#Not even the most surface-level facsimile of them.

[kismetconstellations]

Why are K/L shippers like this?

Is Shiro honestly so intimidating to them that they have to bash him (and obviously Allura, as well. Can't bash Shiro without the obligatory tandem Allura bashing)?

[pyxxiestyxx]

H*ndh*lding

I found her hiding deep in the belly of the Radiant Wing, pressed up against a bulkhead and trying not to move a single muscle. She was a slight little thing, as the cycles of malnutrition and overwork has reduced her down to skin and bone. My antennae chirped in distress at the bags under her eyes, at the way her body shook with stress, at the quivering of her lip.

I knelt down low, until I was a mere foot or two higher than her eye level. "Hello, Abigail. Are you hurt?"

She didn't answer me with vocalizations, which was worrying. Was some part of her still attempting to hide? The furry lines above her eyes scrunched together, and she kept her gaze pointedly fixed on the floor a few feet in front of me.

"Abbi- may I call you Abbi?" Her eyes flickered slightly, and she gave the smallest and most hesitant of head movements up and down. I continued, "Abbi, my name is Cherry Berry, Third Bloom, pronouns of She and Her."

The girl's diaphragm twitched spasmodically as she exhaled, a strange and involuntary reaction to my name I've found many Terrans do. It is admittedly very adorable how they are unable to control themselves, similar to how they cannot control their heartbeat.

I kept my body perfectly still as I continued, "Now as you may be aware, my presence here means that this ship has been boarded. As of this moment, all but eight of your fellow crewmates have been sedated, and are being escorted off of this ship, and onto the Illastria. You are to join them. Do you understand?"

The girl shook her head wildly, her ocular organs wide as her heartbeat sharply increased. Many creatures had a fear response, of course; evolution's clumsy attempts at protecting them. I would be much more thorough, once my implant rested within her.

I carefully extended one of the four groupings of vines I had shaped into arms, holding the 'hand' palm-up towards her. Culturally, she would recognize it as an offering.

"Come here, petal. Take my hand."

She need not know the topical xenodrugs I excreted through my vines until later, of course.

The girl pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled on it as she thought things through. I waited, calmly. She was smart, I knew. Smart enough to have recieved an education at the collegiate level for nearly free, before it was shut down and she was shunted into this accursed coffin of a ship.

Finally...slowly...and ever so shakily, the girl's limb extended out towards mine. I resisted my instinct to close the gap in less than a single of her eye blinks, to slip my injectors under her dermis and make her mine.

That would come later.

Instead, I began to slowly sway my body back and forth. Not enough to be noticeable on its own, but enough that the natural rhythm of my flora to more prominently draw her attention. Like many species, it was difficult for her kind to focus on multiple tasks at once. All I had to do was utilize this trait to my advantage.

Her fingertips touched first, like soft wingbeats of an Al'yssrian upon the surface. They hovered over my own facsimile of her phalanges, and finally came to a rest in the center of my palm, with my own fingertips nestled on her radius and ulna. I allowed myself a full 0.3 seconds to enjoy the feeling of her body. All those complicated systems, each working so inefficiently to maintain that spark called life. The soft tiny hairs on her arm had raised, hundreds of little bumps coating her arm. Another automatic system, most likely. She reacted to me.

...But even so, she was far from ready for me to move, just yet. The sternocleidomastoid muscle was tensed to near-taut, and her ocular organs refused to stay fixed for long. Now that I was touching her directly, I was able to get a much more accurate pulse reading. It was far above resting, and the speed only hastened the effects of the adrenaline coursing through her systems.

I pulled a single vine from the 'back' of my hand, curling it slowly around the side until it hovered over her own. She watched it nervously, and I felt her limb tense in case she needed to pull it back.

"Have you ever seen one of my kind before, Abi?"

The girl paused, then another up-and-down bob of her head.

"...I mean like this. Not on a digital broadcast."

A left-to-right this time. Negative.

"I'm sure you have heard quite a bit about my kind, though. I will say that in turn, I have learned much about you." I was rather disappointed in the meager intelligence gathered for her, a mere twelve Petabytes of shopping habits, familial history, hobbies, disinterests, relationships, and every message sent from a device she has ever so much as looked at. Still, it was enough for me to develop an interest in the Sophont.

The corners of the girl's lips sank down, and the hair strips above her ocular organs scrunched up again. It would be adorable, if it wasn't meant to signal negative emotions.

"The point I am attempting to make is this: that information is useful, but ultimately direct knowledge is the highest priority. As an example..."

The vine dipped down and began to stroke along her metacarpals, a careful pleasing rhythm modeled after my own. The effects, though minor, were immediate: her heart rate shifted down and her eyes locked into the movement, and the scent of her perspiration indicated a reduction in chemicals released from stress. I continued to gently pet her, noting with mild amusement how she used the muscles in her throat she could control to contain any vocalizations. That would have to change, of course. The easiest way would be to remove her ability to notice them via hypnosis, but I enjoyed the way the hue of her face dyed red as she grew more embarassed.

I adopted a softer and quieter tone, causing the girl to lean forward slightly to hear me better. "You see? Nothing to be afraid of, is there? All I offer is comfort and pleasure, petal."

She continued to think while I directed more vines to join the first, carefully running them down and up the length of my grip on her. The topical xenodrugs began to take hold by then, causing her pupils to dilate by thirty...thirty-two percent. I checked my tablet from its place next to my core, and noted that I was one of only three affini left. Still, this could not be rushed.

"Abbi, I am very pleased with you. You are responding wonderfully to me, and I wish to reward you. May I do so?" Needing to ask was ridiculous, of course, but I wasn't quite ready to take...yet. The trap was laid. Now, all that was left was to see if she took the bait. The curiosity. Her kind had to know things. Especially if it is a mysterious 'reward'.

Abbi thought for a full five seconds, then her head bobbed up-and-down.

"Thank you, dear." The vines of my hand wrapped around hers fully while I began to tug, pulling her into the air as I prepared my other arms to cradle her now-prone body. The girl couldn't help but vocalize a squeal, but otherwise she did not struggle. Oh yes, she was absolutely mine in all but name.

