#I will genuinely draw a timeline map if I have to

[completeoveranalysis]

[7]

OK LAVA LAMP LET’S SIT DOWN FOR A MOMENT

YOU TURNED BACK TIME??

I’m sure we will get more about this next week but WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

DID YOU TRAVEL BACK IN TIME BY YOURSELF, INTO YOUR OWN TIMELINE, OR DID YOU SOMEHOW PAY ENOUGH TO REWIND THE ACTUAL TIMELINE ITSELF TO THE POINT WHERE YOU WERE ABOUT TO TURN SEVEN?????

WHAT WOULD EVEN BE ENOUGH TO PAY FOR THAT?

I’m reeling what does this even mean. Is ALL OF THIS just Round Two of the plotline? Did Lava Lamp and Sakura just grow up happily in Clow until they got to [insert age here] before he turned back time to start it all again?

Or did Evil Wolverine’s influence happen that time too, and he ALSO went on a journey to save Sakura and this is actually the second time it’s all happened?

And what is it exactly that Lava Lamp is trying to prevent? What happens to Sakura that he rewinds time all the way back? It would definitely line up with Evil Wolverine’s timing, but it might not necessarily be that. 

What was he supposed to have figured out here, at this point in the timeline, like he mentioned before? And did he mean when he was genuinely 6 years old or when he was 6 years old the second time and so secretly not 6 years old at all? 

Did 2nd Time Around 6 Year Old Lava Lamp KNOW something about the plot that he could have figured out here, with context? And he laments not putting the pieces together?

LAVA LAMP I THOUGHT I WAS SO CLOSE TO ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDING YOU AS A CHARACTER AND NOT ONLY WAS I WAY OFF BUT NOW I GENUINELY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S EVEN HAPPENING

THANKS.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Six

The Gods had a plan, that much was clear. He always knew there was more to him. More than just a second son, more than a scholar or a swordsman. From his blood would come the King of Kings, who would take over the world even more so than Aegon the Conqueror. Yet he knew the Gods would not simply grant him this honour, Aemond thought. No, they sought to test him, to put him on trial to see if he was worthy. And what better way to do so than to bind him to a person he could not stand?

Aemond was a devout follower of the Seven, his mother had ensured it. Dragons may have made the Targaryen’s Kings but there was a higher power all men must answer to, be they peasants or Princes. He would trust the Gods judgement for what they had in store for him, yet he yearned for their guidance in the face of adversity. The moment he returned to Kings Landing, he first visited the Sept, looking for answers. In the dark and stoney building, where the scent of incense filled the air, Aemond kneeled before an altar and lit a few candles.

To the Father, he prayed for strength to fulfill his duty, to uphold the legacy of House Targaryen, even in the face of personal anguish and resentment. To the Mother, he asked for patience and understanding as he embarked on the path set out for him. To the Maiden, Aemond pleaded for purity of intention, to be able to cast aside past turmoil in order for the marriage to bear fruit. When beseeching his chosen god, the Warrior, he asked for courage and valor, praying for the bravery to face the challenges ahead with steadfast resolve, even in the face of his own doubts and fears.

To the Smith, he prayed to be forged with resilience and fortitude, that he may withstand the trials and tribulations of a marriage born not of love but of necessity, and that he would be able serve the Realm justly. Aemond asked for the Crone to illuminate the path before him with her wisdom, that he may discern the lessons to be learned from this unexpected turn of fate, and that he may navigate the complexities of his future with clarity and insight. And finally, to the Stranger, he begged for guidance through the shadows of doubt and uncertainty, that he may emerge on the other side with acceptance and peace.

The Prince knew finding contentment with his great future, mapped out by the Gods themselves, would be easier some days compared to others. One such day that seemed easier was when he arrived back at the Keep and saw his sister, Queen Helaena, his nephews and niece, and Maera, laughing in the gardens. The lush greenery of the gardens provided a picturesque backdrop, with vibrant flowers blooming and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze lending a tranquil atmosphere.

Maera’s animated gestures and bright smile captivated Aemond’s attention, momentarily thawing the icy disdain between them. Despite their turbulent history, seeing Maera engrossed in conversation with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera stirred a small sense of warmth within Aemond. It seemed as though Maera was regaling the children with a captivating tale, her enthusiasm infectious and drawing genuine smiles from the young prince and princess.

As Aemond leaned against the cool marble pillar, his mind was consumed with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Despite his deep-seated disdain for Maera, he couldn't deny her natural affinity with children. Growing up in a House teeming with siblings, Maera's nurturing instinct seemed innate, effortlessly drawing the royal children to her side. It was no wonder they were captivated by her presence.

In his mind's eye, Aemond envisioned a future where Maera stood as a mother to their own offspring, silver-haired children destined to leave an indelible mark on the world. Though he harbored no affection for Maera, he couldn't deny the image of her nurturing her own children with unwavering love and dedication.

As he grappled with the realization of their intertwined fate, Aemond felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Their mutual disdain for each other seemed insurmountable, yet the prophecy foretold a future where their bloodline would shape the course of history. Despite the tumultuous journey that lay ahead, Aemond resolved to endure, accepting the weight of his destiny bound to Maera.

As Jaehaerys and Jaehaera rushed to greet him, their youthful enthusiasm brought a fleeting smile to Aemond’s lips. Their innocent energy provided a brief respite from the tension that lingered between him and Maera. Yet, as the Lady approached, her gaze locked onto his single violet eye, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel a sense of uneasy truce settle between them for the moment, if only for the sake of the children.

After the initial greetings, Jaehaera turned to Aemond with a serious expression. "Are female warriors as fierce as men, Kepus?”

Maera interjected before the one-eyed Prince could reply to his niece. "Absolutely, they are,” she declared firmly.

Aemond couldn’t help but smirk when he questioned her, watching the way Maera’s face scrunched up in annoyance, yet her eyebrows raised in intrigue, almost as if she was trying to hide the fact she too enjoyed the thrill of a challenge.

"Join me for training tomorrow in the courtyard, just like old times. I will fight for the young Prince and you can fight for Princess Jaehaera,” he requested as Maera folded her arms across her chest and furrowed her brow. Aemond would hate to admit it, but he was hoping with all his being that she would say yes.

Eventually she dropped arms and with a sigh, a small smile graced her face. “How could I refuse?” Maera replied, looking at the smiles beaming on the twins faces.

Aemond’s interest was piqued, and he couldn’t deny the allure of facing off against her in combat. The Gods may have bound them together, but Aemond refused to accept a weak partner. If Maera claimed to practice often, her skill with the sword must be honed and formidable.

And how delighted Aemond was to be right. A day later, as the Prince was practising with the Lord Commander, a sharp dagger flying through the air and hitting one of the straw dummies caught the crowd’s attention. Clad in a blue tunic and brown leather vest and trousers, she cut a striking figure, her brown and silver locks braided away from her face to accentuate her piercing forest green eyes.

Despite the intensity of his own practice, Aemond couldn’t help but steal glances in Maera’s direction. From the corner of his eye, he observed her swift movements as she engaged with the three squires the Lord Commander had assigned to her. With each clash of blades, Maera displayed a fierce determination that Aemond couldn’t help but begrudgingly admire. Amidst the clang of steel and the grunts of exertion, Aemond recognised Maera’s tenacity and skill on the training grounds as she beat all three men.

When the time finally came for the one-eyed Prince to spar with the Lady, their movements seemed to flow seamlessly, like dancers gliding across a ballroom floor. Their swords clashed with precision and grace, each strike and parry executed with fluidity and finesse. Their footwork was agile and precise, reminiscent of a choreographed dance, as they circled each other with a grace that belied the intensity of their duel. Their swords sang through the air as they hit each other, creating a mesmerizing rhythm that echoed throughout the courtyard. It almost came across as romantic.

As they continued their spar, Aemond felt a surge of exhilaration coursing through him. It was as if a piece of his old self, the youthful and carefree young boy of years past, was resurfacing amidst the intensity of their duel. Despite the weight of his responsibilities and the burdens of his past, in this moment, he felt alive, relishing the thrill of the fight. However, despite the Lady’s prowess, he sensed a momentary lapse in her focus. It was a familiar trait from their childhood days, one that he knew how to exploit.

With a calculated strike, Aemond breached Maera’s defense, his sword finding its mark and leaving a gash across her chest. He observed her wince, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that fueled his determination. seizing the opportunity, he delivered a swift kick, sending Maera crashing to the ground.With Maera lying beneath him, Aemond swiftly straddled her hips, his weight pressing down as he pinned her to the ground. His sword hovered dangerously close to her throat, a silent threat that demanded her submission.

Holding her in place, Aemond took in the sight before him. Maera's face flushed with exertion, beads of sweat glistening on her brow as she breathed deeply. Strands of her brown and silver hair had escaped their braid, framing her face in a wild halo. Her blue tunic bore the marks of their spar, torn and stained with blood from where his blade had struck her, revealing glimpses of her heaving chest beneath.

The Prince’s mind wandered as his breathing fell into a rhythm with hers. There was a strange and unsettling beauty in seeing her in such a vulnerable position, beneath him, her power stripped away. It was an intoxicating sensation, one that made his heart race and sent shivers down his spine. It was like a drug, addicting and irresistible.

When Maera finally yielded, Aemond smirked in victory, relishing in her admission of defeat. He knew how stubborn she could be, and forcing her to submit must have been a bitter pill for her to swallow. But oh, how he reveled in making her feel that pain.

That evening he could not help but stroke his cock to the sheer image of her defeated body beneath him, grunting softly as he slid his hand up and down repeatedly. His face twisted in pleasure as his mouth fell open, picturing her heaving breasts, her reddened face, her intense green-eyed stare before releasing into his hand. The image of her swollen with his child, the continuation of his bloodline foretold by the Gods, was enough to make him hard once more. And it made him angry, reminding him of the night of Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, when he desperately sought relief by his own hand because of Maera.

The Prince vowed not lose himself to depravity. He wanted to maintain some form of control, and whilst he knew Maera was a key part of his future, he would not allow himself to become ensnared by her. Not her beauty, not her wit, not her skill with the sword. He needed to remain sharp of mind, so he occupied himself with his duties, just as he always had. The dutiful son of House Targaryen.

For weeks he patrolled the Reach, Riverlands, and Westerlands tirelessly, his presence a looming shadow over the lands he traversed. He made it a point to liaise with the High Lords of each region, maintaining alliances and ensuring their unwavering loyalty to his brother, Aegon. Aemond’s commanding presence and diplomatic skills proved invaluable as he navigated the complex web of politics and power dynamics that governed each territory.

In addition to his diplomatic efforts, Aemond diligently sent ravens bearing news and requests back to the Capital, keeping his brother informed and up to date on the latest developments across the realm. His dedication to his duties served as both a distraction from his inner turmoil and a testament to his loyalty to the crown.

Yet he could not get returning to Kings Landing out of his mind. To face off against Maera once more brought him a strange excitement. The last time he saw her was the night the blue and black dragon landed on the beach—a moment that felt like an omen from the Gods, occurring as Aemond and Maera stood together, gazing up into the night sky.

During that encounter, Aemond took a perverse pleasure in verbally tormenting her. She stood before him in a thin cotton nightgown and robe, her curves accentuated beneath the white fabric, squirming uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Bandages adorned her chest, evidence of the wound Aemond had inflicted upon her during their sparring match.

And how he so looked forward to their fights continuing once he returned. In their battles of wit, the Prince found a peculiar joy—a satisfaction derived from the sharpening of his intellect and the thrill of outmaneuvering his opponent. With every exchange, he revelled in his victories, savoring each triumphant moment while carefully analyzing his missteps, always striving to improve his skills.

Beneath the surface of his desire for intellectual supremacy lay a deeper, more primal urge. He yearned for dominance over Maera in every facet of their interactions. He longed to exert control over her, to make her feel small and insignificant in his presence—a fitting retribution for what he perceived as her betrayal and the bewildering effect she had on his emotions. For Aemond, the prospect of facing Maera once again was not just an opportunity for verbal sparring; it was a chance to assert his power and assert his dominance over the woman who had unsettled him like no other.

One stormy day upon his return to the Red Keep, he intended to find his mother and sister. His usually sleek and straight white hair now clung to his face and neck, dampened by the relentless downpour outside, its ends curling slightly from the moisture.

Upon arriving at his mother's chambers, Aemond found them empty, devoid of the usual warmth and presence that he associated with her. Instead, he was directed by the guards stationed at the door to his sister Helaena's rooms. With a nod of acknowledgment, he made his way through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors.

As Aemond entered his sister Helaena's chambers, he found his mother, the dowager-queen Alicent, seated by the window, her expression fraught with concern as she watched the maids help her daughter out of the bath. The tension in her shoulders seemed to dissolve as Alicent’s gaze fell upon her second son, relief washing over her features.

“Mother…” Aemond began, concern etched into his expression. Before Aemond could utter another word, Alicent enveloped him in a tight embrace. Despite his usual reserve, he returned the gesture, his arms encircling her form.

When Alicent finally pulled away, she brushed a tear from her brown eye, managing a smile. “It’s fine, Aemond, we’re fine.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted to Helaena, now clad in her nightgown holding a millipede in her palm, her wet hair being gently combed by the maids. She seemed content in her own little world. “What happened?” Aemond inquired, his voice tinged with concern.

Alicent’s gaze turned towards her daughter, sadness clouding her features. “She’d been unsettled all afternoon,” Alicent began, her voice soft, laden with worry. “She asked to go outside for some air, and then we couldn’t coax her back in during the storm. She was hysterical.”

Aemond, standing by the door, felt a weight settle in his chest. Guilt tugged at him for not being there for his mother and sister in their time of need. Aegon, his elder brother, had once again proved of little assistance, and Aemond regretted being away from the Keep to attend to his duties, knowing his closer bond with Helaena could have offered solace.

His one-eyed gaze lingered on Helaena as she delicately lifted a millipede to her face, her expression serene yet distant. Their violet eyes met briefly, and she uttered cryptic words, her voice soft and ethereal. “It is not blind but it does not see.”

His brow furrowed in confusion at her enigmatic remark, but before he could inquire further, Alicent gently guided their attention back to her.

“Then Maera came,” Alicent continued, her tone tinged with a sense of relief. “And, well… they have always shared an unspoken bond.”

Aemond couldn’t help but feel a mixture of gratitude and frustration towards his foe. While he harbored resentment towards her, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt knowing that Helaena had been spared the anguish of being restrained or further distress, a testament to the calming influence that Maera seemed to possess. No one could reach Helaena like she could.

Lord Commander Criston Cole had taught the a prince that sometimes a truce was better than losing when facing an enemy. Despite their mutual disdain, they were bound by the will of the Gods, a fact that Aemond couldn’t ignore. With a hum, he acknowledged that perhaps it was time to bridge the gap between them, if only to make his own life easier.

Determined to confront Lady Maera and initiate this uneasy truce, Aemond stormed to her chambers, his steps echoing with purpose down the corridor. Upon arrival, he was met by her maid, who informed him that she was currently bathing. Despite the maid’s attempts to dissuade him, Aemond insisted on having an audience with Maera, his resolve unyielding.

There was a twisted pleasure in knowing that, as a Prince of the blood, he could demand to see her whenever he pleased, a small victory that gave him a sense of power over her. He enjoyed the idea of disrupting her routine, knowing full well that it would annoy her, yet finding joy in the knowledge that he held the upper hand in this encounter.

As Aemond entered the room, his gaze immediately fell upon the wooden screen that shielded Maera as she bathed. Despite the barrier between them, he wasted no time in inquiring about his sister's well-being, his concern evident in his voice. When Maera revealed the events of the storm and her role in bringing Helaena to safety, Aemond couldn't help but begrudgingly thank her, acknowledging her efforts in preventing further distress to his sister.

