton, Udmildhe and Deluge and would not like to see them featured in sympathetic roles. My main interest usually lies in post-canon exploration when applicable, but I’m also into various adventures during canon. Pick a location or a place outside the map and see what happens? As for the ending variables, I’d ask for a peaceful revolution and Oralech alive, but no preferences on who’s up or down, pick whatever works best for any given plot bunny.

Big Bertrude & Volfred Sandalwood: “people who were close in the Commonwealth find each other in the Downside” is always a gr8 thing to explore and I’d love it for them! Epistolary friendship if they end up separated?

Big Bertrude/Pamitha Theyn: sneaky, reserved kindred spirits. Their shared ending is great and I’d love to see it expanded. Bertrude’s attitude being thorny in a way that’s just what Pam needs to allow herself to open up... also: snake kisses.

Celeste | The Gate Guardian & Oralech: he let him through when the  and they waited for the Nightwings... did they exchange a few words there? Or do they meet again somehow, in the Union or among the stars?

Celeste | The Gate Guardian & Sandra the Unseeing & Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: the three people who were there when the Scribes walked the earth and who have opposite opinions on the matter. I’d like to see their views clash, either when they were young or during game events

Molten Milithe & The Vagabond Girl: I imagine ae (I called her Tae but no strong feelings on this front) might have different relationships with the different Scribes, so what’s the one with the Wild Witch? What was she going through at a time when she felt her close?

Oralech & Big Bertrude: Bertrude’s protectiveness toward Volfred could be fun to explore here, both in the old Nightwings’ time and postcanon. Volfred aside, they’re a baby revolutionary and a grizzled agitator, which sounds like fun!

Oralech & Pamitha Theyn: idk I just want to throw Oralech at various Nightwings and see if he can make some friends. He and Pam look complicated enough to stand each other.

Oralech/Volfred Sandalwood: I am mainly interested in postcanon reunion, or postcanon established relationship. Getting to know each other again. Oralech figuring out that Volfred’s puffing up in formal meetings because he’s super nervous about all these responsibilities. Seeing what their dream looks like

Oralech/Volfred Sandalwood/Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: Volfred has two hands, and sometimes miracles happen twice? How do they balance each other, what’s the Oralech/Tariq side like and what’s Volfred’s perspective on it? Is Tariq a constant part of their lives or does he fade in and out?

Pamitha Theyn & Ti'zo: flying buddies! He’s a simple soul and she is very much not, but he’s also ancient and has seen heartbreak like hers over and over...

Rukey Greentail & Volfred Sandalwood: on pragmatism. I feel like these two could come to a mutual understanding in their own way.

Oralech & Sir Gilman: is there any way that this won’t end in a demonstration on how to perform a nautical knot with a wyrm?

Tariq & Ti'zo: the great gossiping duo. All the juciest skreeches. There are also a few occasions when Tariq says something about the imps while he blatantly means himself, and I’d like to know what Ti’zo thinks of this projection.

Tariq | The Lone Minstrel & Big Bertrude: he knows how to handle her, and she should know how to appreciate a slightly eldritch creation (?) of the Scribes...

Volfred Sandalwood & Hedwyn: in Oralech’s own words to Hedwyn, Volfred probably picked Hedwyn as an Oralech replacement. Does this change Hedwyn’s opinions on Volfred and the plan? Was it a conscious choice on Volfred’s part? Or how do they get along in general?

Volfred Sandalwood/Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: “both think the other is the bee’s knees and possibly out of their league” is catnip to me. I’d say it’s understandable from Volfred while Tariq is just super smitten (and struggling with his own sense of identity and desires, sure. but also smitten). So I think it’d be fun for Volfred to be somewhat out of his depth for once and try to be close to/console Tariq for whatever reason?

The Last Remnant

I’m very interested in post-game exploration, and getting a clearer feeling of any of the cities and assorted places that populate this fascinating world. I like the whole party with their characterization based on battle quotes, red bubble dialogues, and even their unique stat (‘authority’ is a natural fit for David but ‘romance’ tells me something new about Sibal!) Character interaction. Bit of worldbuilding. What’s another festival they celebrate? Do they erect something else instead of the Valeria Heart? Any fun discoveries down in Siebenbur? Where the hell IS Veyriel, anyway, do they go look for it and if so what do they find out? End of an age. Old bonds.