I began to drag the clawed tips of my upper right arm across her radius, while the hand holding hers began to massage and squeeze in earnest. Hundreds of different points of contact, varying in intensity, texture, movement.

The girl's nervous system could scarely keep up with the combined input, and I couldn't help but shift the hue of my eyes to a higher frequency as a result. The dazed and unfocused ocular organs...the desperate panting as her chest rose and fell...the way her vocalizations continued to build....

Exquisite.

"Why don't we continue this somewhere more...palatable, little one? I would love to show you my garden."

No response. The drugs had likely reduced her to a mewling mess, and her auditory processing was a consequence. No matter.

I began to walk back towards the Capture vine I came from, continuing to caress and play with her soft skin. "You know, I think you would be much happier with a different name. Specifically, your familial one..."

[meospseo]

Maki, Toji, and Freedom

I think the worst parroted talking point in JJK discussions is that "Maki just becomes Toji 2.0". It's an idea that commonly comes up in any discussion or Maki or female characters in JJK about how she was reduced to a facsimile of a dead male character the author prefers.

I think this is a gross misunderstanding and oversimplification of Maki's character arc and does a disservice to both characters. Yes, there are many very deliberate parallels in the manga, textually and sub-textually, that discusses their mirroring. But these are usually from the viewpoint of others or from the manga discussing her abilities and growth.

While Maki does undergo a personality shift after awakening, she does not begin echoing Toji in any capacity. Toji is arrogant, flippant, and selfish; a man willing to kill kids and sell his own son for cash. He is at the end of the day a broken man who threw away all personal relations after the death of someone he deeply cared about.

Maki on the other hand is at first blunt, determined, and brash; a woman who only decided to become a sorcerer to spite her family. although she has moments of levity and kindheartedness, she is still motivated by revenge.

When Maki awakens after losing Mai, the person she cared most about, Maki retreats inward, becoming more distant and bitter, but still equally determined; a woman living with the burden of having killed her own parents.

On a surface level, it's easy to see how Maki acting more emotionally detached mirror's Toji's grief, but it's just that; grief. both of them have lost who they cared about the most and it would be strange not to see them retreat inward emotionally.

The difference is in how they deal with their grief; Toji becomes solely self-destructive, selling his own services and his own son only to gamble it away. he is completely lost without his wife. Maki on the other hand becomes outwardly destructive, desperately trying to honor Mai’s and her own dream to destroy the Zen’in clan. Even with these differences, Maki still continues to grow, expressing remorse over indulging in vengeance. Where Maki makes a mistake and learns from it, Toji dies for it.

These differences exist beyond their personalities, even with the same abilities, they utilize their skill sets in different ways that reflect their personalities. Toji is known as the Sorcerer Killer, he is an assassin and hired killer. In Hidden Inventory, instead of attempting to assassinate Riko outright, he delegates the work to others by putting a fake bounty up to tire down Gojo. Toji doesn’t work for free, he isn’t a man held by ideals like pride, loyalty, or friendship. His true self is an opportunist, and when he deviates from that, he dies.

At least, that’s what he tells himself in his last moments, but his desire for self-affirmation, to completely discredit the apex of jujutsu sorcery and spite the Zen’in clan, says otherwise.

I don't think it's a coincidence, either, that a discussion of Maki's abilities and being shunned by the Zen'in family is immediately followed by Mei-Mei's comment about connections based on money, the same belief that brought about Toji's downfall.

Maki, meanwhile, is a woman defined by strength, both physical and mental. Maki’s determination to spite her family is the core of her motivation for much of the story, it’s what drives her to be stronger. Though Maki is far from dumb, she manages to figure out and counter Naoya’s technique in a matter of moments, she never relies on trickery or plans the same way Toji does. This stems from the fact that Maki has the luxury to rely on others; though Maki desires self-affirmation through internal strength, she isn’t stubborn enough to turn to isolation. Toji meanwhile, is completely alone and forced to fight through unorthodox plans – strength exists merely as a means to an end for Toji, while strength exists as a source of pride and a goal in of itself for Maki.

Freedom is perhaps the greatest line connecting the two stains of the Zen’in clan. Free from cursed energy, free from expectations, free the constraints of a cursed technique. It’s what really, truly motivated Maki in the first place; the freedom to choose what to be, to leave home. Maki refused to live a normal life and fall into a hole serving her family with Mai and instead opted to become stronger.

Toji, meanwhile, is described as a man who escaped fate and broke the chain of destiny keeping the star plasma vessel and the six eyes together.

But Toji’s defiance only shatters others chains, as he never truly escaped the shadow of the Zen’in clan, being haunted by them and the fate of his son in his last moments.

Maki, meanwhile, makes peace with the fact that she can never really make peace, that she can only look forward and keep moving.

Maki Zen’in is arguably one of the best written characters in the series, and to see any discussion or her reduced to “she’s good but Toji 2.0” is disheartening and a rejection of reading characters on even a basic level. Reducing characters to their powers and abilities is literally exactly what the story is actively disparaging in current chapters! When all you can see is someone’s strengths and abilities, you’re dehumanizing them into a monster; and Maki deserves better to be known as nothing more than a monster.

[alexiethymia]

In relation to that earlier (crack)post, it dawns on me that for all that they call him ‘Aizen-taichou’, neither of Aizen’s vice-captains really choose him.

Sure, Aizen has only disdain for bonds, but I’m also of the interpretation that he tried to replicate at least a facsimile of them through twisted ways - loyalty, dependence etc. - but it always boiled down to no one would ever be able to understand him because no one was at his level, so he discards them.

What makes a prodigy? Age? If so, Nanao would be considered one. Intellect? But no one really alludes to either Hirako or Urahara as a prodigy. Maybe potential, and if so it would make sense that Gin and Hitsugaya are referred to as prodigies. And it would make sense to show that Aizen was at around the same age (at least physically) as Gin when he started to question everything. Despite being prodigies, Gin and Hitsugaya had what Aizen didn’t - people who understood them and made sure they didn’t feel too “other”. From his perspective, I could easily imagine Aizen perceiving his fellow prodigies as being held back by those bonds, at not even attempting to nurture their potential to be ‘god-like’. I am also of the theory that Aizen did want to bring Hitsugaya into the fold, or that he had a sense of his potential so if he wasn’t going to be under his control like Gin, then he had to be cut down.