Seated near the hearth in Maera's room, Aemond suppressed a chuckle at the sight of her feeble attempt to maintain her modesty behind the screen. It struck him as ridiculous, given that any semblance of reputation Maera once held had long been tarnished, and therefore there was no need to hide from him. At least that was what he told himself.

The Prince remembered Helaena’s words from her wedding day, many years ago when he walked her down the aisle. Dragon fire melts the steel to bridge the gap between sky and sea. And what better way to bond with her than sword fighting like when they were children? It took some convincing but when she finally agreed, Aemond saw it as a step towards bridging the gap between them and potentially fulfilling the prophecy foretold by the witch of Harrenhall.

As weeks went by, Aemond couldn’t deny the exhilaration he felt. Despite their differences, they each possessed unique strengths with the sword that complemented one another. Through their training, they not only honed their swordsmanship but also coached each other to improve, fostering a sense of camaraderie between them. With each passing week, Aemond sensed a small part of his childhood self resurfacing, softening the cold and hardened edges he had acquired over the years.

Yet after each session, the Prince found himself grappling with newfound confusion and inner turmoil, leaving him unsettled and frustrated. He had always prided himself on his unwavering certainty and control over his surroundings, but the shifting dynamics with Maera left him feeling adrift and uncertain. When he was with her, Aemond experienced a sense of excitement and renewal, a departure from the stoicism that had defined him for so long. He couldn’t comprehend these conflicting emotions, and they gnawed at him like a relentless fire, consuming him from within. Despite his efforts to maintain control, he found himself burning alive. Burning for her.

“She has declared herself a virgin?” The witch’s tone was cool, her eyes glinting with an unsettling knowingness as she sat at her table.

Aemond sat in the dimly lit room of Harrenhall, visiting once again to attend to his duties, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the hearth. At Alys’s question, he turned his head and furrowed his brow, his voice laced with confusion and frustration. “She did not outright declare it, but it was something she said…”

His mind took him back to a day in the Godswood, having just returned from a trip to the Westerlands. The Prince immediately spotted Maera seated beneath the towering Weirwood tree, engrossed in the pages of the Seven-Pointed Star. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she muttered the words to herself. Aemond couldn’t help but find the sight endearing, a stark contrast to her usual confident demeanor.

Her dark brown curls, adorned with the distinctive silver streak, cascaded around her shoulders, framing her face as she looked up from her book to meet his gaze. However, instead of the usual warmth, Aemond detected a troubled expression in her emerald eyes.

“Nyke se mandia,” I'm the eldest she said, the words heavy with emotion. "Nyke yenka emagon issare idīntan ēlī . sytiotāpagon zirȳ va skorkydoso naejot sagon sȳz ābrazȳrys se muña. Y…” I should have been married first. So I could guide them, advise them on being good wives, good mothers, on how to navigate the wedding night. But instead I…

“Why would she not defend herself? Why keep silent?” Aemond muttered, more to himself than to Alys, his thoughts swirling with unanswered questions.

Alys’s grin widened, her gaze piercing. “It’s like wine on a cotton shift; a stain not easily removed once spilled,” she remarked cryptically before shrugging. “If she refuted the claims, it would not have mattered anyway.”

Aemond shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. “If she is proved a maiden in the eyes of the court, she will be free to wed, and therefore seen as a more suitable wife for myself,” he mused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the thought of Maera as his wife, as well as the great life they would lead, if what the witch predicted was true. Quickly refocusing, he continued, “The King of Kings must come from our blood. Though coming from a minor House, her chances are still slim.”

“The scales can still be tipped in your favor, my Prince,” Alys stated calmly, rising from her chair with purpose evident in her movements. “If you'll allow me?” Aemond tilted his head, studying her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded in reluctant agreement, though his expression remained guarded.

Alys proceeded to gather ingredients from various shelves, her movements fluid and deliberate. With practiced precision, she arranged them on the table before retrieving a knife from a nearby chest.

“Your blood, my Prince,” she requested, extending her hand toward him as if it were a perfectly ordinary request.

Aemond's frown deepened, his stance rigid with discomfort. “Blood magic is blasphemous,” he protested, the weight of his upbringing and values evident in his words.

Alys met his gaze steadily, her own unwavering. “And yet the Gods demand it,” she countered, her tone firm and unwavering. Seeing his reluctance, she added, “Blood mages have ancient roots, tracing back to the days of Old Valyria. Your ancestors had no qualms practicing it.”

Aemond averted his gaze, conflicted by the truth in her words. The history of his lineage was filled with tales of ancient magic and power. Could he dismiss it so easily now, when faced with a solution to his current predicament?

Alys's voice sliced through the tense air, snapping Aemond out of his contemplations. “If you wish to conduct your investigation without my help, so be it,” she declared firmly, her cat-like eyes boring into his with unwavering determination. “But time is not on your side.”

Aemond's jaw clenched as he wrestled with his inner turmoil. He knew the urgency of the situation, the pressing need to resolve the matter swiftly. The vision of the King of Kings seemed to slip further away with each passing day, and he couldn't afford to let that happen. Maera's fate hung in the balance, and he refused to let her slip through his fingers.

With a frustrated growl, he extended his hand toward the witch, a silent acknowledgment of his reluctant acceptance. “Just see it done,” he grumbled, his voice laced with impatience and resolve.

Alys wasted no time, and with a deft slice, she pierced through the Prince's palm, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. She then positioned the mortar beneath his hand, allowing the crimson droplets to pool within its depths. Retreating slightly, Alys placed the mortar on the table before deftly adding the tea leaves. With a measured hand, she began to grind the leaves and blood together, the sound of the mortar echoing softly in the room.

Once satisfied with the mixture, the witch retrieved a pot of boiling water, her movements deliberate and precise. Pouring the steaming liquid into a cup, she added the concoction from the mortar, stirring it methodically until the contents melded into a dark, swirling brew. After a muttering of some words, Alys raised the cup to her lips and drank the potion in a single gulp.

Aemond watched the ritual unfold before him, a mix of bewilderment and revulsion churning within him. The sight of his own blood mingling with the tea leaves filled him with a sense of unease, a stark departure from the teachings of the Faith of the Seven that he had been raised with. Yet, in the face of necessity, he found himself willing to set aside his reservations, driven by a relentless determination to seek out answers and secure Maera to his side.

Once Alys finished consuming the dark concoction, she hummed softly to herself, her gaze shifting from the cup to the Prince with a focused intensity. "I see a man hanging above a maelstrom you do not know. Upon the orders of two white feathers."

Aemond's brow furrowed in frustration at the cryptic words. "Riddles will not help me," he growled, his tone laced with impatience and anger.

Undeterred, Alys pressed on, her expression unwavering. "But this might. The ship known as the Bird of Thousand Colours," she declared, her voice carrying an air of certainty. "Find records of its departure from Blackwater Bay and any passengers on board. That will lead you to finding discrepancies in the rumours and clearing the Lady’s name."

Aemond's frustration boiled over, his anger evident in the sharpness of his retort. "You are sending me off to look for ship records? How will this prove she is a maiden to the court?!" he demanded, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"I can only tell you what I see, my Prince," Alys replied calmly, her demeanor serene despite the Prince's growing agitation.

With a huff of exasperation, Aemond stormed out of the room, his rage simmering beneath the surface. He was more frustrated than ever, his mind grappling with the seemingly futile task ahead. As he left Harrenhall behind, the weight of uncertainty hung heavy on his shoulders, his thoughts consumed with the looming challenge ahead.

The prospect of embarking on what he perceived as a wild goose chase only served to stoke the flames of his anger, and he vowed that if Alys’s words proved to be false, she would pay dearly for leading him astray.

Notes: Hey! I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, my health has been really shit. So doctor now thinks it’s ME (CFS) rather than PVFS because it’s been going on for almost five months. I’ve started new meds for headaches and nausea so I’ve been a bit all over the place. Uploads might be slower than usual but I’m writing when I can. And I see your asks and messages I’ll get to them soon but thought I’d upload a chapter while I get my shit together 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[jeepersjpeg]

I'm sorry that you were harassed over the comic. It's such a good piece of work and I think about it a lot as someone who believes that Liam and Airy would have learned to co-exist in a timeline where Airy didn't die. It genuinely touched my heart and I remember reading it over and over when I first came across it. It's sad that a show full of morally gray characters attracted a fan base of people with such black and white thinking. I hope that people leave you alone.

it's not the first time this has happened unfortunately LOL. not to be a hater but the OSC has always gone to far too great lengths to prove that they're "good", to the point of being hypocritical, Loudly Wrong, and throwing people under the bus.

luckily most of the reception i get for my work is positive, but i still have to keep my distance and refrain from posting a lot of what i make. i appreciate the people who Understand this show and my intent with fan works.

airy isn't evil, there's really no real-life equivalent to teleporting people into a gmod map. once he saw liam, a real person, in front of him-- you can see it start to click for him. he drops everything to care for and accommodate him, i think he'd do that for anyone who came to tell him to stop One. he can't understand that everyone else on the plane is Real like liam is. it took him physically manifesting in front of him to even realize he was.

he and liam are a mirror of eachother, maddened by death and un-death, detached from what is "good," "bad," and even real because of the trauma they've experienced. it is maddening to watch people run in circles trying to decide "who's the victim?!" "who's had it worse?!" "which one is irredeemable and which one's just a poor traumatized guy who doesn't mean all the awful things he's done?!" because That Isn't The Point Whatsoever. people create these boxes and draw these lines and then apply them in places where no one fits into them.

im actually A Little Glad this discourse spurred up on my new account ? cause like. if people cannot handle the nuance of that, it might be good for their safety to not traverse the rest of my stories. my oc's do Horrible Horrible things to eachother and then they Do Way More Than Hug.

[childofcolors]

Ateez storyline

This is how I visualise the Ateez storyline using the MVs in a map-like drawing I created in order to hopefully help 🙃

Big disclaimer! Everything I’m typing here is theory or interpretation, but I am using the Diary entries from the Fever and The World albums as guide for the Ateez storyline. Everything else is pure theory/ speculation on my part.

I also feel the need to thank the team behing atiny.net for providing the diary entries online for everyone to access. And for the team @hala_loretiny on Twitter for providing a very detailed Masterdoc on Ateez lore.

With that being said, even tho I’ve read the Masterdoc a few times, there are things I don't really agree with. So I re-read the diary entries as if I have never seen a single Ateez theory before and came up with my own timeline.

So here we go:

As seen in the guide above, we have 2 main storylines:

The Ateez storyline: the music videos where only Ateez make an appearance.

The Pirates storyline: the music videos where only the og Black Pirates appear (Disclaimer! This part is pure speculation/theory on my part).

There are also two secondary storylines:

The Ateez & Pirates: the music videos where both groups are present.

The Witness p.o.v: Halazia music video that encapsulates a very important part of the story (I will ellaborate when I get to it).

The Diary film

In this short film, we are introduced to each member’s story before forming the friendgroup known as Ateez. There were a few missunderstandings between them that made the friendship fall appart, but after Hongjoong has been visited in his dream by the man in the black fedora (The Black Pirate) and is given the Cromer and the information that another world exists, the 8 friends get back together and the journey begins.

Inception

My interpretation of this MV is that Ateez are trying to understand how the Cromer works by trying to “fall asleep”.

The first one who is succesfull is Hongjoong at the end of the MV, when he is running towards himself sleeping and “falls into his sleep”.

After “falling asleep”, he ends up in a void-like room that can be also seen in Thanxx MV, but I will show it once we get to that part.

Thanxx

This is for the most part a rebellious song about teenagers not wanting their lives to be dictated by adults and that they will choose their own path (wich in their case is to go to this new dimension)

The part that stood out to me the most in the MV was when the sky turned from crear blue, to dark grey clouds:

And then, we see the 8 members in the same dark void-like room (that we also saw in Inception MV), along with a few other elements like cars, a dancing crew, a stage, big baloon animals (i am just as lost as you) and the most important part, the pirate ship (that will help them get from their world to New World).

Inception (left)

Thanxx (right)

The pirate ship:

Celebrate

The music video does give me the vibe that they are singing while on the ship to their destination, and it is a bit ironic how the song is about celebrating individuality, and the next thing you know, they end up in Strictland, a place where self expression thru music and art is forbidden.

As for the visuals of the MV itself, there is a clear shift in color that indicates when they genuinely arrived in Strictlang. Also they are wearing the same clothes that they wear in the Fireworks (I’m the one) MV wich is the very next song on the list.

The shift in color in the Celebrate MV:

The color and clothes similarity between Celebrate MV and Fireworks (I’m the one) MV:

Fireworks (I’m the one)

In terms of lore written in the diary entries, a lot happen so I suggest you read them, or listem to the audio version on Youtube 💕

But for the MV itself, not alot happens other than them arriving in what it’s assumed to be the Strictland garbage dump and The Black Pirates hideout, but no sign of the 8 pirates. This is where (in the books) we are introduced to a character known as Left Eye, the director of the Strictland dump, and the number 1 helper of The Black Pirates.

Strictland garbage dump (left)

The hideout of The Black Pirates (right)

This is the moment Ateez find out (in the books) that The Black Pirates are actually in prison, so Ateez need to go help them. They also learn that the prison (also known as the Android bunker) is on an island so they start saililng towards the island.

*More details are mentioned in the Fever ep. 3 diary entry at Mingi’s paragraph*

After arrival, they discover that the island it is an ex vacation resort, but due to the state the world is right now in New World, taking rest and vacations became meaningless.

*more in part 2*

[dyed-red]

is there any chance of you getting back to Desiderata?😔

This is not @ you specifically anon, but I am getting a little tired of answering this question, and I'm going to be a bit snarky about it.

Yes, I am getting "back" to Desiderata, insofar as I ever "left" it, which I haven't. It's been about 10 weeks since the last update, or 2.5 months, which honestly isn't that long in the grand scheme of things, as much as I very genuinely understand the impatience of waiting for an update.

What I genuinely don't understand is why there's become this default assumption that it's abandoned. You're the third comment *this week* starting on the assumption that I've left it aside or am not planning to finish it.

I've said repeatedly in the comments and on here that I'm finishing it. I was always going to finish it. Its not marked as on hiatus or abandoned. If you look at the original post date to most recent update, it's clear the fic has been posted slow (actually in fits and starts) between updates, so this is par for the course, here.

I won't meander into personal stuff, but the reasons for why posting slowed are personal irl crap and not creative lapse. Another 10k+ words of the fic are already drafted and I've mapped out the core pieces that aren't already written, even if some of those may be re-written and/or strung together differently as I finalize the final few chapters.

And look, just wanting to repeat that this vexed tone of mine isn't @ you specifically, it's just that you were lucky caller 100 and I got a bit annoyed with repeating myself. But if you are open to the suggestion, I do recommend you ask authors about updates without starting from the assumption of abandonment. Not all authors feel the same about questions about updates so take that with a grain of salt, but at least in my case, a question like "any word on the timeline of an update? 👀👀" is more fun than "any chance of you getting back to this thing which I assume you've left? 😔"

More generally, most advice you see floating around is that if you want more of a thing you like, hype it up instead of being sad or demanding about it. Instead of asking for updates (which, again, I don't personally mind! It's the assumption of abandonment of a mostly completed story that irks me), the usual advice is to write a comment on ao3 about what you enjoyed about the story, maybe highlight a line or two, or even one each chapter. That can reinvest an author's energy (if it has indeed lapsed) by drawing their attention back to the parts of the story that are loved, and their attention to it is half the battle sometimes, getting them revved up from there as they re-experience the story from the reader's point of view.