David Nassau & Torgal & Allan: catfight with mediator. Torgal has two h... Torgal has four hands actually and I’m very interested in his very positive relationship with David and his disastrous one with Allan. It’d be fun if these two aspects of his life came together, like a platonic V

Emmy Honeywell & Pagus: Emmy just ended up short a parental figure and the oldest and chillest of the four generals is right there?

Pagus/Maddox/Sibal: give me all the Qsiti worldbuilding, Siebenbur worldbuilding, Remnant daydreaming, shared backstory, old men reunions after the ending…

Twin Peaks

Case fic but they don’t find out jack shit, someone disappears, David Bowie was there, it’s complicated. Fragmented, shifted, mirrored identities. New Lodge spaces. The risks of staring into the void for too long. Gentle illusions. Transcendence. The moon. Static buzzing. Any title from the s3 ethereal whooshing compilation used as a prompt, actually. Twin Peaks is all about the mystery to me, the awe of mystery and unknowability and the human drive to look beyond and the risks of getting a peek, and about shared consciousness and trauma taking physical form in an uncaring world. Go wild with the ethereal whooshing! But I also love the human warmth at the heart of it all, and sometimes it’s enough to anchor these characters and let them have a nice day. A fic entirely focused on some instance of coziness against the cold chaotic background of canon would be great too.

Canon-specific DNWs: any singular Dreamer being the ‘source’ of canon, BOB (let alone Judy) being forever defeated in the finale, Judy being an active malevolent presence in the characters’ lives, clear explanations for canonical ambiguities, ‘Odessaverse’ being the reality layer, the Fireman’s House by the Sea being the White Lodge, anything that 4 hours Twin Perfect video says is the explanation of Twin Peaks

Albert Rosenfield & Constance Talbot: city mouse and country mouse? What’s their long-distance friendship like and what’s an occasion for them to meet? What’s her position in the symbolic spread of blue rose and blue rose-adjacent disasters/hopes for the future?

Audrey Horne & Diane Evans: Weird postcanon encounters? Can Diane lend a hand when Coop most certainly could not? They are hardened in different ways; we know Audrey has a precious dreaminess underneath that mess, what about Diane?

Chet Desmond & Albert Rosenfield: punchy&pacifist sounds like a recipe for disaster but their directness makes me think that they’d get along great?

Chet Desmond/Sam Stanley: reunion fic! Chet’s been AWOL for years, Sam has fallen through the cracks, how do they find each other again and why do they choose to remain off the grid? I would also like to read about them in the present day-ish, handwaving the return and reunion. Maybe they made a new life for themselves. If Sutherland were to play Sam again, Sam would be… notably more buff. What caused that change, was it traveling with Chet, what kind of person is he now? Could they be in Buenos Aires, investigating on their own whatever that shrinking box was?

Constance Talbot/Diane Evans: when the show was airing we used to joke that the various plots converging on Buckhorn were actually a race to woo the absolute jewel that is Constance. Cynthia got there first but Diane knows how to flirt! We have a whole week and a whole town...

Cynthia Knox/Tamara "Tammy" Preston: the FBI and USAF supernatural branches meet again after Douglas Milford’s times... what’s their attitude toward it (who’s the Mulder and who’s the Scully......), in what ways does their respective task force’s past inform their views, is there more hope for a new generation who saw the trauma of the past without living it firsthand? LET TAMMY KISS ALL THE GIRLS BUT THIS ONE IN PARTICULAR

Dale Cooper/Albert Rosenfield: fiery early days? Dream meetings that Albert will inevitably write off as a product of his aching subconscious? Post-finale where Albert has made his peace with Coop not being part of this world and not even deigning to greet him, except one day Coop is back - with apologies? Post-post-finale where they’re peacefully living out their days as best as they can?

Dale Cooper/Harry Truman: Harry seeing his Coop again… somewhere, somehow. Maybe he perceives him in the woods, maybe Coop isn’t all human now. Monster cuddles very welcome. Could be canon divergence but could very well be post-s3. Harry getting closure for waiting all that time in front of Glastonbury and never giving up on Coop… they can live in the woods together…

Albert Rosenfield/Harry Truman: did they tragically fall into each other’s arms in the wake of Coop’s disappearance? Did they realize they’re so good for each other, but neither of them was willing to give up their life? And/or was the wound of Coop’s disappearance too fresh for them to try to heal? Do they keep in touch throughout the years? Does Albert resign on the spot with a resounding fuck it after the s3 finale and rush to see Harry? Does he stay this time?