But going back, when I say that neither of Aizen’s vice-captains choose him, this is prefaced with the context that both Gin and Hinamori were people he cultivated for years, maybe even centuries. Aizen showed Gin his true face (or as true as it could be knowing that Gin meant to kill him) while showing Hinamori the ideal captain, the image of the best captain even. But unlike Gin’s vice-captain who fights Hinamori to defend him (no matter how sick and self-loathing it made him feel deep inside), Hinamori despite being ordered by Aizen himself couldn’t manage to avenge him (she didn’t even try to her fullest capabilities). This was not in Aizen’s plans, and he even says it himself. Aizen was one of the most revered Captains, and he intentionally manipulated Momo to become dependently loyal on him, to the point that, he alleges, ‘she couldn’t live without him’. But if both were a test of loyalty, Kira passed his while Hinamori didn’t. And Gin rewards this (in a twisted sort of way) by involving Kira just enough that he could make sure that he and Rangiku were outside the blast point.

I could easily believe that Aizen intentionally did make Momo fall in love with him (his use of the words, ‘as a man’ in his letter for example), but unlike Hitsugaya who was ready to commit murder and treason just to keep Hinamori away from threats, she couldn’t fully severe that connection with Hitsugaya to avenge him. For all that Aizen seems to be above Hitsugaya and Gin, and they both lose to him, they will always have something he will never have. Even later, Momo despite the centuries of hypnosis chooses to stand on the battlefield against him.

In other words, in that confrontation, as a vice-captain, Hinamori couldn’t do for him what Kira did for Gin, and as someone who ‘loved’ or ‘admired’ him, she couldn’t do for him what Hitsugaya was willing to do for her, and this is after years and years of intentional emotional manipulation. For all of his ambitions, he failed to be the most important person for someone he intended to mold for that exact same purpose. And this is why in the realm of canon and headcanon, I do believe that as much as Hitsugaya hates Aizen, Aizen also hates Hitsugaya, just as much, insofar as someone like Aizen is capable of hatred. This is where you can see Aizen’s surface level understanding of bonds, as well as his being an unreliable narrator. His plan was for Kira and Hitsugaya to kill her, both people shown to love her, and when they couldn’t do it, for him as the person she ‘loves’ to deal the final blow. Did he really think that either Kira or Hitsugaya could actually go through with it? Maybe because he assumed that Momo actually would (because he knows the lengths Hitsugaya would go through and suspects the same of Gin, so as someone she ‘loves’ he might have had that same expectation of her).

He made sure she knew who was the one to hurt her, and he did it in the cruelest way possible. When I think about his overall plan, the interaction in Central 46 never had to happen. He already had his distraction. He didn’t have to deal death blows to both Hinamori and Hitsugaya, especially since no one at the execution knew what was going on at Central 46. In fact, it was because of that interlude that Unohana was able to warn the rest of the Gotei. But that wasn’t just an interlude. It really was part of his plan to kill Hinamori because ‘she couldn’t live without him’. Or maybe he convinced himself of that fact.

Even with Gin. For all that he says it was all part of his plan, and that he only kept Gin around because he knew Gin was going to kill him, I find it difficult to believe that he told Gin Kyouka Suigetsu’s weakness with that in mind. This is where his being an unreliable narrator comes in. When all is said and done, he can just claim it was all part of his plan. But I noticed he let his guard down when Gin claims to have killed Rangiku, and that he acknowledges that he could have been wrong about Gin having feelings for Rangiku. It seems to me that having another prodigy who was against Soul Society was something that he maybe wanted? And that he was just waiting for Gin to fully cut off those ties (to Rangiku) and prove his loyalty, in a manner of speaking.

So showing both his true face and his ideal face didn’t secure him the loyalty that he [wanted]. All the pieces fell into place, but it was actually his vice-captains who acted against his expectations. He claims it was Hirako’s rejection or suspicion that allowed him to hollowfy the Vizards, but even when he actually and actively exerted his influence over them, still neither of his vice-captains choose him. Even Urahara, who he considers an intellectual equal, still does nothing about the Soul King despite knowing the truth, because Urahara also has existing bonds he wishes to take care of. No matter how many people he hurt and defeated, and no matter that he considers it all a part of his plan, no matter that he doesn’t consider bonds important in the first place, ultimately Aizen was rejected on every front.

[cookinguptales]

Sigh... Next, the big one. Freddie and Guillermo’s relationship.

Now... I will preface this by saying I am (still) a huge nandermo shipper and while I feel I have tried to be painstakingly fair to Freddie leading up to his introduction, that’ll still affect my analysis here. I wanna be upfront about my biases. lmao

But... god, yeah, Freddie/Guillermo was a fucking disaster. I think we can all agree on that, even if we disagree on what was its downfall. Personally, though, I think it was always doomed to fail. Freddie was utterly faithless with very little magical intervention, but like... more than that, the intimacy just wasn’t there, and I think the fault of that can really be shared around.

I’ll start with Guillermo. I’ve talked about this before and I’ll just keep talking about it and talking about it and probably writing like 30k words of fic about it but like. God, Guillermo is such a liar. It’s always been a part of his character and the show is really starting to engage with the way that it’s harmed his relationships with everyone around him. He lies to the vampires, he lies to his friends, he lies to his family, he lies to his boyfriend. He lies for self-preservation and he lies for personal gain and, this one’s the kicker, he lies to avoid difficult conversations.

It’s hard to fault Guillermo for most of his lies. Like if he’d told the vampires that he was a slayer before he proved his loyalty, they might have killed him. If he’d told his family about the vampires, they might have killed his friends and disowned him. Coming out to your family is always hard. Freddie would uhhhh probably not have accepted it if he’d found out that his new boyfriend was a literal serial killer. 