If that's too much work, drop a compliment about the fic in the author's inbox instead of just a question. "Loving this story, [insert genuine compliment about plot, style, scene, characterization, or etc here]. I couldn't find it in the fic comments or your tag for the fic here on your blog, so just checking if there's any word on future updates? Either way have enjoyed it so far!"

Boom.

All right I'll stop soapboxing now. I try not to get grumpy with readers. I love how much you guys love this fic and I never in a million years expected half this much interest in it, to be honest. I literally had the draft open last night, it's not abandoned. I'm here with you, nonnie, wishing it wouldn't take so long but on the journey to see it finished anyway.

[lunawish]

important note when interacting with my edelgard originally posted : 2020 on @/rotscheme / eaglegard (now deleted blogs)

i always debated making a reset theory edelgard canon on this blog or not because whilst i have discussed it with my partners, i’ve always been hesitant about it because 1) the awareness of the meta can come off like godmod and 2) it’s so overdone at this point that a lot of the impact is lost. however, the most recent interview that shed light to edelgard’s crest is giving me a lot of confidence to confirm this theory and actualize it onto my blog. ( 2023 gany interjecting, this is the interview in question!)

so what does this mean? it means that every cycle of white clouds, edelgard will have some sort of awareness. she’s not fully aware but she does have nightmares about the events in the routes where she doesn’t live. she remembers the pains of becoming hegemon edelgard, she remembers byleth mercy killing her, she remembers them in the shape of hazy dreams. as the invasion of the holy tomb draws near, her memory becomes more and more vivid and by the end of the throne room confrontation, her memories will return to her fully.

of course, this won’t exactly be forced onto muses in the white clouds phase because it could lie anywhere on the timeline. however, post-time skip i have a very specific order i like to deal with this.  i know fe3h’s jpn name is 風花雪月, which translates into wind, flower, snow, moon. however, i’m not going by that order. instead i’m doing a SS, AM, VW, CF (or a CF/VW merge depending on the claude) order. this order makes the most sense to me and i have discussed this at length with a friend, just to make it clear. ( 2023 gany: i'm pretty sure the friends i've discussed at length with were cass, nox, and lily haha)

i choose SS first, simply because it sets up a foundation for el’s hesitation to trust her classmates, knowing that a bulk of them ran away with byleth. it deepens her isolation and the unhealthy codependent relationship she builds with hubert. the last map of silver snow is called “chasing a dream” which you will later see why this is relevant. anyways, this is why azure moon she notes that facing byleth she’s weak because of the memories of byleth being her teacher and the cherished memories. each path byleth takes, it takes a toll on her mentally as if she’s trapped in this endless cycle of nightmares. 

come crimson flower, it genuinely takes her aback. she’s shocked that people decided to follow her this time, but her trust is still wonky for the first half of the time byleth goes missing because she’s starting to remember them defecting and she doesn’t want to hold onto them too tightly. but by the end of the time skip she lets herself trust them again and the black eagles become the family that she had lost all those years ago. the title of the crimson flower “to the end of the dream” is very poetic, if you think about it. for edelgard, she’s not only going to have her dream become reality but also this endless cycle of nightmares is finally coming to an end. 

the dream she had chased since silver snow? it’s finally coming to an end. 

so in short, how does this affect interactions?

not much, really. edelgard is still socially isolated for most of white clouds, she keeps a respectful distance and plans her interactions strategically. 

she has chronic fatigue, she’s always aware, always tired, there’s no room for respite. 

she only trusts hubert for a huge bulk of the time during AM and VW, in CF she doubts byleth’s loyalty and allegiances to her for most part but in CF she grows to trust her fellow classmates and learns to let them in because she now know them a little better, and they now also know her a little better too. 

i say CF and VW merge as an option too because i do think if series of events in white clouds changed that claude and edelgard could talk about their ambitions, a CF/VW merge is very likely (2023 gany here: crying over my ede/lcl/aude i wrote with lily sobs)

[horizon-forbidden-sheesh]

Writing Process: Preamble

*Ahem* SO! I was recently honored with a question about my organization process for writing. And, boy howdy, am I just tickled pink to tell you! I've never felt so seen!! Let's do this thing.

Let me start by sharing that IRL, I'm a copywriter/project manager for print & digital design work. So when I started writing my first-ever fic, I organized it much in the same way I would a website build.

But tbh, when I started The Marshal, I didn't really know I was writing a fic. In fact, I was only working through my typical video game process. In that I'm extremely anal note-taker, and it's just the way I live my regular-degular life. All my books are annotated to the Nth, I’ve been keeping a (rather inconsistent) diary since I was 17, and I’m a religious bullet journal-er with very specific journal preferences (grid paper, always).

My practice of video game note-taking goes all the way back to drawing maps of Luigi's Mansion as a kid to try and optimize my speed runs, and progresses into tracking daily decisions for BG3. I’ve also got entire pages in my bullet journal dedicated to developing backstories for all my Cult of the Lamb cult members, and my Notes app has several installments of history & lore from various Civ V games. It’s simply how I prefer to play.

(Side note: No, I am not technically diagnosed with anything. Yes, I have found myself in repetitive, furious spirals, tearing out pages of my notebook over-and-over when the map I HAD to draw in pen was not 'perfect.' 💁🏻Is this OCD?🦋 Who knows. Who cares.)

Game Timelines have always fascinated me, pretty much since Ocarina of Time. I want to know how exactly long something took, what order it happened in, and whether it's technically 'feasible' within the parameters of the game. Peep my post about 'realistic' gameplay for more deets.

Mostly, I was trying to track where I 'camped' each night, because it was SUPER IMPORTANT that the events of the game took place within the ~3 month timeline GAIA sets before the environment collapses (super casual). So, the notes from my first play-through looked like this.

And then I met Kotallo.

And I started drafting journal entries from Aloy's POV to explore the internal monologue behind all those ✨faces✨ she was making.

(These ones. Infinite credit to @Diviner-Alva for doing the LORDT'S WORK.)

They looked like this:

If you've read 'The Marshal,' you'll notice some similarities.

After a few weeks of gameplay, I was pushing 20k words in 'journal entries,' and it just... wasn't cutting it. That was around the time I knew I had an bona fide obsession on my hands.

Writing exclusively in Aloy's POV left out SO MUCH OF THE STORY that was developing in my li'l head alongside my gameplay. I was imagining a whole burgeoning, slowburn romance as I picked my way across the Forbidden West. It mirrored the side quests (That Talanah convo??) and overall themes of HFW perfectly. (Also, um, the consistent controller rumble during the Scorcher cut scene?? Like, WTF? You're telling me Geurrilla didn't know EXACTLY what they were doing? Pfft.)

I can't tell you when exactly I finally took to the internet to feed my hyperfixation, but let me tell you that it was my first time discovering Ao3, and I spent the summer of 2022 devouring every fic in the Aloy/Kotallo tag. I felt like I had finally found my people. It even worked for a while! But the story playing in my head didn't exactly match any of the stories 1:1, and I realized after a while that no one else could write MY headcanon.

Still, there's a TON of overlap in a few of them: Medicine by HIMLuv is by far the closest, and my personal fave. I love basically everything Garbage_Dono has written. Obviously, I've developed a massive crush on Pikapeppa. (How does she do it so FAST? *awe, amazement, un poco envy*) There are some truly incredible writers out there, and I'm genuinely grateful to every one of them for creating a foundation that gave me the permission I needed to finally fucking WRITE. I denied myself fanfic for probably 20 years, imagining all the ways I would be ruthlessly mocked if anyone ever found out. I've had a-lot-a-lot of shame blocks to work through as I've been writing over the past year, and this story about opening up and trusting others feels deeply personal in a way I can't quite put into words.

That's how I made the decision to begin adapting the journal entries into a more organized fic. So, I started my second play-though and created this account around that time. It would be probably be another ~6 months before I got drunk enough to just press 'publish' on the first chapter in April of this year, over a year after the game came out.

Every other reference tool I've made, I created along the way. I intended to post more of them here on tumblr, but hey. Life Happens.™ And even tho it feels like the fandom had moved on post-DLC, there's still pleeeeenty of time. 😘

Anyway, I'm gonna clip this here, and get more into the weeds on organizational tools in another post. But it felt like I needed to talk about this first, because when I started really writing in the Fall of 2022, I already had a lotta documents under my belt that I needed to wrangle.

If you got to this point, thanks for reading this entirely self-indulgent post.

xo, Sheesh. 🖤

[thewertsearch]

It’s cool how we're slowly transitioning from the generic 'troll' icons to the character's actual face, as we start to shine a light on these guys.

CG: WE HAVE THE ENTIRE CONTINUUM OF YOUR EXISTENCE TO CHOOSE FROM WHEN CONTACTING YOU. [...] CG: THIS HAS BEEN EXPLAINED TO YOU SO OFTEN IT WOULD MAKE ME SICK TO MY HUMAN STOMACH IF I HAD ONE OF YOUR HUMAN STOMACHS.

We've never seen these two talk before, but CG already knows John, and is apparently sick of his shit. Why are these trolls so intent on going nonlinear?  

EB: but you're still a major asshole and i don't actually want to talk to you, so bye. CG: WAIT. CG: BUT I'M NOT HERE TO TROLL YOU THIS TIME. CG: WE'RE FRIENDS OK?

And he's flip flopping in and out of belligerence, just like with Jade earlier. I can't tell if he's genuine, or if this is some weird trolling technique. 

My guess is the former, just because you can feel the effort coming off this guy. He's really, really trying to do something, and I just can't accept that that something is just 'be infuriating'. The dude is just bad at communication, timeline management, and regulating his emotions.  

CG: I'VE ALREADY HAD LOTS OF CONVERSATIONS WITH YOU. CG: IN THE FUTURE. I MEAN YOUR FUTURE. CG: I'VE KIND OF BEEN WORKING BACKWARDS HERE FOR A WHILE. CG: AND IT'S A LITTLE FRUSTRATING.

Yeah, but... you did that to yourself, didn't you? 

You said it above, you had John's entire timeline at your disposal, and it seems you deliberately chose the pattern that would make things as annoying for you as possible. 

EB: that's the dumbest thing i've ever heard. CG: WELL IT'S NOT LIKE I MAPPED OUT THIS TROLLING ONSLAUGHT VERY WELL IN ADVANCE. CG: I MEAN, WHEN YOU TROLL SOMEONE YOU JUST SORT OF DO IT. YOU DON'T START DRAWING FLOWCHARTS AND DIAGRAMS AND STUFF.

Why not? It’s time travel, for cryinoutloud! 

The way CG’s phrasing it, talking about how he didn’t plan this trolling campaign in advance, seems to imply it was his idea. So this guy is the head troll, or their strategist, or whatever, and even he’s just screwing around. 

These guys have no idea what they’re doing, do they? 

CG: YOU'LL GET PLENTY OF DIRT ON ALL THIS FROM ME IN FUTURE CONVERSATIONS. CG: TEDIOUS CONVERSATIONS. CG: ONES I'VE ALREADY HAD WITH YOU. CG: WHERE YOUR DEMEANOR WILL GRADUALLY BECOME INEXPLICABLY AND REVOLTINGLY FRIENDLY TOWARDS US. CG: AND SO I GUESS IT JUST WAS KIND OF INFECTIOUS AND NOW WE'RE ALL BUDDIES I THINK.

I’ve been puzzling about this conversation’s weird tone this whole page, and I actually think this is the crux of it. 

CG was working against the kids 'originally', in chatlogs that we haven’t seen yet. By this point, in his 'later' conversations, he's actually getting on a little better with them. His original plan to screw with them has kind of fallen apart, and he doesn’t really know how to present himself anymore. 

His original ‘cancerous’ persona is still coming out occasionally, but he's clearly run out of whatever steam he had when this all started. I bet as we go on, we're going to see him get madder and madder.

[thedigitalromantic]

Digital Sleuths: True Crime Communities and The Gabby Petito Case

Followers of true crime are attempting to solve murders themselves, piecing together clues as they appear - and I’m one of them. Why are we so keen to get involved? Are we genuinely helping, or just voyeurs who are doing more harm than good? When I joined an online sleuthing community I began to reflect more on these questions, and wanted to capture this moment in time where crime is being picked apart online.

Trigger warnings: domestic violence, murder, death, decomposition, rape, violence against women, fatphobia.

Gabby Petito was a 22 year old woman from the US who went missing during a road trip to the national parks with her fiancée, Brian Laundrie.

After camping together in Teton County, Wyoming, Brian appeared alone at his parents’ home in Florida on September 1st, driving Gabby’s van. Gabby was nowhere to be seen. Her parents asked him where she was to no avail, and they reported her missing on the 11th September after not hearing from her since the end of August. Brian’s parents hired a lawyer and the Laundries refused to speak with Gabby’s family, who resorted to official, public statements where they begged for information about their daughter.

On September 16th, they wrote: “Please, if you or your family have any decency left, please, tell us where Gabby is located… Tell us if we are even looking in the right place. All we want is for Gabby to come home. Please help us make that happen.”

On September 19th, searchers found a body matching her description at the last place Gabby and Brian camped.

***

Over the last few years, I’ve become so used to True Crime that watching unfolding stories in the news can feel like I’m just watching just another Netflix show. I don’t know if that says something terrible about me or the state of the world, but it feels like we’re both fascinated by, and numb to, the awful things that people do to one another. 

I first heard about the Gabby Petito case on Instagram, where an influencer I follow shared a TikTok explaining the case in great detail, adding “Have you heard about the Gabby Petito case??” as a caption. The TikTok user was sometimes posting several updates a day, and after a few days, I had started checking her page regularly. Where was Gabby? Was she missing, or dead? Who had seen the couple during the road trip? How was Brian acting now? 

Gabby’s own Instagram profile was still live: her follow-count increasing every hour the more people became aware of the case. Her Instagram profile was filled with glossy photos of her enjoying travelling, all exuding innocence and joy, and her and Brian had just started a Youtube channel to document their “van life” journey. 

The couple’s internet presence, their idyllic life, Gabby’s mysterious disappearance, and Brian’s odd behaviour and silence, created a perfect storm that seemed to draw people to the story. Like thousands of others, I needed to know what had happened.

***

In between TikTok updates, I had begun to search the case on Twitter. On the 19th, Twitter users were avidly discussing news of the body that was found matching her description. Everyone was clamouring for information. Was it really her? Had she been murdered? Would Brian be arrested? 

“How did you get the body coordinates?” One tweeted.

Another replied, “The Gabby Petito is Missing Discords. These people are better than the feds.”

I jumped on the tweet, replying to ask for more information, and soon enough, a handful of other tweets buzzed around mine asking for access. The Twitter user was kind enough to invite a few of us into the private Discord servers.

***

The first Discord was titled “Justice For Gabby”, its profile picture a photo of her in front of a mural of blue wings, as if she were an angel. The second was simply titled “Gabby Petito”, with a photo of her smiling. 

I began to scroll through dozens of people gathering to piece together what happened to Gabby, with maps, timelines, quotes from lawyers, analysis of terrain, and text messages. I was hooked; and I joined in, speculating about the couple’s final movements together, staying up late to join the American crowd, waking up in the morning to updates that happened overnight. I felt like I had hacked into the behind-the-scenes of true crime internet sleuths, and felt like I had found my true home.

Discord lends itself to late nights. The website is a dark, moody grey, people’s contributions appearing in front of you in real time in white text, pushed up the page every few seconds by a new theory or speculation.