Dale Cooper/Albert Rosenfield/Harry Truman: basically the sum of the three sides of this triad… give them peace, given them nice things, give them so much love… Coop finding his place in the world and making up for lost time… give time to these old wounds…

Diane Evans & Albert Rosenfield: any ol’ night drinking together, or ending up in some liminal place much to Albert’s chagrin (and Diane’s as well...?)? I just love their bond and want to see more of it. At any point during their shared history and even after the finale!

Donna Hayward & Audrey Horne: the half sisters meeting again please? And finding a new balance between them, different from what it would’ve been when they were young when they never got a chance to discover it...

Gordon Cole/Phillip Jeffries: does Gordon eventually manage to throw himself into the void (that’s one way of considering a retirement plan!) and reach Phillip? What’s left inside that teapot alembic, or is he the smoke? How did Gordon even get word from Phil - in his pt17 infodump, he seems perfectly aware of the other’s status - what kind of contact have they kept? I love all the fanon I’ve seen for them, if you want to lean into it.

Harry Truman & Chet Desmond: I don’t know how, I just know that it needs to happen to see how they’d bounce off each other. Chet got the short straw with Cable and Deer Meadow in general; Harry just likes them fancy agents...

Lucy Moran & Albert Rosenfield: this. This is the ultimate recipe for disaster. How can it turn out less-than-horrible for everyone involved? Especially with young Albert?

Tamara "Tammy" Preston & Albert Rosenfield: wlw mlm solidarity? He used to be the one pulling all-nighters finding needles in haystacks, now it’s her job; is technology helping? Does she eventually get the full weight of what tulpa Diane and shooting tulpa Diane meant to him? What’s the latest Gordon gossip? What do they do for fun?

Tamara "Tammy" Preston & Dale Cooper: she roasted him for two dossiers in a row and looked characteristically unimpressed in pt17; conversely, the narrative may or may not have positioned her as ‘the new Cooper’. Idk I just want them to meet somehow and feel the passing of the torch...

Tamara "Tammy" Preston & Margaret "The Log Lady" Lanterman: the lady said in TFD she would’ve liked to meet Margaret and I operate on a strict “give Tammy what she wants” policy, details schmetails. There are places in this world and others where the passing of time is at best a vague suggestion, so.

Wally Brando & Harry Truman: Wally visiting his godfather, whom he deeply respects! Frank wasn’t quite on board with Wally’s whole thing but what does Harry think of it?

Wally Brando & Laura Palmer & Dale Cooper: I have a soft spot for Dale and Laura traveling through strange spaces, lost, slowly healing. On this background, imagine, if you will: Wally speeding by on his bike. I need this meeting…

[breakingnewsalert1]

D-Day at 75: The Guns of the Allies at Normandy (PHOTOS)

About half of the Allies that hit the beaches and landing zones in Normandy on D-Day were American, while the British and Canadians made up the other half. (Photo: British National Army Museum)

Operation Overlord on June 6, 1944, along the French coast of Normandy during World War II was very much an Allied operation, and the guns they carried were varied and interesting.

While the Americans were detailed to hit two of the five invasion beachheads– Omaha and Utah— their British and Canadian allies were tasked with taking out three beaches of their own– Gold, Juno, and Sword. For both Commonwealth allies, the primary infantry rifle was the Lee-Enfield .303.

Canadians boarding a troopship for Normandy, June 5, 1944. Note their No. 4 Enfields, complete with breech covers to aid in keeping sand and mud out. Of note to sci-fi nerds, among the Canadians on Juno that day was James Doohan, who later went on to portray “Scotty” in Star Trek. On D-Day he caught a six bullets from a German machine gun and lived to tell the tale. (Photo: Library and Archives Canada)

First introduced in 1907, the original version of this bolt-action classic was the Short Magazine Lee–Enfield Mk III, or just plain old SMLE MK III. When mounting a giant 22-inch Pattern 1907 sword bayonet, this was the rifle that the British Army first took to France in the Great War to fight the Kaiser. Using a 10-round detachable box magazine that typically was never detached, British military doctrine of “Ten Rounds Rapid” delivered by a trained body of infantry could lay down an often deceptively large and effective volume of fire when arrayed against Mauser 98-armed opponents.

This beautiful BSA-produced SMLE MKIII (in the 1920s reclassified as Rifle No. 1 Mk III) up for grabs in our Vault dates to 1911. This rifle design, in slightly modified format, was still carried by the British and Canadians in WWII. These rifles originally cost around £3 or about $15 to make in 1907.