But at the same time, those lies all create a chilling effect on his relationships. No one can truly know and love him because he won’t let them. He won’t let anyone see the real him or help him with any of his crises because he doesn’t trust anyone to accept or support him. And sometimes he’s right! But other times, like when he finally told Nandor about being a slayer and told his family about being gay, he found out that they were far more accepting and supportive than he ever could have imagined. He just... didn’t allow himself to believe that he could depend on them. Which is a little hurtful, if understandable.

You really see this lack of trust extend to his relationship with Freddie. As much as I dislike Freddie, I have to admit that Guillermo never put his true self into this relationship. Him lying to Freddie about his job had such long-ranging effects. It means he never talked to Freddie about what was actually going on in his day-to-day life. It means he never talked to Freddie about any of the people who were important to him. It means he never talked to Freddie about any of his real hopes or dreams or struggles. It means he was never fully open with Freddie about the true nature of his loneliness and sense of betrayal in London.

He never told Freddie about anything important. So how could Freddie ever get to know the real him? He never met the real Guillermo! He met this facsimile that Guillermo created in order to feel normal and playact at being normal and reel in a normal guy. But none of that was real.

But Freddie, on the other hand, let him. I don’t get the impression that Freddie ever really dug that hard to learn about the real Guillermo. Almost all of their conversations were extremely surface-level (beans? okay...) and Freddie doesn’t seem to know much about Guillermo’s hobbies, interests, or preferences -- and I’m not convinced that he cares.

Freddie seems enormously comfortable with Guillermo refusing to allow him access to any of his deeper emotions. In fact, when Guillermo does start exhibiting real emotions around him for the first time (when Freddie comes to the house unannounced, when they walk in on Nandor and Freddie’s yelling at him to hurry up, when the Freddies are playing charades and both ignoring Guillermo’s obvious horror, anger, and hurt, etc.) Freddie just straight-up ignores them. He never once tries to actually comfort Guillermo throughout this entire episode despite him sorely needing it. He doesn’t even bother breaking up with him before he starts dating two other people. That’s a lot.

Like... I think it’s probably somewhat debatable whether Freddie 2 conceptualized fucking Nandor as cheating on Guillermo. Nandor never actually specified that he wanted a version of Freddie that didn’t know about and/or wasn’t dating Guillermo, and Freddie 2 had all of Freddie 1′s other memories, so there’s no reason to believe that Nandor was wrong when he said he could easily steal Guillermo’s boyfriend. With Freddie 2, that’s exactly what he did. Freddie 2 woke up still thinking he was dating Guillermo and immediately decided he’d rather fuck Nandor instead. Yikes! 

Whether that’s because Nandor was something new and fun and exotic (😬) and exciting or because Freddie 2 heard that he was a clone and was like “well, I guess that other guy is dating him and I can do what I want”, it’s still yikes! Either way, Freddie 2 just showed absolutely no love or loyalty towards Guillermo whatsoever. It’s not like the two Freddies were fighting over who’d get to be with Guillermo over here.

I think that raises the biggest issue. There was just very little genuine intimacy and connection between the two of them. There was barely any real physical intimacy when you compare Freddie’s interactions with Guillermo vs. Freddie’s interactions with Nandor and his own clone, the two never talked about anything particularly intimate that we ever saw, and they barely knew each other. Freddie left Guillermo so quickly that like... I honestly wonder if he ever saw the relationship as more than a casual LDR in the first place.

I really do think that they had a “whirlwind romance” in the UK because Guillermo was Freddie’s new thing but Freddie was Guillermo’s everything. He’d never had a boyfriend before and he was so, so lonely. So he really built up this relationship in his head. He really romanticized the hell out of it. He really thought it was gonna work, he really thought that Freddie loved him, he really thought that what they had was healthy and intimate and good.

But really, Freddie was just the only person who was being remotely nice to Guillermo during a period when he was intensely emotionally vulnerable, and Guillermo latched onto that. And I think that someone being as into you as Guillermo was into Freddie would be really flattering, which (a deeply narcissistic) Freddie clearly responded to. But as much as Guillermo told Freddie he loved him, we never once heard him say it back -- though we did hear him say it to his clone, and kiss him, which is a thing we never saw him do with Guillermo during his visit.

Guillermo... I love you dearly, but he’s just not that into you.

Guillermo, for all that he was all in, seemed to be fairly interchangeable to Freddie. Freddie was happy to do his list of tourist attractions with someone else that he literally just met. (And the only one that wasn’t on his list was Wicked, which implies that either the list was longer than just those four things or that was the only thing that Guillermo wanted to do, which makes it even more fucking tragic that Freddie repurposed the idea for a date with a different person.) Freddie was just as happy to spend the rest of his time in NYC with Nandor and Freddie 2. Freddie started cheating on Guillermo with Freddie 2 both emotionally and then physically about as quickly as he possibly could.

I mean... if I were talking to my partner and someone else grabbed their ipad so they could talk to me instead, I would simply say I was talking to my partner. Because I actually like talking to the people I love and would not want to hurt their feelings. Freddie was more than happy to hurt Guillermo so he could talk to his own clone instead, though, and that’s just not a great sign for a relationship!

So yeah, I think that even if Nandor had kept his dumb ass out of Guillermo’s relationship, it was just doomed to fail. I do think that Freddie had genuine affection for Guillermo, but only in the most casual of ways. I don’t think he truly loved him. I don’t think he cared if he got to spend time with him or not. I don’t think the two of them were particularly physically or emotionally intimate.

And it was because neither of them actually wanted to be. Guillermo wanted to have a boyfriend, but he wasn’t willing to submit to that whole mortifying ordeal of being known thing. And Freddie simply didn’t want to bother.

As much as I hate to say it, I think Guillermo was just a guy for him to hang out with until someone more interesting came along.

So honestly, the fact that Guillermo had built this relationship up in his head the way he did was more a tragic indictment of his total lack of experience with anyone being nice to him at all than evidence of a real relationship.