On the right, a panel of usernames showing who is currently online (with a green circle) or idle (with an orange crescent) starting with the mods (moderators) before those who had joined. It was the moderator’s job to watch the chat, occasionally interjecting with a reminder to be respectful or to keep to the designated topic. The topic varied depending on the room, with titles like “general discussion”, “theories and rumours”, and “off-topic-lounge.” Users were almost all anonymous, although many used a first name and set their profile picture as a cartoon character, drawing, or pet. I called myself “Thea”, and initially, due to my anxiety that I would be older than everyone else there, put up a picture of myself to show that I wasn’t middle aged. Quickly, I realised nobody else was giving their full identity away, and switched it for a picture of Frog Detective’s lobster cop.

I often listened to the voice chat, where a handful of sleuthers would discuss the latest developments. I would stay on mute with maybe 20 or 30 others, all listening in. We watched live streams, sometimes hosted by news presenters, other times simply a static camera placed at the latest scene of interest, with trees gently rustling and cars moving past. Watching those livestreams, I noticed that time seemed to move in an achingly sad way, with this young woman either missing or dead, while the sun continued to rise and set.

***

We all have enough on our plates without bringing so much sadness into our day. Why watch TV shows that are upsetting or frightening? Why dwell on it at all? What draws us to follow cases like this? And why do women in particular seem to follow true crime with such passion?

I’ve devoured Making a Murderer, The Keepers, The Staircase, American Crime Story: OJ Simpson, Unbelievable, The Devil Next Door, The Ted Bundy Tapes, Unsolved Mysteries, and Sophie: A Murder in West Cork, while I’ve read books by Jerome Buting, Marcia Clark, and Michelle McNamara - each of these either documentaries or dramatisations of abused and murdered women.

More recently, while the Gabby Petito story unfolded, we in the UK were still awaiting the sentencing of Sarah Everard’s rapist and killer. Walking home from her friend’s house in London, she had been abducted by a police officer, lured into his car before being kidnapped. In the same month, Sabina Nessa was murdered and her body left in a park when she walked five minutes from her house in London. 

Like these two British women, Gabby should have been safe. She was travelling with her fiancée; the person she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with, the person she trusted. I couldn’t help thinking that Gabby Petito could have been me, or any one of my friends saving up to go travelling and see the world.

It has been suggested that women follow true crime because it’s a way of knowing and controlling the worst that can happen to us. Because really, there is nothing we can do to protect ourselves as we move about our lives. There isn’t anything we can say or do that will make an attacker have mercy on us. There isn’t a piece of clothing we can wear that will shield us from harm. There isn’t a weapon we can carry that will guarantee we keep our life. There isn’t a street, park, or house, where we can know we are 100% safe; in fact, statistically, it is our own home where we are most likely to be harmed. Maybe it makes sense that we would want every detail of the worst case scenario. It also makes sense that we would want to help; to pour our energy into finding Gabby, and solving the case, to find the closest thing to justice for this woman who could have been any of us.

***

It turned out that Brian and Gabby had been stopped by police on August 12th - a couple of weeks before her disappearance - after passers-by had reported a physical fight between them. On TikTok I watched the entire bodycam video, split into chunks with analysis, featuring the conversation between police and Brian, as well as footage of Gabby sobbing in the back of the police car, before they were forcibly separated for the night. Because Brian had scratches on his face, it was Gabby who was singled out as the potential abuser in this scenario, and Brian who was given a free hotel room to let the pair cool off.

On Discord, users discussed the 911 calls and what they saw in the body cam footage, including Brian’s body language, the police officer’s reactions, and how research into domestic violence could be applied to really understand what we were seeing. 

The video has now been thoroughly deconstructed by domestic violence experts who have explained that Gabby’s distress next to Brian’s calm demeanour - he even laughs and fist bumps the officers - shows classic hallmarks of an abusive relationship. The abuser appears reasonable, while the victim has already been pushed to breaking point, and therefore appears “crazy” to any initial glance. 

It’s easy to miss upon first viewing, but Gabby also tells the officers that Brian keeps trying to lock her out of the van, and that he has been undermining the project she’s working on. In addition, two of the initial 911 calls about their dispute describe Brian hitting Gabby, rather than the other way around.

The footage is haunting. It is awful to watch this young woman who was so full of life, become fragile, weeping, and placed in the hulking metal police car while she is questioned, only to be released again to a situation in which she later died.

***

There was nothing we could do to help the Gabby we saw in that video, but we could try and make things right - and we had reason to believe we could. In fact, it was social media that allowed Gabby’s body to be found. Detectives had been searching acres of land in Wyoming, a search that often felt hopeless as the vast landscape could take weeks or months to cover.

But after hearing about the case online, a couple who had filmed their travels with a GoPro attached to their vehicle scoured their footage, finding a few seconds of Gabby’s van parked up near the last campsite they were known to have visited. A body matching her description was found nearby. 

Discord users analysed that van footage for weeks; although it was grainy, you could just make out the back door of the van being closed as the car approached. A flip flop - which they identified as one of Gabby’s from Instagram photos - lay on the ground behind it.

***

While we waited to be sure that this was indeed Gabby’s body, we discussed why it was hard to identify her, for example, whether her tattoos would still be visible. In the chat dedicated to “gruesome details” we analysed screenshots of helicopter footage to work out exactly where this body had been found in the grass, identifying a white square as the roof of the forensic equipment tent. Users circled dark patches of ground, compared different angled shots, and identified specific trees. We discussed body farms and decomposition, looked at the weather for the last few weeks, and the local wildlife, as well as whether she could have been wrapped in tarp, or what position she might have been lying in. 

These were questions that were too insensitive to discuss in the regular chat; but by entering this space you came with the understanding that it might be difficult subject matter. I don’t know why, but this was where I spent the most of my time. 

In the same morbid vein, a YouTuber visited the spot long after the body had been recovered, hoping to find the exact location. For the first time, we were able to see footage of the area that captures how incredibly beautiful it is. It’s a vast, flat and open area next to a shallow creek, where the grass is yellow and the trees are a luminous green, the bright blue sky overhead.

In the video, the YouTuber finds the spot where Gabby’s step father arranged a cross out of pebbles. A bunch of flowers lay there slowly curling and becoming straw-like; the scene far too peaceful and beautiful to comprehend that it was where she died. But as the video progresses, the YouTuber discovers the remains of a recent campfire. Immediately, he picks at the charcoal, exclaiming to his companion, “she was burned” in a horrible, gut-wrenching display of ignorance and insensitivity. 

***

Was I just as bad as this YouTuber? When I really thought about it, the fact that I was almost consuming this case like a true crime documentary did feel perverse. When a TV show is released, people often say that it then belongs to the fans. Sometimes the Gabby Petito case felt like it belonged to the followers.

Disaster relief groups say that after an initial tragedy there is a “second disaster” - the teddy bears and flowers that arrive from well-wishers hoping to send comfort and support. Every time there is a hurricane, shooting, or flood, someone has to give away or dispose of all the cute, fluffy gifts, which often become rain-sodden or muddy where they lie.

Were we the second disaster? Were we flooding the case with unwanted sleuthing, saturating the conversations with our ignorance and morbid curiosity? 

***

It wasn’t until the 21st September that the remains were confirmed as Gabby’s and the cause of death ruled as a homicide - with no further details. Everyone had hoped for the best, but were prepared for the worst. My heart sank the day I heard the news.

And then, after weeks of silence, Brian’s parents suddenly explained that their son had been missing for several days. Police began to search the Carlton Reserve, an enormous place in Florida not far from the Laundrie residence, where Brian had apparently gone camping on the 13th or 14th. 

Sleuthers jumped at the task of helping to track down Brian. In the discord chats titled “sleuthing” and “theories and rumours”, users deconstructed Brian’s Instagram profile (including his eco-friendly stance to eat out of melon rinds rather than use plastic bowls) the places he had camped before and where he could be hiding now. A group listened to “scanners” or police radio, learning the police codes to translate what was happening. They were the first to know when a SWAT team was wrongly called to the Laundrie house by a member of the public apparently hoping to intimidate them. Others still watched flight paths of every plane going over the reserve, reporting anytime it looked like they were circling in; they ended up learning which were the private planes, which were new pilots learning difficult moves, and how often helicopters need to refuel.

In the news, there were regular “sightings” of Brian over multiple US states, and users compared photos constantly, zooming in on ear shapes, forearms, t-shirt colours and patterns.

Private jokes sprung up at every opportunity. Combining Brian’s “melon rind” manifesto with his bald head, and as a way to express their feelings about him, users started to refer to Brian as “melon head.” A key reporter on the case, whose first name was also Brian, was distinguished as “news daddy”, and references to him as simply “daddy” became commonplace.

Amongst these chats, one user called “cheese” could be seen spouting theories that law enforcement themselves had been involved in the murder, that Brian was also dead, or that they had both been killed as a ritual sacrifice by a cult from the Teton County area. Eventually, the mods made cheese their own chat, called “cheese’s corner.” I dropped in there a couple of times to find cheese passionately writing to bemused onlookers about the presence of aliens and worldwide conspiracies. “Cheese is actually insane,” I later saw other users say offhandedly, referring to their notoriety. Regardless of cheese’s wacky content, it warmed my heart that a harmless oddball could be respected and given their own designated space to share.

***

After the initial shock and sadness had passed, the discord server held 2.22 minutes of silence for Gabby and her 22 years of life. In the voice chat, I listened to people supporting one another in their mental health struggles. Over time, people had opened up, and shared the reason why this case meant so much to them; what it reminded them of in their lives, and how they felt about Gabby. She seemed to be an inspiration to everyone, to live life to the fullest with an open heart. There were regular reminders to take time away from the case, to practice self care, and in the designated “off topic” chats, people shared photos of their dogs. 

We had turned something awful into a place we could come together. We even discussed what to do after this specific case ended; and we agreed to carry on working to solve crimes. As time went on, new chat channels were established as places to discuss other missing people who hadn’t made the headlines, those lacking the privilege of being a young white woman, whose families were desperate for help. 

***

Amongst the hard work, humour, and caring words, there was hatred and bile for the Laundrie family, sometimes verging on vengeful. Users struggled to understand how anyone could refuse to cooperate with the police in this situation. Likewise, I could see the heightened emotions online having off-line effects. For weeks now, members of the public had been staking out the Laundrie house, chanting in protest and leaving shrine-like arrangements of Gabby’s photos, hoping to persuade the Laundries to talk. I saw footage of a woman who had flown to the Laundrie house to heckle them; they were effectively trapped, with their every move watched by the public. Meanwhile, the Laundrie family’s lawyer made statements mostly through text messages to journalists. “Idk” [I don’t know] he wrote simply, to a series of questions he was texted. The unprofessionalism was shocking. 

With the story taking America by storm, discord users joked about how hard it had become to be a white, bald man in America, since any passing resemblance to Brian could get you reported to the police. A TikTok user shared a video of him explaining with good humour that his strong resemblance meant it was difficult for him to leave the house.

***

Things began to verge on the ridiculous when Dog the Bounty Hunter took up the case, and discord users gleefully shared the footage of him knocking on the Laundrie’s door. Indoors, the Laundries called the police. Dog tracked Brian to Fort de Soto Park in Florida, where he believed Brian could be manoeuvring from island to island by canoe. We studiously compared Dog’s findings of footprints on a beach to a photo of Brian’s feet, agreeing that the shape appeared to be the same. 

When Dog found a Monster energy drink can lying on the shore, there was ferocious speculation as to whether this could belong to Brian. Brian’s Instagram posts were anti-packaging - including his encouragement to eat out of an old Melon rind. Brian was eco friendly, vegetarian, and appeared to hike barefoot. It was hard to imagine, then, that he would drink a Monster energy drink, let alone cast the empty can onto a beach. My most “liked” contribution to the discord and moment of pride was my speculation that “woke Brian” used melon bowls, while “dark Brian” was apparently capable of drinking Monster drinks, littering, and murder.

***

Clearly, we had begun to stray from our purpose, and with less and less news to chew over, it wasn’t long before there was discord on the Gabby Petito discords. Brian’s sister, Cassie, had volunteered to speak to police and journalists when her parents would not, but she stumbled through her interview, flushing and taking back words. While I was undecided, other users were widely in agreement that she was lying.

It was around this time that one mod commented on Cassie’s weight, in a hurtful and disrespectful tone. Users responded in outrage - this was not the community they had come to love - but the mod insisted that this was “not a safe space” and that it was not their job to take care of anyone’s feelings. Ultimately, the mod held all the power, and each time anyone expressed disagreement, they kicked each user out of the Discord, one by one.

I watched in horror as the very people who made this community were vanished from the server. Not only were they no longer online, they were banned from the group, and all of their previous messages and contributions were deleted as if they had never been there at all. Not even a ghost of their participation remained. By morning, the “Justice for Gabby” discord had collapsed altogether. I woke up, stunned, to only one Discord, where before there had been two. Like those users, the entire thing was gone, as if I had imagined it.

***

I had watched a similar series of events happen in the online sleuthing group for The Keepers. The 1950s murder of Sister Cathy Cesnik had never been solved - but a pedophile ring had been exposed in the school she taught, and it was now widely agreed upon that she was murdered as part of the cover up.

After I watched The Keepers, I joined a Facebook group dedicated to solving Cathy’s murder. Through this group, I found myself staying up until 2am looking at census records in Florida from the 70s. I used findagrave and ancestry, and even considered paying for a findmyfriends login, all trying to find someone the investigators were hoping to track down. But despite its honourable intentions, The Keepers Facebook community devolved into vicious bullying, with a handful of Facebook users accusing the investigators of seeking their own fame and ignoring important leads that didn’t fit their hypotheses. The group fragmented into two, with a new group appearing for people who did still support the original investigators. To this day I quietly maintain membership in both groups, keeping a foot in both these warring worlds. Is this the fate of all sleuthing communities? Is our cooperation only possible for a brief moment before we find ourselves at each other's throats? 

***

That morning, I clung to the second “Gabby Petito” discord where I soon found other people discussing the collapse of “Justice for Gabby.” “Did the other #findgabby Discord go defunct?" A user asked. “Just saw that it disappeared from my sidebar." “Justice for gabby?” a user replied. “It was deleted today.” “It turned horribly,” another user added. Another went on, “One of the mods made a fat phobic comment ... and banned anyone who disagreed with them in the slightest.” Apparently this wasn’t an isolated incident, since another user described being attacked by mods; “it was pretty bad,” they said. On top of all this, they explained that cheese’s corner was not harmless at all, and had become a place for “a conspiracy theorist [who] made a lot of really hateful theories against certain groups.”

In the off-topic-lounge, I posted my thoughts. “I will miss that server, or the good parts of it anyway. I couldn’t understand why it had to get so ugly […] I’m really sorry it was so awful.” The user chatting with me replied, “it happens,” but said that they were sad, because it was “unfortunate how much time and sleepless nights I spent trying to be a good mod […] just for it to be thrown out like that. I wanted to make it feel comfy for everyone but some of the mods just ruined it.” “Ugh that’s so sad” I replied; “I appreciate the work you did.”

The ex-moderator went on, “I think all of us only wanted to help in the only ways we knew how to, and it’s been amazing, meeting everyone and being able to make new friends, and trying to get justice for Gabby.” 

***

Within the Gabby Petito Discords,  I saw human nature playing out in all its ugliness and beauty. The server fulfilled a desperate need to show love to one another and find solace in the face of this tragedy. We supported each other, made friends, and sometimes simply passed the time together. Despite Gabby’s murder being an awful event, rather than it consuming my thoughts and keeping me awake at night, I never felt that I was grappling with it alone. Rather than feel like an at-risk woman, a potential future victim, my identity was consumed by the role of sleuther, of someone actively engaged in putting things right, rather than fearing the worst.