While many British Commonwealth countries, such as Australia, continued using the SMLE Mk III pattern rifles through the 1950s when they were replaced by the inch-pattern semi-auto FN FAL, Canada, and Great Britain in 1943 moved to an updated version of the Lee Enfield, the Number 4 Mk I. This rifle ditched the “hog nose” front cap of the older rifle, switched out the sights and used a stronger action that had the side benefit of being faster to make.

This Canadian-made Long Branch arsenal No. 4 Mk. I in our Vault has had its rear sight replaced in later years by an aftermarket Weaver scope mount, however, the rest of the rifle is largely correct for WWII– including rack marks on the stock. The Canadians still use this series Enfield in their Army’s Ranger program in the country’s remote polar regions, although it is finally being phased out by new Sako C-19s in .308.

Besides the Enfields of various makes, both the British and Canadians were seriously augmented with submachine guns in assorted flavors. The M1928 Auto-Ordnance Thompson SMG in .45ACP had been provided as Lend-Lease from the States early in the war.

British Royal Marine Commandos move inland from Sword Beach on D-Day. Note the Enfields as well as the M1928 Thompson in the hands of the fourth man in the column. (Photo: Imperial War Museum)

In addition, the much simpler STEN sub gun, which fired at 500-600 rounds per minute from an open bolt, was more commonly issued to sergeants, paratroopers, and specialists.

Easy to mass produce, over 4 million STENs were cranked out during WWII. The 9mm burp gun was a simple blow-back design that used a 32-round box magazine that inserted horizontally. the STEN Mk V, seen in the above image of British 6th Airborne Division paratroopers in Normandy on June 7, 1944, was the more refined version of the gun that included wooden furniture. British and Canadian paras jumped with a STEN and seven magazines. (Photo: Imperial War Museum)

Another sub gun used by both the British and Canadians at Juno, Gold and Sword was the Lanchester Mk. I, an unlicensed copy of the German MP28/II. These were issued to naval personnel working the beaches themselves. Chambered in 9mm, these 10-pound SMGs were made by Sterling and accepted the Enfield sword bayonet. (Photo: Canadian War Memorial)

In the rare color footage from the Imperial War Museum, below, you can see British troops coming ashore in a second wave at Normandy equipped with No. 4 Enfields, early pattern STEN guns and BREN light machine guns.

When it came to handguns, the British and Canadians had a difference of opinion. The Brits went for a pair of break-top 6-shot revolvers, chambered in .38/200, which is comparable to .38 S&W.

The Enfield No. 2 was easy shooting due to its heavy weight and anemic round. This example, an Mk2 “Tanker” variant shown with a Pattern 37 holster, 1943 British Army clasp knife and BREN gun accessory tin, was DAO while the standard Mk1 was DA/SA and included a hammer spur. (Photo: Chris Eger/Guns.com)

The other British revolver used at D-Day and throughout WWII was the Webley Mk IV .38/200. With more than 500,000 of these produced by Birmingham-based Webley & Scott, they were the most common British wheel gun of the conflict.

This Webley Mk IV from the Guns.com Vault is ready to add to the collector’s armory.

As for the Canadians, while they went along with the Brits on rifle and SMG choices, they broke with London and looked to America for their revolvers. Having purchased Colt 1911 .45ACPs and Smith & Wesson 2nd Model Hand Ejector wheel guns in .455 during WWI, in 1939 Ottawa selected the Smith & Wesson Military & Police series in .38S&W as their primary handgun, eventually buying nearly 120,000 of them.

The Canadians bought Victory series Smiths, which were later known as M&Ps, chambered in .38S&W, which allowed them to use the British .38/200 cartridges as well. Smith later updated the M&P after the war as their Model 10, like this iconic six-shooter we have in the Vault.

One thing the Brits and Canucks could agree on when it came to handguns was the Browning Hi-Power. Made during the war by the John Inglis Company of Toronto with a little help from Belgian exiles, the so-called Browning-Inglis was produced in quantity, with over 150,000 made. The Canadians and British each took about a third while others went to Allies such as China. As a D-Day legacy, Canada still issues these WWII-era guns to their military today.

In all, across the British and Canadian sector, some 83,000 troops landed on Gold, Juno, and Sword while another 8,000 went in with the airborne troops, making up about half the Allies in Normandy on June 6. Allied casualties on the first day of Operation Overlord numbered over 10,000.

For more information on the British and Canadian efforts on D-Day, visit Library and Archives Canada, the Canadian War Museum, Imperial War Museum, and National Army Museum.

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