Fuck, Guillermo. Now I’m sad. You have no idea what it’s like to be truly loved or valued, and that’s mostly because Nandor refuses to show you. :(

[sakebytheriver]

I thought this last episode of Ted Lasso was the best one all season, Brett Goldstein does seem to have a solid grasp of who Nate is and the flawed culture of the entire football environment - fans yelling at a guy to get out of a pub for wearing a different team’s jersey, players thinking physical violence is an appropriate response to to hurt feelings, etc. - and I absolutely loved that part of the episode…but the Keeley part really isn’t working for me. Keeley feels like she’s being written dumber than she used to be, not just inexperienced. Barbara’s social awkwardness is sometimes portrayed as something to point and laugh at, and her doing her job and questioning Keeley’s bad decisions seems to never end with Keeley acknowledging her point of view. Shandy’s entire thing. If this is all setup for a Keeley spinoff…I really don’t think I want to see it.

Idk if you meant Nick Mohammed has a good grasp on his performance as Nate or if Brett Goldstein is the primary writer for Nate's storyline or something, but I do think the show is doing an ok job so far showing the inner turmoil inside of Nate and how much he does want to go back to Richmond and just how much Rupert has gotten his claws in him. I didn't believe they could really turn this thing around last season, but so far I'm not wildly disappointed. I still think not addressing the racial aspects of Nate's existence as a character is a bad decision, but I also get that that's not the story they planned to write for him, ultimately I'm just disappointed that they wouldn't take the time to rework some things once they did colorblind casting and cast Nick. I did overall like most of the football stuff last episode, the Jamie and Roy training scene was great and even if they ruined it later I did like watching Shandy run her own shoot and the boys doing their little flirty spots was cute, I did also enjoy the Keeley / Jamie stuff as a Roy x Keeley x Jamie shipper who is very much living in the denial that it might happen

And also I agree. The Keeley storyline is 100% the weakest link this season,

I like all of the new female characters they've introduced, but the way they're writing Keeley and them is so awkward and clunky. It's cliche and feels very cat-fighty in my opinion and I don't enjoy that kind of stuff especially from a show that's done it's best in the past to subvert that kind of stuff so I'm really hoping that this is just the growing pains of an overarching plot thread about female friendships and the way the "Lasso" style of kindness is applied differently for a female dominated workspace rather than a male dominated one

I think the show is really bad at addressing any kind of systemic societal problem, once they utterly fumbled the bag with Sam's protest storyline which really should have taken up like an entire season's worth of conflict by writing it off as solved through one text message from his dad I kinda lost hope in the show being able to address anything more than the surface level social problems the very white liberal, but also well-meaning writing team wants to address, so I'll just cross my fingers and hope that they're going to subvert my poor expectations and flip everything on it's head

Personally, even if they didn't turn Keeley into this weird facsimile of who she used to be I don't think she's a character that can carry a spinoff. If they do a Keeley spinoff it'll last a singular season and be forgotten to the anals of TV history like Joey, sorry 🤷‍♀️

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 6.z

I love these diagrams in the extra materials. They've come a long way from simple circles. But the notes are right that the whole thing feels icky.

You do realize I’ve been working on toying with hearts since I was four?

:|

Actually, makes me wonder about her interactions with Ms. Graubard. She was being the opposite of endearing there, wonder if there was a deeper motivation? Or did she just not care.

others might hate me but I don’t care. I target the people I want and I win them over.

So who was she winning over in that class?

“I think about Louisa every day, Chase.  To remind myself of what I need to do."

practitioner families suck! I wonder if this was gendered, or just about not living up to expectations

I can try to play smart for teachers like Raymond and be the whiny child for the substitutes that don’t know how to teach,

ok, still not entirely sure why she wanted that, but it was deliberate

I’ll study hard and I’ll do as the family needs, and I get money and clothes and training in exchange. Better deal than most get.

She's not wrong, but man that's a low bar. The practitioner world desperately child protection laws.

Gods this whole conversation is fucked! I wouldn't even know what bits to quote. Eugh. Years of resentment, a very hierarchical family. And Chase is feeling scared enough that regrets are coming to the surface, trying to reach out to his little sister. But Fernanda is very aware that they don't actually have a close sibling relationship, and that the power differential sits between them. Just painful and uncomfortable to read.

“You’re not in my good books, Miss Throop,” Fernanda said, quietly.

Making sure this is quiet, so none of the boys hear. Doesn't make Fernanda look weak or unaware for having more boys show up than expected, and being unhappy about it. Doesn't embarrass Laila by scolding her in public, which might create a grudge. But calling out Damaryon publicly, making a show of her strength, putting pressure on his friends to either make him apologize or draw back from him, putting Fernanda in a position of authority over their group. Also implying that Fernanda is the arbiter for offenses against Laila, and that her own revenge is something Fernanda grants Laila. She's good at this.

“You’re my best friend.  Why wouldn’t I?” Laila blinked a few times.

was not expecting that one, huh?

She’d given Laila nothing concrete, but she’d gotten a pledge in return.  It was the product of months of establishing friendship, from last year until now, that let her set that into motion.  It didn’t matter that Laila was her best friend, because it helped her feel like she was inching toward a better place. 

yeah... I noticed how quickly things went from "I can help you with social stuff, because we're friends" to "Promise you'll back me up" to "If you teach me, I'll forgive you"

“Prettier, richer, more powerful people win more.  That’s a lesson.  It’s not a nice lesson, especially for those who are less pretty or wealthy, but I’m personally very fond of imparting it.”

lol

A way to score a huge win for the family, elevating all of them, and simultaneously free himself from all of the immense expectations that had been chasing him in recent years.

Man, Bristow is good at this

We stop being even a facsimile of a family. But all of us are happier alone. Except me.

oof. Guess that explains why he was so desperate to make a connection with Fernanda

“Very well,” Alexander said, his voice level.  “I hereby name you forsworn.  For filial promises made and taken to the grave by the other party.”

oh. wow.

“I would.  I might not like you in the slightest, but forswearing as a practice should be left well in the past.”

... yeah. I get that being able to hold people to their word is important, but forswearing is brutal and there doesn't seem to be a way out of it.

“It may have been hollow. But in these cases, a promise can be made and broken,” Seth said. “I may be gainsaid, but among her last words to me were her wishes that I had a good life ahead of me. And her expressed forgiveness and love.”

good to have confirmation that the person a promise was made to can forgive it being broken, and that prevents forswearing. I suppose it gets harder if the promise isn't made to an individual.