On the Discords we worked tirelessly to find out what happened to Gabby - and we also engaged in a kind of server-wide bullying of a murder suspect, with discussions verging on the ludicrous and insane. But whatever pettiness and ridiculousness went down, these discords gave us a focus, and they helped us.

When the server collapses, when nothing is left but the memory of that online community, that ghost of a discord server, we can move on with our lives. For Gabby Petito’s family, there will be no such peace. They will have to wake up every morning and remember that she is gone. I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose a child in such terrible circumstances. But in this case, there is the added injury of public involvement. I’m not sure how much, if at all, being on the side of justice helps mitigate the uncomfortable fact that this case has nothing to do with us. Yet on the other hand social media led detectives to Gabby’s body, when it might have never been found. I hope that on balance, these clumsy amateur detectives and well-wishers have been a net positive, but it is entirely possible that we were not.

***

We still don’t know what happened between Brian and Gabby at the end of August, and Brian was found dead in the Carlton Reserve on the 20th October - apparently having gone into hiding there. At the time of writing Brian’s death has just been confirmed as suicide. There is the possibility that a notebook of his, found with his remains, will illuminate more.

Nothing can change this series of events now; so how can we learn from them? In his interview with Dr Phil, Gabby’s father explained that the only thing that could make Gabby’s death bearable is that some kind of good will eventually come out of it. If her story helps one person leave an abusive relationship, then her death has some meaning - without that meaning, her death is too painful to comprehend. 

Gabby’s father set up The Gabby Petito Foundation to help with future missing persons cases, and to “provide aid to organizations that assist victims of domestic violence situations, through education, awareness, and prevention strategies.” In the weeks following Gabby’s death, I have already seen tweets sent to Gabby’s father, explaining that they have left their abusive partner as a result of her story. The fame and notoriety of this case may have been a curse, but the awareness it has spread may be its blessing: and if Gabby’s story has saved one life, maybe it wasn’t all in vain. 

***

I send my deepest condolences and love to everyone impacted by this story. 

Users quoted at length gave me permission to quote them in this piece.

[crabrangoonluvr]

op I am so sorry but WHY did you choose those character choices for Utena like how do they line up please I am so curious

at the end of the day it's partially what i thought looked cool, but here’s my justifications and reads behind each character and how they can match up!

heavy spoilers for madoka magica and revolutionary girl utena.

kyubey and akio are honestly the most obvious parallel representing systems that rely on the abuse and exploitation of young women to survive. they are both seeking a power that they cannot achieve by themselves, and therefore must manipulate others into achieving it for them. they are both selfish — kyubey will sacrifice some girls of another species so that his species can live longer in the universe, while akio wishes to reclaim the good favor of the world, godhood, and the power of dios. both promise girls their dreams — a literal wish, a castle in the sky — but accepting these promises will only lead to suffering and despair for these girls.

glasses!homura and anthy are more similar in their roles as princesses to be saved than show timeline homura and anthy, and i think that initial timeline is where the utena/anthy and madoka/homura dynamic are their most similar on the surface. regardless, they are both trapped in a time loop of sorts and are actively manipulating the people and events around them to achieve (and fail at) their end goal. at the end of each cycle they face immeasurable pain, as anthy faces the swords of hatred while homura once again fails to defeat walpurgisnacht and watched madoka die. the difference between them in that role as manipulator is that anthy is knowingly serving in that role to seek power for akio, and homura is unknowingly giving more power to madoka and by the design of the magical girl system, to kyubey. they both come off as aloof throughout the majority of the show, but they’re hiding a lot of pain and are easily the most complex characters in their respective shows. they don’t do things because those things are good or right — they do them because they have no other choice.

madoka and utena are in the same role because they both seek to be something else. utena is an orphan who wanted to stay her coffin, but became inspired to become a prince. madoka believes there is nothing special about her, and upon discovering magical girls, always wishes to become one. they are both dissatisfied with the roles given to them, and decide to change their paths, regardless of whether that is a good idea. these choices are made after seeing the suffering of others — utena watches anthy suffer, while madoka watches the cat die or homura suffer. it is also through their sacrifices that the exploitative system is torn down — madoka does it directly, while utena drags her broken body to that coffin and empowers anthy to leave. both are then erased from that world, to be forgotten by everyone except homura/anthy (and akio but not kyubey). their greatest strength is their willingness to help others even at the expense of themselves.

another aspect of the utena/anthy madoka/homura dynamic is that they are able to escape this cycle through love for each other. utena loving anthy is what gives anthy the realization that she is worth it, and she leaves to go be with utena. homura loving madoka and making that wish to protect her over and over again is what gives madoka the karmic destiny that allows her to reshape the magical girl system. i also believe that only at the end of the show, when madoka/anthy are able to fully realize what utena/homura did for them, do they sincerely love them back.

although sayaka miki is a clear reference to miki kaoru, i don’t think she has much in common with him aside from blue and the association with music. kyosuke and kozue aren’t too similar, she’s not a genius, and she has no positive feelings for homura, who is anthy. however, you could read sayaka and kanae as similar if you subscribe to the idea that kanae was the previous duelist who took up akio’s offer at the final duel and then when he had no more use for her, he killed her, but the truth is that i really wanted to draw the juri/shiori scene more than i wanted to draw anything with kanae. so while sayaka doesn’t really map on to any utena character perfectly, i do think her as shiori matches in some aspects. to be clear, sayaka is not cruel or sadistic like shiori, but i see shiori as a deeply self-loathing individual with a lot of regret, which maps on to how sayaka views herself after making her wish. both are indirect in love — sayaka wishes to anonymously heal kyosuke when she really wants his love, and is then beaten to him by hitomi, and shiori goes after the boy she thinks juri loves when she really just cannot deal with her complex feelings for juri. neither will confess to what they really want. i also think it’s important how shiori tells juri to believe in miracles, while sayaka is the one to remind kyoko that she loved stories about miracles and heroism, and both of those sentiments become driving forces for juri/kyoko’s later actions. i also think they are the disaster bisexuals of their shows.

i chose kyoko as juri due to their seniority and skill in battle. i also believe that how it is text that juri is in love with shiori, kyoko is in love with sayaka. both keep something important to them in the same spot — kyoko’s soul gem sits at the same spot as juri’s locket. juri’s locket holds shiori, while kyoko kisses and then gives her soul gem to sayaka during her sacrifice. juri and kyoko also genuinely want to help shiori and sayaka at points — juri was genuinely kind to shiori once, and still evidently cares about her well-being. kyoko was trying to give sayaka genuine advice and help her, but unfortunately was a massive bitch when she did so.

although sayaka/kyoko as juri/shiori have less direct character comparisons individually, their dynamics can be similar. sayaka/shiori inspire kyoko/juri to believe in miracles and heroism, but sayaka and kyoko die believing in that while juri becomes disillusioned and seeks to disprove shiori. neither of them have happy endings. additionally, juri and kyoko believe their love to be unrequited, when really i think that sayaka/shiori can truly return their feelings once they sort their shit out, but are not able to do so within the narrative of the main show. rebellion proves this in sayaka/kyoko’s case, but sayaka is ultimately a redeemable character and a good person. shiori is not a good person, and that is the biggest difference between these dynamics.

mami and nanami are yellow.

[dgcatanisiri]

I’ll stand by this and die on this hill.

Whatever merits The Last Jedi has - and before you start debating me, I’m not saying it doesn’t have them, just that this outweighs them - it fails as a part of the ongoing narrative. It may be a fine standalone film, but as movie two of the Sequel Trilogy, movie eight of the Skywalker Saga, it fails to connect itself to the rest of the story, existing more in isolation than in concert. Rian Johnson’s Star Wars is VERY different from JJ Abrams’ Star Wars, a clash that makes it all too clear that Rise of Skywalker - and the Sequel Trilogy in general - was doomed to fail from the moment it was decided NOT to maintain the same writer across it.

It shifts gears, taking moments that were played for drama in the previous film (or films) and playing them for laughs. 

It drops plot paths, with Rian Johnson explicitly saying that he didn’t use the Knights of Ren because they “didn’t fit” the story he was telling. Or the fact that, if the movie is taking place shortly after TFA, then where is ANY mention of Starkiller, the massive superweapon and installation that the Resistance just blew up?

It demotes Finn, the character who was the lead male of the last film, to a “comedic” c-plot that ends up going in a cul-de-sac, one that even the film’s defenders have said could have been cut and nothing be lost. And, in particular, this is noticeable because the plot of TFA moved BECAUSE of Finn - without Finn, Poe doesn’t escape, Rey doesn’t get off Jakku, the Resistance doesn’t go to Starkiller and destroy it. TFA hinged on Finn. TLJ treats him like a vestigial limb it can’t sever.

(No, really, based on what TFA establishes, FINN is the counterbalance to Kylo Ren - Kylo is a scion of a powerful line of Force users, Finn didn’t even have a NAME until TFA began, Kylo is the face of the First Order, Finn was a faceless stormtrooper, which is why the moment he first takes off his helmet means so much, Kylo was raised by heroes of the Republic and turned to the First Order, Finn was raised by the First Order and turns his back on it... The thematic parallels between them are ALL FUCKING OVER TFA! But TLJ wants him to go away, and there’s no chance for him to rebuild that plot momentum in Rise of Skywalker.)

Also on the level of connection to the previous film... Why the HELL is a coma patient stuffed in a storage closet, rather than the medbay with doctors monitoring him? And he’s then repeatedly tazed by Rose, which is again played for laughs. Finn’s injuries are played as a joke.

With Finn’s demotion, it elevates Kylo Ren, the villain, an explicit parallel to neo-natsees (because the Empire ALWAYS had its roots in natsee imagery, and the First Order is explicitly drawing on those, just like neo-natsees), into the lead male position. 

Rey ends up reduced to his prize - over the course of TFA, her interactions with him were, in order, him rendering her unconscious and kidnapping her, torturing her, killing her mentor (his own father), and grievously wounding Finn, the first person in her life who came back for her, which was part of her driving characterization in the previous film. Her motivations are reduced to proving to Luke that she won’t be like Kylo Ren, and then trying to get someone she has no motivation to genuinely care about to redeem himself.

That “redemption,” I say again, is being offered by her after, again, she was kidnapped and tortured by him, she watched him kill Han Solo, who she saw as a paternal figure herself, and he put Finn, someone she’d already come to care for and who was the first person in her life to come back for her, in a coma. What motivation is there for her to TRY to redeem him? And if you want to say “Force Bond,” then that means that something is forged between her and Kylo, without her consent, that makes her care for him, actively manipulating her mind, and this just... happens.

The whole “Rey’s parents” thing is also a problem because it is ignoring HER reaction - it’s all about subverting the audience’s expectations, without caring about how she as a character responds. She never needed her parents to be a Kenobi, a Jinn, a Skywalker, whoever. They didn’t need to be somebody to the audience, they just were people she needed. Even the idea that they were drunks... They were the drunks who gave birth to her, who left her behind, and she wanted just to know why. 

And why should anyone even believe that Kylo Ren would know that they’re just nobodies when it’s been like three days since they even met - none of his informants could have chased down any leads to the point of determining this in that time, if he even WAS looking for them. So by the same measure of “how does he know this?” is the question of “why should she believe him?”

It does not explain Luke’s change of character in near enough detail - this is a character who refused to kill DARTH VADER, his father, a man he barely knew, only really knowing him as the great boogeyman of the Empire, and yet I’m supposed to believe that he would actively attempt a premeditated murder of his own nephew, who he would have known all of said nephew’s life, for what he MIGHT do? There NEEDED more of points B and C to connect points A and D here.

Also on the subject of Luke, in the last movie, it was explicit - Luke had vanished and left a map behind. Why would you leave a map to a place you intend to run away to and be forgotten and die? 

This movie, indeed, SHRANK the galaxy far, far away to ludicrous levels - the Resistance is in the fringes of the New Republic, yet Canto Bight, a major casino resort hub of war profiteering, is a casual jump away? Also, if the Resistance fleet couldn’t jump there, how can a small ship like Finn and Rose’s do that? Doesn’t the fleet need every vehicle and every drop of fuel? Rey’s gone after Luke, to a planet forgotten by the rest of the galaxy, her training pretty clearly taking place over days, at least, if not more. And yet simultaneously, the ticking clock of the Resistance’s fuel running out happens, and she still manages to arrive in the midst of their escape? This timeline is a goddam mess.

Rian Johnson explicitly said that he wanted Holdo to be flirtatious with Poe. And told the costume designer NOT to dress her in the uniform befitting an admiral. Right there, you lose me on Holdo being in the right during the mutiny - we have an existential threat to the Resistance, and she’s dressed like she’s going for drinks with Senators and apparently supposed to be flirting with Poe. 

And I’m giving this its own bullet point - they actively changed the language of the film to try and frame her as more in the right. She was redubbed after the fact to have different dialogue and tone with Poe, while leaving his side of the conversation alone, seemingly to portray him more as a hotheaded maverick when what we’re seeing is him responding to the existential threat they are facing. I HAVE to address this, because they changed what the characters are reacting to after the fact to push a narrative of Poe being wrong, when he WAS acting in the Resistance’s best interests throughout.

Because his demotion is crap - the Original Trilogy showed the X-Wings and similar snubfighters having independent hyperdrive, there was no reason to keep the fleet there for the sake of recovering them based on the text of the film and the established technology of the setting. Leia could have jumped the fleet and let them rendezvous later. Keeping the fleet there? That was her blunder, not Poe’s. 

Meanwhile the dreadnaught? That was a MAJOR target - It had over 200,000 First Order troops. For a group on the fringe, LIKE THE FIRST ORDER WAS IN TFA, that’s a major loss of personnel and material. And that slow-moving target of the dreadnaught was the kind of target those bombers should have been designed for. And if they were really so valuable that they were all lost against the dreadnaught and it was a major blow to the Resistance, those bombers should have been scrapped for parts long before. So, based on what the First Order was originally established as in TFA, Poe did the right thing. His problem is that TLJ CHANGED what the First Order was.

And, again, with the existential threat of the First Order on their tails, Poe, one of the Resistance’s best pilots AND the guy who blew up Starkiller, should have been on the list of people who deserved to be in the know of the plan - if you’re worried about traitors (which Holdo never actually SAYS), he’s pretty clearly not working for them. So she’s holding over the fact that he lost people on a mission against him, which... I’m sorry, but what the fuck with that, EVERY fighter pilot mission we have seen in the films has led to losses.

And when he does find out the plan - the plan that he asks her, three times, in private, in public, and at gunpoint, to even just tell him EXISTS, not even the details of - he’s completely accepting of it. So the whole conflict exists because she doesn’t talk to anyone about it.

Because, before anyone brings up “she has no responsibility to tell an underling her ideas,” she may not, but there was a chance, right before the mutiny went through, for her to defuse the situation entirely, since, as we see, once he knows the plan, he’s willing to go along with it. And it’s not like Poe was acting alone - there were others in the mutiny, including Connix, who we’d seen in charge of the evacuation, which gives the impression she has at least some position of authority. And she wasn’t filled in on Holdo’s plan either. 

Holdo’s flaw is assuming that, because she is the named authority - explicitly the last link in the chain of command - that all the people under her command should just fall in line. But the Resistance was, like the First Order, reverted into the Rebellion for this movie - in TFA, it was not a military service but a volunteer militia of people who were acting in service specifically of one person, Leia Organa. Not Holdo. So when the whole damn organization formed to follow one person, and that one person is taken out of commission, it NEEDS someone willing to extend trust to take charge. Poe was doing that by wanting to hear her out. Holdo was failing to do that by not even bothering.

Yoda’s appearance is undeserved - this is the same Jedi who, if he’d had his way, would have refused Luke’s training in Empire Strikes Back because he was “too old,” even though that was always the plan, to train the Skywalker child, and, as shown by the prequels, was the embodiment of the Jedi Order’s hubris back in the days of the Old Republic. If anyone deserved to have that moment with Luke, it was Anakin, because Anakin was the embodiment of where the Jedi teachings and values had failed - when your prophesized “Chosen One” ends up being at odds with almost all your expectations of the “model” Jedi, the Force is probably trying to tell you something. But no, Yoda’s the fan favorite, so Yoda appears and undermines his own message of “failure, the greatest teacher is.” Yoda’s failures had as much to do with the fall of the Jedi as anyone else’s, and when he had the chance to learn from it, he was going to pass it up.

By the end of the film, both the Resistance and the First Order are devastated. Kylo Ren is Supreme Leader of a handful of vessels with no real power base, while the Resistance fits semi-comfortably in Han Solo’s old beat up weed van. Meanwhile the New Republic is still in shambles. No one WON. All they got from victory was survival. By this point, they’re BOTH defeated, so... Where even was the story going to GO from here?

Also... That focus on the child slaves on Canto Bight at the end? Yeah, fine enough moment on its own, but... We already HAD child slaves established in this trilogy. Because Finn was taken as a child and conscripted, along with all the other stormtroopers of the First Order. So why didn’t THAT get any attention? Indeed, his infiltration of the First Order is no more than show, existing for like five minutes, rather than... y’know, trying to set up a stormtrooper rebellion, something that, by virtue of his character, should have been a running theme through the trilogy. Yet, see again, “Finn is a vestigial limb the movie can’t cut off” - we know from the DVD, he had A LOT of scenes cut and rewritten, at his character’s expense, after, again, being the leading man of the previous movie.

If this film had been a standalone film, like Rogue One or Solo, one of the Star Wars Stories films, rather than a main series film, I’d say it was a good Star Wars movie. But... As part two of a trilogy, part eight of a saga, it fails to connect to the rest of the story, and that, more than anything, is why Rise of Skywalker was what it was. If you didn’t care for Rise of Skywalker, look at what TLJ left for it in terms of connective narrative tissue, and where the story could go from there.

It might be a good film, but it was NOT a good Star Wars film. And I’m judging it as one.

[joecial-distancing]

July Roundup

Lifestyle:

I’ve been getting back into running this summer. It’s been about 4 years since I’ve done any serious running, and I have been made painfully aware of the differences in my body at age 29 compared to 25. My knees hurt more, I need to attend to stretching much more seriously than I used to. I’m coming at the task with better self-knowledge than last time, though; I know how far and how fast I’ve been capable of pushing, and I find an enormous amount of comfort and strength from that familiarity. 

I’ve also been applying to jobs, a process which started as nauseatingly daunting, but has gradually settled into just a regular chore of the week (ideally chore of the day, if I’m to keep up with new years resolutions). Getting a resume mushed into a satisfying shape has felt nice, as has getting together a form cover letter that I know hasn’t hurt my chances of getting my foot in doors. Annoyance Boxes checked off, and the rest is getting familiar with the rest of the grind. Interviews have been and will be the same process.

Games:

I’ve also been playing a lot of Sekiro. I’ve always “liked” Fromsoft games, but it’s been rare that I’ve been able to justify the time investment. There’s an appeal in the structure, endless chances to bash myself against a problem until it clicks, being able to run drills when stuck or inadequate (and there is a hook in the inadequacy; nothing frustrates me more than being unable to Just figure out a solution, or requiring too much time to get there. I have a tense relationship with time and deadline pressure. Impatience is one of my greatest vices). So with school finished, I’m diving into this as a treat to myself. The systems are fun, and the camera is so fucking awful that I get unreasonably angry about it. One thing I always do with these games that I think is anathema to a lot of their fans is to spoil myself on what I’m up against. In dark souls I would always have open area maps, rather than try to navigate the combat and exploration simultaneously. It put my mind at ease, I didn’t like the discomfort of the tension of untriggered surprise. And with Sekiro, I know roughly the zones I’m up against, I’m not above watching videos of the boss fights to learn the proper counters etc. No shame, no honor, that’s not what I get out of these games, really.

As with running, so with jobsearch, so with Sekiro, the method is diligence, the appeal is the pleasure of feeling my improvement over time. There is nothing more exciting to me than casually accomplishing something that I know would have annihilated me only a short time ago. I can finish 2 miles in 20 minutes, I want to get it down to 15. This also means the videogame tends to lose out on the priorities list—if I’m wanting to dedicate myself to practice, there’s almost always a different outlet that’d be better outcomes in the long run

very 8 of pentacles mood overall, lately.

Books:

I’m almost done with Pynchon’s Against the Day, which had taken up all of my Reading attention span this month. Unless it does something in the final 8% to lose me hard, it’ll probably clock in as my 2nd favorite of his stuff, behind Gravity’s Rainbow.  Anarchism as expressed against American mining companies, European empires, and the Mexican state; searches for a lost paradise city; warfare between schools of mathematics; the nature of Light. At face value, it feels closest to Gravity’s Rainbow and Mason & Dixon, compared to the rest of his work (I know there’s a lot of subtext and referencing going over my head with all of these in terms of both history and literature; I noticed a lot of reviews of AtD focused about the variety of genre style work that he’s pulling from in certain sections, nearly all of which is lost on me. It has, however, been very fun to me that I’m able to keep up with the mathematic academia infighting depicted in this). There’s a “fairy tales coming to life” quality to all three, if instead of Grimms’ stories it’s historical models of the world: Supersonic rockets wreck the flow of pavlovian cause & effect, the destruction of natural landscape in the course of linear surveying becomes a direct conduit for a massive influx of evil energy, quaternion mathematics casting time as real and space as imaginary allow a yogi to contort himself out of sight and into the imaginary plane. The aether is experimentally disproven in the beginning of Against the Day’s timeline, which doesn’t stop holdout engineers and mystics from working wonders with it.

It feels like there’s about as much going on in here as GR, but where GR is claustrophobically overstuffed (which is also part of the reason it’s a better book) and Mason & Dixon gets kind of plodding, the material here is given space to breathe, without losing momentum. It probably helps that the characters in this are a.) numerous, and b.) unusually solid as far as Pynchon goes.

It’s also got many great examples of something else I really like about Pynchon, which is that he is willing to commit 110% to incredibly stupid jokes. There’s an Elmer Fudd reference in here that completely knocked me on my ass.

Viz:

Watched the Bo Burnham netflix, which was mostly pretty good, though I’m completely out of patience for ostentations self-awareness or fake debate where the ~comedian~ who’s concerned about being ~white privileged mannn~ feels guilty he might be ~taking up space~, doesn’t know that he ~deserrrrves it~... out of patience because I already know what he did with that guilt (if genuine) — he didn’t scrap the project, he released the fucking thing anyway. What am I to do with this, Bo Burnham? Would you like my permission? Would you like an “it’s ok dude” from people of marginalized groups within your audience? Why am I watching along for a decision you’ve quite literally already made? I don’t trust displays of vulnerability before an audience of this size.

Also watched through I Think You Should Leave, which... sure it’s funny, and also very effective at making me uncomfortable, which is clearly what it’s aiming to do, but. I don’t really get why it’s got such a strong cultural draw within the online spheres I’m normally checked into. Saw some discourse about how the quotability is somehow distinct from regular memeing, which, alright get over yourselves jesus christ.

speaking of flavors of the month, watched 50 shades and lmao. I’ve been told by a trusted source the books are worse which is hilarious.

also speaking of flavors of the [century], S.O. and I have been doing a rewatch of pre-MCU comic book movies, which has been some fascinating anthropology. It meant, though, that we had to sit through howard the duck, an absolutely wretched film. Other highlights so far: willem dafoe power rangers acting, the soundtrack on affleck daredevil (incl a fuckin choice Evanescence exercise montage), Blade & Blade II still hold up.

We’ve also made it to the final season of pre-reboot xfiles. Duchovny’s mostly gone from this last season, replaced largely by robert patrick of T1000 fame, who is a better actor but a worse character, dude’s basically just A Cop. The writing’s weirdly probably better than the last couple Duchovny seasons, but the show doesn’t work without him — his bad acting was the main thing keeping things together, the tone’s all off now.

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 15: Not of This World (Part 2)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 15: Not of This World (Part 2) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 15/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary:

More information is revealed between Tim and Lucien as they rest for the night after escaping Bleak Falls Barrow.

-------------------------

Tim had been feeling uneasy since he asked Lucien if he had a copy of a world map. While listening to the scholar's story and history, he became curious about this land called Cyrodiil. From what he could gather, it was somewhere beyond Skyrim, but the further Lucien went into his stories, the more frustrated he became.

Having no frame of reference for any of the locations was bothering him.

Knowing so little in general about this world he was trapped in made him feel extremely uneasy.

So... He asked, "Do you have a map of the world?"

The map Lucien spread out across that stone floor was a functional work of art. As Tim studied the map of Tamriel, a part of him was awed that someone had created such a beautiful detailed thing by hand with just pen and ink on parchment. He felt similarly about the parchment map of Skyrim he had sitting folded neatly in his own bag.

It was beautiful.

But it wasn't a map of any country on Earth. 

A part of Tim had been harboring a small hope that perhaps he was dealing with some sort of Multiverse-shenanigans. Perhaps he was on an alternate Earth where sword and sorcery were king instead of science and technology? Or maybe there was time travel high jinks in play? This world was clearly set on some sort of medieval timeline. Magic and dragons loomed large in old legends in Europe, so perhaps there was a kernel of truth to the fairy tales?

But as Tim studied the map, trying to find any familiar shape among the coastlines, lakes, and mountain ranges, he felt his heart sink.

His face must have been reflecting the encroaching despair that had been chasing him ever since Helgen as Lucien's voice disturbed the silence. "Does nothing on that map look familiar to you?" Then, a bit later, Lucien asked "Then... Where on Nirn do you come from, if not from Tamriel?"

In that moment, Tim decided to take a chance. He looked at Lucien and asked, genuinely, "Nirn? Is that another continent, or is that the name of the entire world?"

As Lucien stared at him in disbelieve, jaw working to form a response but no words escaping him, Tim felt a wave of regret wash over him. He chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "Shit. Shouldn't have opened my big mouth. You probably think I'm crazy or stupid."

Finally Lucien found his voice. "No. Of course not!"

Tim gave him a deadpan, "don't try and bullshit me" stare.

Lucien sighed. "Well... Perhaps a touch of madness is on the table as a possibility, but certainly not stupidity! The expression of your intelligence in the Barrows was quite indisputable." The scholar took a measured breath and tee-peed his fingers in front of his face, tapping his lips with the apex of his joined fingertips. "Honestly, I was leaning more heavily towards some type of memory loss triggered by the trauma you experienced at Helgen." He looked at Tim over his fingertips.

Tim smiled wearily. "That might make a nice plausible cover-story later on, if anyone asks about my past," he mused. 

"But that's not it..."

"No. That's not it." Tim looked over Lucien appraisingly, trying to mentally gauge how much he should and shouldn't tell the scholar. Then he got an idea. He pulled out his own journal as well as a quill and a bottle of ink. Then he set to work carefully sketching the basic forms of all the known continents of his Earth from memory. Once the shapes of the large land masses were set, he added more details, such as borders between major countries and the locations of major cities along with their names. Lucien watched him work with great curiosity. 

Once he was done, Tim took a steadying breath before he offered Lucien the drawing. "This is a map of the continents of the place I come from," he admitted solemnly. Tim pointed to the dot on the North American continent he had labeled "Gotham City". "And this city is my home." He looked to Lucien. "In your studies, have you ever seen any land masses or maps that are similar to any of these places?"

Carefully, Lucien took the journal and held it a little closer to the light from the campfire. As he studied the rough drawing, his brow furrowed and absent-mindedly he stroked his mustache and goatee as his expression became more thoughtful and inward. After a few quiet moments, the scholar shook his head slight. "I'm sorry. I have studied a fair number of historic maps over the years, but I've never seen any that resemble the land masses displayed here." Lucien set the open journal down next to his own map of Tamriel, so he could look at both at the same time, arms crossed across his chest as he still let his eyes wander from one map to the other.

The silence between the two of them was agonizing to Tim. He could feel a coil of anxiety tightening in his chest, though he tried to keep it suppressed and his expression neutral. "What are you thinking Lucien?" He finally worked up the nerve to ask.

Lucien closed his eyes. "I... don't know yet," he admitted. "I don't have enough information." He finally looked up at Tim. "If you are comfortable with it, can I ask you a few questions?"

Tim nodded, even as he drew his cloak a little closer around himself, as if he was cold even despite the roaring fire in front of him, looking more guarded than forthcoming.

Lucien pulled out his own journal and flipped to a clean page. Then he began to voice a few questions, keeping them with a simple yes/no format. 

"I'm going to give you a list of names. Let me know if any of them are familiar to you. Yes or no answers will suffice."

Tim nodded. 

"Azura?" 

"No."

"Boethia?" 

"No."

"Clavicus Vile?" '

Tim tilted his head. "I know the word 'vile".

Lucien paused in his notes. "But as the name of a being?" 

Tim shook his head.

"Hm... " Lucien murmured thoughtfully. He went down the rest of the list of Tamriel's known Daedric Princes.

Hermaeus Mora. 

Hircine. 

Malacath.

Mehrunes Dagon. 

Mephala.

Meridia. 

Molag Bal. 

Namira. 

Nocturnal. 

Peryite. 

Sanguine. 

Sheogorath. 

Varemina.

To each name, aside from recognizing "nocturnal" and "sanguine" as common words, but not necessarily proper nouns, Tim responded in the negative. He clearly had no knowledge of the Daedra Lords of Oblivion. 

Lucien then moved on. He offered Tim another list of names. It was going to be shorter this time, just the list of the Eight Divines.

"Let's start off with Akatosh--"

"Akatosh..." Tim echoed as memory shards darted through his mind. 

                  ... an ancient temple?                                           ... "A-ka-tosh?"                                                             ..."Dude?! You can read that?"                                                ... "Detective?! What are you--"                                 "DOVAHKIIN!!!"...                                             ... "MEYZ NU YSMIR, DOVAHSEBROM!...                                                                                  ..."ROB!"...                                                                            ... "TIM!!!"                                                                                     ... FALLING!!!..

"Timothy?! Timothy can you hear me?!"

Tim felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him... Until he realized he was the one trembling, and Lucien's hands were trying to hold him steady. Lucien's eyes were wide with concern.

"Lucien?" 

The scholar breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. You went catatonic the moment I mentioned Akatosh. Are you alright?"

Tim buried his face in his hands. The shaking was settling, but not completely gone. "I... don't know," he admitted. "That name... it's familiar, but my memories." He groaned as he felt the spike of a migraine building behind his eyes the harder he tried to remember. "I can't sort them out. Like they've been ripped to pieces. Hurts..."

Lucien pressed a hand to Tim's forehead and noticed he seemed to be far warmer than normal. He frowned. "Here now. I think that's enough for tonight. You are still injured and you need to rest." He helped to lay out Tim's bedroll, despite the weak protests from the younger man. "We'll start off in the morning to Whiterun and as soon as we finish dropping off that Dragonstone with the Jarl's wizard, you're going straight to the temple for proper healing. I think your luck's run out regarding that burn not becoming infected."