She forgave you, but it was not for her to handle the broken oath, then. I had taken on that responsibility by then. And I will not forgive. The universe has not seen you forsworn because I have been in firm custody of it, judgment pending.

well fuck

Nicolette shook her head.  “The open future clause.  Is there a feasible future where you could fulfill the oath?”

Nico's doing pretty well as an impromptu pro bono defense lawyer

“I would give Seth Belanger my protection for the time being,” Nicolette said.  “I would take him into my custody, and be a shield between him and the world.”

and she's a hell of a good person, despite everything the world has pushed her to be. Oh, there's plenty that can be done with someone who is forsworn and has no defense left, and I'm sure this wouldn't be entirely altruistic, but as Charles said near the beginning, even if he was taking on curses every day for Kennet, it would still be a good deal for protection.

“Do you think he’s the only one I could forswear, right here and right now?” Alexander asked.

oh fuck. Even if he doesn't right now (and I don't think he will), he's holding a blade over their heads. And after Seth they all know he's willing to drop it.

“Okay!?” Zed asked.  “No, Ray.  You’ve let a lot slide before, but this?”

he let a forswearing slide before!

“I think virtually every parent of a child at this school would agree a teacher should be suspended for a time after forswearing a student, until things can be assessed.”

ah. That's how he's going to use this

“Alexander shouldn’t be suspended because, number one, you probably planned that all along, and number two, he’s hot, in an older guy sorta way, and it’s a tragedy to lose that.”

love this terrible defense

And Laila, who had so recently made promises, trusting their friendship was more important than practice, visibly diminished.  If she wasn’t gainsaid now, she would be later.

well fuck. that poor girl.

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift Turns on a Facsimile Machine for the Ingenious Recreations of ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’: Album Review

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

By Chris Willman

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

There is no “best actress” award at the Grammys, perhaps for obvious reasons, but maybe there should be this coming year. And the Grammy would go to… Taylor Swift, for so persuasively playing her 18-year-old self in “Fearless (Taylor’s Version),” her beyond-meticulous recreation of the 2008 recording that did win her her first album of the year trophy back in the day. It’s impossible to overstate just how thoroughly the new version is intended as an exact replica of the old — all the way down to her startling ability to recapture an untrained teen singing voice she’s long matured and moved on from. It’s a stunt, to be sure, but a stunt for the ages — mastering the guile it takes to go back to sounding this guileless.

There are two different, very solid reasons to pick up or stream “Taylor’s Version,” regardless of whether you share her ire for the Big Machine label, whose loose ways with her nine-figure catalog precipitated this, the first in a six-album series of remakes where she’ll be turning on the facsimile machine. One is to marvel at her gift for self-mimicry on the album’s original tracks, where she sounds as possessed by her younger self as Regan ever was by Pazuzu. The other reason is, of course, to check out the six “vault” numbers that Swift wrote during that time frame but has never released before in any form, which dispenses with stylistic fealty to the late 2000s and frames her “Fearless”-era discards in production and arrangements closer to “Folklore.” Those half-dozen (kind of) new tracks really do sound like modern Taylor Swift covering her old stuff.

But those original lucky 13? It’s the same damn record… which is kind of hilarious and marvelous and the kind of meta-ness that will inspire a thousand more think-pieces than it already has, along with possibly efforts at forensic analysis to figure out how she did it.

It would not be surprising if, as we speak, Big Machine was putting a combined team of scientists and lawyers on the case of the new album’s waveform readouts, to make sure it’s not just the original album, remixed. Honestly, it’s that close. The timings of the songs are all within a few seconds of the original tracks, if not coming in at exactly the same length. The duplication effort doesn’t allow any detours. If “Forever and Always” had a cold open then, it’s going to have a cold open now. If the 2008 “That’s the Way I Love You” had slamming rock guitars with an almost subliminal banjo being plucked beneath the racket, so will the 2021 “That’s the Way I Loved You.” A drum roll to end the old “Change”? A drum roll to end its body-snatcher doppelganger. And if she chuckled before the final chorus of “Hey Stephen” 13 years ago, so will that moment be cause for a delighted giggle now.

Of course, much analysis will be put into whether the new laugh is a more knowing-sounding laugh. And that will be part of the fun for a certain segment of audiophile Swifties who will go looking for the slightest change as evidence of something meaningful. When “Love Story (Taylor’s Version)” first came out weeks back to preview the album, there were reviews written that swore she’d subtly changed up her phrasing to put a contemporary spin on the song. And maybe they were right, but, having done a fair amount of A/B testing of the two versions of the album, I found myself feeling like I do when vinyl buffs insist there are significant sonic differences between the first stamper version of an LP and one that was pressed a year later. If you can spot those very, very, very modest tweaks, go for it.

But my suspicion is that if Swift has decided to turn a phrase a little differently here or there on this album, or done anything too differently aside from brighten the sound, she’s doing it more as an Easter egg, for the people who are on that kind of hunt, than anything really designed as reinterpretation. Because the last thing Swift wants most of her fans doing is A/B-ing the two versions, the way I did. The whole point is to have folks retire the OG “Fearless” from their Spotify playlists, right? The Swift faithful were already threatening to rain down damnation on anyone caught sneaking an audio peek at the old version after midnight. What she intended was to come up with a rendering so faithful that you would never have a need to spin the vintage album again. In that, she has succeeded beyond what could have been imagined even in the dreams of the few self-forgers who’ve tried this before, like a Jeff Lynne.

Is there any reason to find value in the new versions if you couldn’t care less about the issues of masters and contracts and respect in business deals that made all this strangely possible? Yes, with the first one being that the new album just sounds like a terrific remastering of the old — the same notes, and you’d swear the same performances, but sounding brighter and punchier just on a surface level. But on a more philosophical one, it’s not just a case of Swift playing with her back catalog like Andy Warhol played with his soup can. It’s really a triumph of self-knowledge and self-awareness, in the way that Swift is so hyper-conscious of the ways she’s matured that she has the ability to un-mature before our very ears. With her vocals, it’s virtuosic, in a way, how she’s made herself return to her unvirtuosic upstart self.