Tim tried to protest, but he felt so physically, mentally, and emotionally wrung out. Gingerly, he laid himself down and drew his cloak around himself to stay warm. "Lucien?" 

"Yes?" Lucien had taken a length of linen wrap from Tim's bag and soaked it with water from the rain still falling outside their shelter. He knelt beside Tim and placed the cool compress on his forehead.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

The scholar gave him a reassuring smile. "I think... I don't believe you're crazy, but I do think you have experienced something that neither of us can quite explain. Don't worry... Once we've completed your task and once you are healed, I will help you find your truth."

That seemed to reassure Tim enough that he finally relaxed to a point where he could let exhaustion drag him under into unconsciousness.

***

Once Lucien was assured that Timothy was fast asleep, he went back to the maps on the ground, and also to both their journals. After a quick glance to make sure his companion was still resting, Lucien picked up Tim's journal and flipped back to the start of the book and read over the few earlier entries that existed. His brow furrowed at some of the contents he read.

"January 23, 20XX... 24 hour days? Is he's on a different measure of time?"

"Gotham... That's name of his home city, but where is that from? His map of his world is so strange? Could it be a land from a plane of Oblivion? But which one, and how? Could it be there's an active Oblivion Gate somewhere in Skyrim? Terrifying thought...."

"Also... Is it possible he is from Nirn, but crossed paths with a Daedric Lord and just didn't realize it? Sheogorath's touch perhaps? But those who are touched by the mad god are usually completely manic or violently insane. Timothy, by comparison, seems quite in control of his mental faculties, if a bit confused at most."

"Medieval? What does that word mean?"

"Oy... no wonder he bristled at the mention of the Imperial Legion... Better be careful when we make our way back to Solitude. He might react poorly if we're approached by anyone that looks like a soldier."

"Clearly no understanding of potions or magic. Maybe they don't exist where he comes from? Hm... Seems the same way regarding Septims as well. Likely different monetary units in his homeland."

After reading the only four entries in the book, Lucien felt marginally guilty about reading Tim's private thoughts, but now he had a little bit more information about his travelling companion.

Too bad he ended up with more questions than answers.

"Who is this young man, and where is his homeland located?"

"How did he get to Skyrim, and for what reason was he brought?"

"Why did he react so unusually to the mention of Akatosh?"

"Is it possible a Divine or a Daedric Lord is involved somehow?"

"How can we get him home?"

Timothy Drake-Wayne was certainly an intriguing puzzle he really, really wanted to solve.

-------------------------

Warning: This is being pantsed more than plotted, and this is not beta read. We'll see where this journey takes us. Mostly I'm just doing this for my own amusement.

Note1: If you have any questions about the playthrough and Tim's feelings/experiences that aren't described in the chapters, please ask me in the comments. I'll do my best to answer your questions as best I can.

Note2: Dragon Tongue Translations: - DOVAHKIIN - Dragonborn - MEYZ NU YSMIR, DOVAHSEBROM - Come now Ysmir, Dragon of the North ***** So ends the evening of rest before making their way back to Whiterun.

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

[imagine-loki]

Atlas: Space, Venus

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 3/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album. 

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

Chapter 3: Venus

Summary: Two idiots cannot admit to themselves, much less each other, that maybe their friendship is a little more than friendship. (Happens between Helmet Heists and Taking Turns.)

Warnings include: language, unabashed staring at each other, fluff but in that awkward way that two introverts who like each other have, and maybe Loki has a pain kink, idk.

=

It was sort of hard to describe the sensation. The one felt when someone was staring daggers straight into her soul. Becca found that it was not the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention or the copious goosebumps that erupted over her skin that gave it away. It was just knowing. Knowing that he was there, lurking quietly in the background, trying his hardest to be one with the shadows until the second he decided he needed to pop out and startle her. He had all but failed the last three times he tried and it tickled her to no end.

“Pass me that soldering bit, will you?” She asked, holding her right arm out and slightly behind her just as Loki was due to dig her fingers into her ribs and give her a fright.

“You’re not clever, you know,” he grumbled, slapping the bit in her hand with frown.

Becca grinned. “I beg to differ, Mischief. I’m very clever.” The spark of the soldering iron reflected against her goggles for several seconds before the instrument was set aside.

Loki chose to let it go, knowing that running his mouth would not do him well. Even if whatever would escape his lips was nothing short of a schoolboy teasing someone he secretly admired. Instead, he tapped on the vambrace-shaped object she was working on, leaning onto the bench beside her with an easy smile. “What’s that?”

“Physical advantage,” she declared, casually. “I do well in missions, but only because I can run very fast. Not because I’m particularly skilled at combat. I’m giving myself some strength.”

The night sky once ruled my imagination Now I turn the dials with careful calculation After a while I thought I’d never find you I convinced myself that I would never find you When suddenly I saw you

With a whisper of a smile, she allowed herself a minute to watch him.

Loki was now used to hanging out in her lab while she tinkered with her toys. More than once, he offered some insightful recommendations on how to make armor more efficient, more durable, more beautiful. His affinity for weapons of war was second nature to him–an advantage that she could only dream of having. Sure, she was good at numbers and carefully crafting the perfect wafer thin circuit board that would add only a fraction of an ounce to an armor, but he had that easiness of experience. Of being assured that no matter what he saw in battle, he could adapt to it. She, on the other hand, could only hope for enough time to solve some differentials in her head and hope to whatever deity she subscribed to that plans worked in her favor. 

“Hmm. Strength.” He sounded curious as his fingers traced the delicate edge of the guard. Becca forced herself to focus on the present moment and dismiss the idea that she had been watching his fingers fiddle with her inventions for much longer than was proper. “Do you care to test it out? If you can deal with me, it’s probable you won’t die on the field.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Charming, as always, Loki.”

“I’m only trying to make sure you continue to draw breath, Rebecca.” He checked her gently with his hip. “Come on. I’m bored. Fight me,” he threatened playfully, mimicking her rallying cry from whenever he was being particularly annoying. He might have been a little too attracted to seeing her riled. He watched her swallow thickly, in what he supposed was apprehension. Becca would have been glad to know that was what he thought, rather than knowing how she felt about watching him fight and the flutter in her chest that followed.

At first I thought you were a constellation I made a map of your stars and I had a revelation You’re as beautiful as endless You’re the universe I’m helpless in An astronomer at my best When I throw away the measurements

“Fine. Whatever.” She pulled the vambraces over both her forearms, taking care that the crisscrossing straps over her palms didn’t tangle.

They walked to the testing floor, side by side. No one was there at this time of night, which suited them both just fine. Loki shed the hoodie he was wearing to keep toasty, and tossed it aside on one of the work tables. Fidgeting, Rebecca stood tall, bearing her weight on her back right leg and turning to watch Loki as he easily stalked around her, looking amused.

“Have I ever told you that you look like a particularly startled deer whenever we spar?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or a million times, yes,” she hissed under her breath, bouncing forward and taking a swing. He dodged easily, arms clasped behind his back as he strutted.

“Don’t think so much, darling.”

Loki took a large step backwards as she feinted and swung again. With a smirk, he tapped her right cheek with his first three fingers.

This was what irritated Becca to no end. Whenever they would spar he would never dare even to make proper contact. Instead, he would poke, prod, or tap her gently–a movement that required both forethought and ample reaction time. It was his way of saying that he was breezing through the fight and she needed to step it up. He secretly hoped it also conveyed that he didn’t want to hurt her, but in her ire, he doubted she saw it as anything more than a slight to her abilities.

“Keep your hands up. You’d be on the floor right now had I any intention of returning the blow.” She growled, redoubling her efforts, each time with Loki either stepping away or maneuvering her in an opposite direction. “Don’t get frustrated. Focus on your instincts.”

Becca huffed, lowering her hands, shoulders slumping. “Why are we doing this? I never get a punch in.” She blew a tendril of brown hair away from her eyes and pouted.

Like a telescope I will pull you so close ‘Till no space lies in between

“You need to fight against the distance. Just because I can attack from where I’m standing, doesn’t mean you can. My reach is far greater than yours.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed gently until she bent her knees slightly. “You’re on the smaller side, but you have good balance and a strong core. Force your taller opponents to aim down–take away their balance and move closer.” He pulled her until she was a mere half foot away. “A blow at close range will hurt you less, should you be struck, but with the assistance of your instruments, you make a stronger impact on your enemy.”

“I don’t want to get punched,” she muttered, looking down at the floor.

Loki laughed. “No one wants to get punched, darling.” He had tilted her head up to meet her eyes and immediately cursed himself for getting into such a position. It would be too easy to betray her friendship for a taste of her lips, swollen from her insistent worrying of them with her teeth. “A-again. Let’s go again.”

Nodding a little shakily, she stepped back. It took a moment to shake away the tingles that had blossomed beneath her skin at his close proximity. The idiot couldn’t see the impact of his casualness on her demeanor. She breathed deep and got back into position.

I was a billion little pieces Till you pulled me into focus Astronomy in reverse It was me who was discovered

Loki attempted to rid his brain of the scent of brown sugar and vanilla that invaded his senses. He needed to focus on the task at hand. His look turned predatory. His movements followed suit. They circled each other for longer than either of them could even tell. Loki had the grace to move first. His elegant lunging startled Becca, who covered herself and shifted away. The strategy worked for a minute or two, before he reached out and wrapped his dexterous fingers around her neck and held her gently still; more a warning than a hold. She broke his grip and invaded his space, as he took a second too long to shuffle back. The left-handed hook that whacked him under the jaw caught him by surprise.

Then suddenly I see you

Becca gasped, covering her mouth with her hands in horror. Loki stood still, holding and working his jaw until it clicked noisily into place. She expected him to be livid; to loudly give her a piece of his mind, proclaiming that he didn’t harm her when they sparred, so why did she. Instead, she watched in abject surprise as he dropped his hand and he smiled what was possibly the most genuine and proud smile she had ever seen him give.

“That is what I want to see.” He stood back in position, though this time he had a fighting stance, smile still pulling at his lips as though it were a permanent fixture. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought that she could hear the thumping of his heart just as loudly as he could hear hers. “More. I mean again.” He made a vague gesture at her. “Come on. Please. Again.”

[megabadbunny]

Hi! I love your art and your stories. You are a gift to your fandoms. I was wondering what are your favorites of your own work? Art and stories, which ones do YOU love the most? (Is this like making you pick between your children?) Thanks!

Hey sweet nonny! I’m sorry I haven’t responded sooner--I have actually attempted to answer this several times, but each time, I am overcome with the sweetness of this message, and it renders me totally verklempt. So first of all, thank you for such a kind message. I really appreciate it!!!!

Let’s start with my favorites of my fics. Which sounds like a weirdly self-congratulatory thing to say. But I’m gonna own it. Because I’m allowed to like my own stuff. Right? Right. Here we go!

In no particular ranking (I’m just going through the fic timeline, so to speak), we have:

Taking the Lead She can’t always trust her instincts. She can—and does—trust the Doctor.  This lemony Rose x Nine fic is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written because it feels, to me, quite evocative and personal. It has very little dialogue--in fact, I think Rose only speaks one word aloud during the whole thing--and, I don’t know. It has a different feel from a lot of my other stuff and I just really like it.

A Rose by Any Other Martha The day Rose Tyler reappears in her original universe is an interesting day for Martha Jones. An enemies-to-friends tale. Listen I love each of the RTD-era companions with the passion of a thousand thousand suns; I love their compassion, their integrity, their selflessness, their special spark. I also fucking loved bringing out Martha and Rose’s petty sides. It was just really entertaining to write!

Paint by Numbers “Wait, so you’re telling me the love of your life is in there—right there, right now—and instead of marching in there and taking care of her, you’re sitting out here, bloody brooding?” I enjoy this semi-Doomsday/JE-fixit partially because I really like the characterization of everyone involved, but also because it gave me a really good chance to explore the fallout of the disappearing stars in Pete’s World. It was a platform for some interesting world-building. And writing Donna is always a joy. And I also enjoy writing romantic tension between two characters with different/clashing but equally understandable and important priorities (i.e., Rose and the Doctor).

In Lovers’ Meeting (WIP) He wondered if she felt it, too, that uncomfortable quiet, the strange battling senses of loss and simultaneous gain, the impression that everything was hurtling and stopping and freezing and burning all at once. (A suffocating freedom, he thought, brimming with a terrifying potential energy.)  The new and improved rewrite of my fic Hitchhiker’s Map, updated for style and Big Finish canon. I just love these two dumb idiots and want them to be happy together. But it might take a minute (and an alien attack, natch). :D

if we let go (WIP) Immediately after the events of Journey’s End, Rose gets a choice, even if she has to carve it out for herself. Because sometimes you just wanna wallow in angst and smut, amirite??? Yes. Yes, I am right.

Demi-Gods and Would-be Gods Rose, the metacrisis Doctor, and a dose of religion. Quite possibly sacrilegious. A somewhat melancholy but hopeful (and also lemony) Rose x Tentoo fic; also see above, re: romantic tension between characters with conflicting priorities. This was also one of the earliest stories where I really started to find and refine my writing voice. I have a huge soft spot for it.

That would be my top favorite 10% of my fics. That seems like a good number, right...? Right. Glad we all agree. :D

For favorite arts, we have:

genuinely one of my favorite, favorite things I’ve ever drawn. a redraw of a redraw. i’m so pleased with my style shining through, and the colors, and the texture, and the lighting. this just came together y’all. even if the sheer amount of eye-fucking happening here is nothing short of obscene. :D

another of my favorite favorites. an absolute joy to draw. look how fucking pretty they are! and their dresses! and they’re so pretty together!!! and they’re so very gay!!! ::cries::

still love this one. i feel like it captured martha’s soft side nicely. and freema agyeman is so very lovely!

another day, another redraw, another excuse to draw a pretty formal dress? yes, please. <3

and last, but in no way least, More Gay Stuff. i just really like them together, okay? ::sobs::

Thank you again, nonny, for your sweet message, and thank you for your patience while I responded!

If anyone else out there wants to fluff their own feathers a little, and self-promote with their favorite selfmade fic or art, do it! Do it, I dare ya. I’d love to see y’all love on yourselves! You can say I tagged you! I will specifically tag @goingtothetardis @davinasgirlfriend @wordsintimeandspace @jemsauce @lvslie @suolasirotin @smallblueandloud @pellaaearien @elialys @helplesslynerdy @abadplanwellexecuted Doesn’t have to be Doctor Who fandom or any one fandom at all--if you made it and you’re super proud of it, I wanna know!

Stay safe, healthy, and happy, everybunny! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch15

Yup, this beast is still going and still growing.  Life sapped my energy so it has been a lot longer between updates than I would have liked but I’ve been experimenting with writing out of sequence to make use of whatever creativity I can grasp.  The plus side of this is that ch16 is in the editing stages and ch17 is also half written.  But anyway....it’s taken a while but here is ch15 in the saga that has become affectionately termed ‘Bad Jeff’.

@willow-salix has been wonderful at helping be fix the plot holes and pick out the parts where I contradicted myself.  I now have a proper timeline though (funky multicoloured spreadsheet and everything) so I shouldn’t tie myself in knots so much with the boys ages and milestones.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Fifteen

The incoming call notification had Virgil scrambling for his phone, fumbling with the handset while trying to swipe a call accept icon that suddenly seemed too small and fiddly to be practical.  It took him three hasty attempts before managing to complete the action correctly, allowing him to finally speak to the brother who had been frustratingly out of contact.  Scott had been in LA for three days and Virgil was now desperate for news but he had promised he wouldn’t interfere lest he call at the wrong moment and inflame matters further.  It had been a nail-biting wait, forcing himself to be patient and trust Scott to call when he could.