On Swift’s earliest albums and in those seminal live shows — at the time when she was famously being told she “can’t sing,” to quote a song from the follow-up album — there was a slight shrillness around the edges of her voice that, if you lacked faith, you might’ve imaged would be there forever. It wasn’t. That was partly youth, and partly just the sheer earnestness with which she wanted to convey the honesty of the songs. She’s advanced so much since then — into one of pop’s most gifted modern singers, really — that the woman of “Folklore” and “Evermore” seems like a completely different human being than the one who made the self-titled debut and “Fearless,” never mind just a woman versus girl. It wouldn’t have seemed possible that she could go back to her old way of singing at the accomplished age of 31, but she found and recreated that nervous, sincere, pleading voice of yesteryear. And maybe it was just a technical feat, of temporarily unlearning what she’s learned since then, but you can sense that maybe she had to go there internally, too, to the place where she was counseling other girls to guard their sexual virtue in “Fifteen,” or wondering whether to believe the fairy tale of “Love Story” or the wakeup call of “White Horse,” or proving with “Forever & Always” that writing a song telling off Joe Jonas for his 27-second breakup call was better than revenge.

If at first you’re not inclined to notice that Swift has re-adopted a completely different singing voice for the “Fearless” remakes, the realization may kick in when those “vault” tracks start appearing in the later stretch of this hour-and-50-minute album. The writing on the six songs that have been pulled up from the 2008 cutting room floor seems primitive, even a little bit by the standards of the “Fearless” album; there are great lines and couplets throughout the rescued tracks, but you can see why she left them as works-in-progress. But she doesn’t use her youthful voice on these resurrections, nor does she employ the actual style of “Fearless” very strictly. Of course, she feels more freedom on these, because there are no predecessors in the Big Machine catalog she’s asking you to leave behind. Her current collaborators of choice, Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner, divided the co-producing work on these fresher songs, as they did for the two all-new albums she released in the last year. (The “Fearless” recreations are co-produced by Swift with Christopher Rowe, someone who worked on remixes for Swift back in that era.) They co-produce the vault songs in a style that sounds somewhere between “Fearless” and Folklore”… a more spectral brand of country-pop, with flutes and synths and ringing 12-string guitars and a modicum of drum programming replacing some (but not all) of the acoustic stringed instruments you’d expect to be carried over from “Fearless” proper.

Of the previously unheard tracks, Swift was right — she’s always been her own best self-editor — in putting out “You All Over Me” first, in advance of the album. With its imagery of half-muddy stones being upturned on the road, this song has advanced lyrical conceits more of a piece with the level of writing she’s doing now than some of the slightly less precocious songs that follow. Still, there’s something to be said for the sheer zippiness with which Swift conveys teen heartbreak in “Mr. Perfectly Fine,” which has a lyric that shows Swift had long since absorbed the lessons Nashville had to offer about how to come up with a high-concept song — the concept, in this case, being just to stick the word “mister” in front of a lot of phrases relating to her shallow ex, as if they were honorary titles to be conferred for being a shit, while she employs the “miss” for herself more sparingly.

Some of the remaining outtake songs go back more toward the sedate side of “Fearless”-style material; she didn’t leave any real bangers in the can. “We Were Happy,” the first of two successive tracks to bring in Keith Urban (but only for backgrounds on this one), employs fake strings and real cello as Swift waxes nostalgic for a time when “you threw your arms around my neck, back when I deserved it.” It’s funny, in a good way, to hear Swift at 31 recreating a song she wrote at 17 or 18 that pined for long-past better times. The next song, “That’s When,” brings Urban in for a proper duet where he gets a whole second verse and featured status on half a chorus, and it’s lovely to hear them together. But, as a make-up song, it doesn’t feel as real or lived-in as the more personal things she was writing at the time — and the fact that its chords are pretty close to a slightly more balladic version of the superior “You Belong With Me” was probably a pretty good reason for dropping it at the time.

the 18-year-old Taylor Swift is a great place to visit, but “Folklore” and “Evermore” are the place you’ll want to return to and live, unless you have an especially strong sentimental attachment to “Fearless”… which, sure, half of young America does. It’s not irreconcilable to say that the two albums she issued in the last year represent a daring pinnacle of her career, but that “Fearless” deserved to win album of the year in 2008. Has there been a greater pop single in the 20th century than “You Belong With Me”? Probably not. Did the album also have lesser moments you probably haven’t thought about in a while, like the just-okay “Breathe”? Yes. (I looked up to see whether Swift had ever played that little remarked upon number in concert, and according to setlists.fm, she did, exactly once… in 2018. Because she’s Taylor Swift, and of course she did.) It’s not certain that her duet with Colbie Caillat really needed to be resurrected, except it’s fun, because hey, she even roped former duet partners back into her time warp. But there are so many number that have stood the test of time, like “The Way I Love You,” an early song that really got at the complicated feelings about passion and fidelity that she would come to explore more as she grew into her 20s… and just kind of a headbanger, too, on an album that does love its fiddles and mandolins.

It doesn’t take much to wonder why Swift put up “Fearless” first in this six-album exercise; it’s one of her two biggest albums, along with “1989,” and it’s 13 years old, which does mean something superstitious in the Taylor-verse. In a way, it’ll be more interesting to see what happens when she gets to more complicated productions, like “1989” or “Reputation.” But maybe “Fearless” did present the opportunity for the grandest experiment out of the gate: to recreate something that pure and heartfelt, with all the meticulousness a studio master like Swift can put to that process now, without having it seem like she’s faking sincerity. Let the think-pieces proceed — because this is about six hundred different shades of meta. But, all craftiness and calculation aside, there’s a sweetness to the regression that’s not inconsequential. It harks back to a time when she only wondered if she could be fearless, before she learned it the harder way for sure. What they say about actors “disappearing into the role”? That really applies to Taylor Swift, playing herself.