“Scott, how is it?”  It took him a moment to register that the face on the screen wasn’t Scott’s despite what the caller ID proclaimed.  “Gordon?”  He was surprised to see a younger brother rather than an older one.

“Don’t sound so pleased to see me.”  There was an air of the old teasing Gordon making a slow return.

“Sorry.   Of course I’m pleased to see you,” and he genuinely was, the face that looked back at him was still too thin and pale for comfort but the hair was clean again and the eyes had lost their haunted glaze, “I just wasn’t expecting it.  Where’s Scott?”

“He’s here too.”  The scene on Virgil’s screen shifted quickly as the handset at the other end was spun round to reveal its rightful owner who gave a little wave.  “He said he was going to call you so I asked if I could go first.”

“Well, how are you?”

“I’m....okay.”  Virgil had made him promise in the past not to lie about how he was feeling, it was one of the reasons he had been pulling away; it didn’t count as lying if you just omitted the truth.  “It’s been a strange few days.”

“I’ll bet.”

“For a start I’ve found out that flyboy over there gets ever so twitchy if anyone else is at the controls of a plane.  You’d best hope you never have to take him as a passenger in that bumble bee of yours if it ever gets off the drawing board.  Or was it more like a turtle, that beast was green wasn’t it?”  The look of fear that crossed Virgil’s face would have been comical if it wasn’t so genuine and Gordon was given the sudden reminder that, as far as Virgil was concerned, he wasn’t meant to know about their father’s vision.  He was quick with his reassurances.  “It’s okay, Dad told me about his rescue plans”

“He still won’t tell Alan though” Scott called out from across the room, “Dad has taken him out to fetch ice cream so we can talk freely for a few minutes.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yeah,  I think he’s just trying to cover some of his own guilt.  He’s still no Dad of the year though.”  Scott's tone was derisive and Virgil could tell that tensions must still be running high.  “He’s going to have to tell him sooner or later, he can’t just spring it on the kid that he is being dragged out of school and shunted across the world when the island move happens.”

“What, you mean like he gave us time to prepare for the move to LA?”  Gordon snorted.  “I don’t know about you guys but me and Alan didn’t exactly get much warning when we left Kansas.”

This surprised the older two who had known all about the plan, the many arguments were etched in their memories.  In this case the problem child had been John.  Scott had been making the transition from university to the Air Force and Virgil had been busy preparing for his studies at Denver but John had been on a path that didn’t align with their father’s business plans.  The fifteen year old, with a coveted place at Harvard nearly in his grasp, had begged to stay so he could finish high school without interruptions; he had worked hard to stay two grades ahead of the curve and an inter-state move could undo it all.  Of course letting John live alone had been out of the question, and Jeff had not been prepared to delay the move, leading to  flares of temper and defiance that none of them had realised the middle child was capable of.  It was only when Grandma stepped in, offering to return from New Mexico to become custodian of the farm and care for John during that final year that their father relented.  With all of the concerns over John and his university dreams it hadn’t occurred to either of them that the youngest two hadn’t been told about the move.  Evidently their father’s policy of ‘need to know’ was long running. 

“Don’t worry Gords, Scott and I will make sure that Alan gets told.  If Dad’s idea happens, and knowing Dad it probably will, Alan won’t just have another move sprung on him.  I promise.”  There was sincere honesty in those deep brown eyes and Gordon gave a subtle nod of thanks.  “So tell me everything that has been happening over the last few days.”

Gordon recounted everything that had happened since Scott’s arrival, prompted by said older brother if he missed anything out.  Virgil winced at the revelations.  Even with the sanitised highlights he could tell that the last few days had been an emotional rollercoaster.  In some cases the revelations were beyond his worst fears and he couldn’t help feeling proud of his little brother who had been living through harder circumstances than any of them had imagined.

“Which brings us to today,” Gordon brought the tale up to the present, “Dad’s decided I need to learn to fly seeing as this island he’s chosen isn’t exactly on the commercial air routes.  Alan’s going to start learning too; Dad wasn’t happy about that idea but Scott reminded him that he started learning at Alan’s age.  You should have seen him up there, Alan is an absolute natural.”  Gordon’s voice glowed with pride at the achievements of his little brother.

“You didn’t do badly yourself” Scott cut in from across the room.

“So why were your knuckles white the whole time?”

“Hey, as you said, I just like being the one in control.  It was no different when Dad was piloting and he’s clocked up more flight hours than the rest of us put together.”

“I can just imagine it” Virgil snorted, “you should’ve seen him supervising John when he was learning to drive.”

Gordon glanced across at Scott who had visibly paled at the memory, before turning his attention back to Virgil. “So yeah, I’ve now got to fit in pilot training and exams around getting back up to strength for WASP selection.”

“And WASP is definitely what you want?  You aren’t just going along with it so you can get away from Dad?  I know you’ll be able to do it, but please don’t enlist unless you’re really sure.”

Gordon wasn’t sure if that was the concerned older brother or the family pacifist speaking; WASP was still military after all and Virgil had made no secrets of his thoughts in that direction.  But equally Virgil knew how stubborn he was and how he would never back down from a challenge and had managed to resolve his difference with Scott over the Air Force so he chalked the questions up to brotherly concern.

“Yeah, I’m sure.  It’s a good life Virg, something I can really make a career out of and the opportunities for officers…”

“Officer?” This definitely surprised the distant sibling.  The widened eyes elicited a slight blush from Gordon.

“Um, yeah, that was Scott’s idea.”  He was still having a little trouble reconciling himself to the notion that he was cut out to lead.  

“Not just my idea” said brother called out from his perch on the bed, “the Marineville lot wanted to transfer you to officer training too.  This time round you’ll just be applying for the officer steam from the beginning.”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,”  Gordon shot Scott a glare of mock indignation, earning a chuckle from Virgil “it’s a good life.  And yes, this time I’ll be trying out as an officer.  I’ll have to redo the aptitude tests, different benchmarks and all that, but we’ve been looking into it and my scores were already at the right level.  There’s just one additional aptitude test for officers that I never took before.  I’ve tried an online practice test and did ok so I should be alright.  I’m booked in to take it for real in a fortnight.  After that it’s selection at Marineville again and then hopefully I’m in.  It’ll take a few months but by the summer I should have my first posting.  The officer intakes don’t happen as frequently as junior ranks so I’ve got time to train.”

“You seem to have it all mapped out and not a college course in sight.”

“Nope.  Thanks, both of you.  It’s...it’s been a hard few months and I couldn’t see a way out of it all.”

There was a noticeable slump in Gordon’s posture and the light went out of his eyes as the memories of his recent trials flooded back in.  It broke Virgil’s heart to see how on a knife edge his brother still was and he knew he and Scott would need to keep a close eye on their younger sibling for a long while yet.  At least Gordon had a goal to work towards again; they both knew his steely determination and drive to succeed. Once he had set his sights on a challenge nothing would stop him, the Olympics had proved that.

“Any time.  And don’t be a stranger.  If Dad starts getting on your case again or you just need to talk to someone you know where I am.  I’ve been told my couch is pretty comfy too if this new schedule of training and flying lessons allows you any time off.”

“Admit it, you just want me back for my cooking” Gordon smirked.

“Maybe…” Virgil gave his best puppy dog eyes, eliciting a chuckle from both his brothers.

Any further chatter was interrupted by the sound of the apartment door crashing open, announcing the return of Jeff and Alan from the grocery store, followed by Alan’s shouts that if they didn’t get out there quick there would be no chocolate chip left for them.  Both knew better than to treat this as an idle threat so with a hurried goodbye to Virgil they departed to claim their portions.

 xoxoxox

Life soon settled into a new routine.  Jeff still rarely made it back for dinner, they couldn’t expect miracles over night, but he was getting better at being home before Alan went to bed at least.  Gordon suspected that had something to do with the ‘discussion’ Scott had with Jeff the night before he returned to his Air Force base.  The voices that drifted through the firmly shut study door had shown a flare of temper from both sides and Gordon had been grateful Alan was already in bed and so not around to witness the argument.  It was just as well Tracys were good at putting on a front, by the morning of Scott’s departure the tension had been firmly suppressed and Alan had been able to say goodbye to his eldest brother without any hint of bad feeling spoiling the moment. 

Where life before the Olympics had been a mix of school and swimming, so life for Gordon going forwards became a mix of physical training and flight theory with time in the air thrown in at the weekends.   He passed the WASP officer aptitude test easily enough but the next available selection course date wasn’t until after his birthday, leaving him with several months to focus on gaining the appropriate endorsements on his pilot’s licence to allow him to transport himself to and from his father’s intended island base.  

Gordon wasn’t bad at flying but he didn’t possess the raw natural talent of his youngest sibling.  He was competent and thorough with a steady hand but he couldn’t miss the looks of pride Jeff directed towards Alan as yet again the youngest of the family performed a manoeuvre as if he had been at the control yoke since birth.  It didn’t stop at looks either, all too often Gordon found himself on the receiving end of an unfavourable comparison only this time it was against his younger brother as opposed to his older ones and the arena was cockpit rather than classroom performance.  Evidently, for Jeff, old habits were hard to quell.

This time though Gordon wasn’t facing his troubles alone.  Scott would check in with him occasionally until an overseas posting took him out of contact but Virgil was his real lifeline.  Virgil made sure there was never more than a week between calls and often the gaps were smaller if he sensed Gordon slipping back and becoming more distant.  The brother who had taken on the role of counselor seemed to have an uncanny intuition when it came to Gordon’s mood.   

The extended time around his father however was still proving difficult and Gordon found himself eagerly boarding a flight to Denver to catch a much needed break.

As ever, Virgil was there to meet him at the airport.

“Good flight?”

“It was ok.”

“Not tempted to crash the cockpit then?”

Gordon just rolled his eyes and carried on out to the taxi ranks.  To his surprise though Virgil directed the cab to take them to the smaller private airfield out of town rather than the apartment.

“Sorry Gords” he got in response to his querying look.  “You know Dad said you gotta keep up your air time and this was the only runway slot I could get.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the deal.”  One of the conditions of a weekend with Virgil was that he got some time in the sky to make up for the lesson he was missing with his father.  “Are you alright with me taking up your baby?”

“I trust you” Virgil shrugged.  He wasn’t quite as in love with and overprotective of his plane as Scott was of his, but neither was he going to let on to Gordon that he had had a long and in depth discussion with their father about Gordon’s ability and competence before he had agreed to help with Gordon’s pilot education.

Gordon always thought it odd that Virgil had a plane but didn’t bother to run his own car, although the longer he spent in the air the more he could see the appeal.  Scott of course had always loved flight and it was no surprise to anyone that a big proportion of his allowance went on maintaining a craft that screamed billionaire playboy.  Virgil’s choice was more subtle and practical, if operating your own private plane counted as practical; perfect for hopping around the country from his central base in Denver to visit family on his own schedule.  Despite also being in possession of big enough allowance to afford it John had neither car nor plane having declared that flying commercial was much more sensible for his main coast to coast journey and he wasn’t one for pleasure flying; he was much more interested in what lay outside the atmosphere, far beyond the reach of a mere plane.

At the airfield Virgil maneuvered his little hopper out of the hanger he stored her in and then passed control over to Gordon.

“Go on then, show me what you can do” Virgil prompted after giving Gordon a quick rundown of the specific take off speed and other essential details he would need to operate the plane safely.  He settled back in the co-pilot's chair, exuding a calm confidence despite itching to keep his hands on the controls; Gordon might be his brother and Jeff had given assurances that all would be well but Virgil was still uncomfortably aware that he has supervising an unlicensed novice pilot.  

His fears were soon dispelled once Gordon started going through the motions in textbook fashion including performing his own pre-flight checks despite having watched those same checks being performed just a few minutes earlier.  A short burst down the runway and they were up in the air.  It wasn’t graceful and Gordon lacked the finesse that came with experience but Virgil was pleasantly surprised at the amount of  progress Gordon had made in such a short space of time.

The problem with flying though is that unless you are practicing something like aerobatics then just keeping a plane in the air is actually pretty easy, it’s the take off and landing that takes skill.  They weren’t making a journey so there was no real navigation to do beyond avoiding the restricted airspace and corridors used by the commercial flights and the weather was clear so flying by instruments was unnecessary.  All in all it was a thoroughly untaxing lesson, allowing them to relax and enjoy the time together.

“So how’s your project going?” Gordon asked as he banked to avoid flying directly over a village.

“It’s okay.  I’m on track to be done by the summer.”

“What will you do after that?  Move back to LA or stay out here?”

“Neither, hopefully.”  Gordon gave his brother a questioning glance of surprise.  “Got to get space rated for Dad’s project.  Me and John’ll be heading out to Tracy College for that, just waiting for confirmation of a course place.”

“Space rated?”  He had realised John would need to undergo astronaut training in preparation for life on a space station but most of the project specifics were still a mystery to him.

“Yeah.  Someone’s got to be able to play taxi service for John and I might need to take a rotation on call monitoring; he can’t live off planet forever.”

“Sounds like plans are really coming together for it.  Does this mean Scott will need to get space rated at Tracy College too?”

“Scott…”  There was a heavy pause and Gordon took his eye off the sky to regard his brother.  Virgil’s brow had furrowed into a frown and when he spoke again there was a heaviness that told of hidden arguments.  “Scott isn’t joining, he’s sticking to the Air Force.”

This surprised Gordon.  In the few conversations he had had with his father about the project, usually confined to a cockpit where Alan couldn’t overhear, Scott was talked about like Virgil was, as a committed member of the team. His role as first responder and pilot of the envisioned rocket plane had been presented in terms of undisputed fact.  No wonder the topic made Virgil look stormy, he was a peacemaker and if Scott wasn’t fitting in with their father’s vision Gordon could imagine that the arguments had been many and explosive.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  Oh.”

“So what’s going to happen there?  Surely you can’t manage with just the three of you?”

“I don’t know.  I’d like to think there is a contingency plan but Dad seems so sure Scott’s going to change his mind and do it.  They’re both as stubborn as mules though and neither wants to give up their dream.  It’s a good project, the tech looks amazing and we could really save lives.  I can see Scott’s point though, he’s made a life for himself away from Dad and, well, you know yourself what Dad can be like for giving orders.”

Gordon knew all too well what it felt like to be on the receiving end of those orders, particularly when they were at odds with your own plans.  At least Scott had the advantage of physical distance as a buffer to the disapproval and if push came to shove, if Jeff cut Scott off as punishment, the Air Force pay was enough to live on even if it meant Scott had to change his lifestyle to suit the lower budget.

Gordon made the final approach back towards the airfield, diverting the full attention of both brothers to monitoring the landing.  As with the take off it wasn’t polished and it wasn’t pretty but it was safe and Virgil found himself once again admiring just how far his brother had come in such a short space of time.  He wondered if, given time, Gordon would join the team.  Jeff hadn’t made any mention of Gordon taking on a role in the rescue organisation, even if he was now allowed to know of its existence, but there was no denying that having an extra pilot on books could only be a good thing.  Maybe one day he and Gordon would fly together, the more time he spent with his brother the more he enjoyed the company although, Virgil reflected, if they were to fly as a team he would be happier if Gordon took the co-pilot’s position.

With the plane back on the ground and safely returned to her berth in the hangers Virgil pushed all thoughts of Gordon joining the rescue business out of his mind; unless their father issued the instruction there was no point even considering the option.  And anyway, Gordon was heading off to the military like Scott had so who knew if he would even want to join the project.  Better to just let their father know that the required flying lesson had gone without a hitch then settle back to enjoy the weekend.