[shadowofthelamp]

Okay, I’m still on this. Building on this post, having Scourge genuinely want Sonic to join him is just a really, really interesting narrative choice, and I want to figure out where it came from. There’s a TL;DR at the end since it got a bit long.

Is it on some level that he thinks heroism is naïve and he just thinks Sonic can do better? Yeah, I think that’s part of it. It comes up both when he’s trying to convince Sonic in 191 and after he thinks he’s won in 196 when he goes Super. Between “What does heroism get you?” in the page below and “See what that (holier-than-thou attitude) got you?!” in the linked page this very much informs his worldview. Heroism leading to bad outcomes both for the people being heros and the world in general (in his eyes) means that heroic actions (and the attitude, thinking heroism is better than selfishness) must be bad as well. 

“I got that my way, not yours. Folks smile and wave you you? Everyone bows to me!” He doesn’t want everyone genuinely liking him as a person, not that he’d admit anyway- he wants worship, for people to look up at him instead of across the aisle. He 100% rules the Suppression Squad via fear and is perfectly comfortable with it until it blows up in his face. He’s rather keep himself up and out of reach from connections that could hurt him if he opens himself up to them, because he doesn’t truly respect his crew and mostly uses them to inflate his own ego via that bowing/submisson thing.

Obviously the hesitation in that middle panel there is more for the benefit of the audience suspense for the next comic than anything since Sonic would never go for this and he directly states so in the next issue, (and I don’t think it’s really ‘him not wanting to admit it to himself’). Sonic’s expression in the first panel definitely is a ‘are you serious?’ sort of thing, but Scourge sure seems serious about this, considering he brought it up again after going Super, lamenting that Sonic didn’t take what he sees as the smart option. Plus, he’s pissed right here that Metal interrupted. 

He tries to posture himself above Sonic in the page below- the first panel there is referring to the fact that he calls himself a King now. He WANTS to be more than Sonic, so he takes an honestly pretty childish tact to it- he just kicks everybody else down to make himself king of the hill, and then KEEPS kicking them down because he’s never going to get their genuine respect, so he has to keep stomping to keep them below him. .

I think part of the angle here? Scourge, although he’d never consciously admit it, genuinely admires Sonic and wants what he has- respect and affection earned through good character and not fear.

I admittedly don’t know the pre-Ian issues as well, but he repeatedly kept popping up in Prime to pretend he was Sonic. He likes Sonic’s life better- and why wouldn’t he? The Squad has no care for each other. Miles is plotting to usurp him at basically all times, it seems. Patch and Boomer seem to like the new direction/power he brought them as the leader, but they also were willing to turn on him as soon as Miles suggested it. Moebius is generally peaceful, so he never deals with anything interesting, and he’s got an empire of dirt even when he did conquer the planet, from all the infighting after the Great Peace fell apart. Fiona said that he just ‘beat up a few warlords’- he can tell himself he’s king all he wants, but he’s just a kid playing pretend and kicking away anybody who can/would dispel that illusion.

I don’t doubt that just knowing he’s a ‘reverse’ version of someone else grated on him- it’s a heck of an identity crisis, which is probably why he was so eager to accept his recolor and picked a new name almost immediately. He wants to differentiate himself- and forced the Squad to all go along with it. He’s over the top to the Nth degree to prove to HIMSELF that’s he’s the biggest, baddest cat in town. This is something that bugged him a lot.

On top of that, Sonic beat him- he brushed it off, and he could blame Locke for one of them, but generally, toe-to-toe, Sonic’s a better fighter since he just has more practice, and that’s something he does reluctantly admire. He thinks Sonic’s ‘full of untapped potential’- something he can use for himself, sure, but it’s untapped in his opinion specifically, because he thinks on the surface Sonic is just going about things all wrong with the power he has. 

Deep-down, he’s unsure of himself. He’s so egotistical and assholish on the surface because it covers that he’s overcompensating for the fact that pretty much every relationship he has is shallow, selfish, and liable to stab him in the back- and he knows it. If he pretends that’s how he wants things, maybe he can make himself (and everyone watching) believe it.

That’s why he cared enough about Sonic joining him. He wants Sonic to validate the choices he made. Sonic’s one of the only people whose opinion he genuinely cares about, even though it’s under a good few layers of jerkishness, because Sonic is a version of him that has a harder life but is much more successful. He can deny it all he wants, but he wants people to respect him, and all he can do is try to get a facsimile of that by busting heads together and ruling by fear, because anything too introspective leads him to things he doesn’t want to confront about himself- that he is weaker both in character and in battle, and a coward and a bully.

When Sonic turns him down he just brushes it off with ‘your loss’ and a big grin, (while holding Fiona tighter, as if to say ‘look what I have and you don’t’), but then he brings it back when he’s got the upper hand- if he was just rubbing in that Sonic could have avoided a beating, I feel like he would have phrased things differently. Resposting this image, ‘What IS IT with you?’ and ‘We could have done this together, but no! You decided to go the holier-than-thou route!’ says to me that he’s A: Genuinely offended, so the idea of them teaming up had come up in his head before now and wasn’t just thrown out on a whim, and B: He thinks that Sonic thinks that he’s better than him. (Which he does, because... well, he is.)

Scourge came back to Mobius to prove himself against Sonic, but even though he absolutely has the upper hand here, he knows something isn’t right- he doesn’t feel as satisfied as he should. He can’t figure out exactly what he wanted, and is taking it out on Sonic. He’s defensive and aggressive at the same time here- why would he care if Sonic thought himself better than him when he’s already declared that he’s the ‘superior’ of the two? Only his own opinion should matter if he just wants worship, shouldn’t it?

But he doesn’t just want blind worship. He thinks that he does, because that means he doesn’t have to get vulnerable, but he wants someone on his level.- he wanted them to rule the multiverse together. Fiona is decent enough- he does genuinely seem to like her and although their relationship was probably destined to fall apart at some point, for now she was a decent towel stuffed into the wound for that particular problem of ‘not having anyone to care about/to care about him’. However, he wants Sonic- his approval or his defeat, specifically. He wants Sonic either as a partner in crime or as a trophy- either way, he ‘wins’ and proves that his way of kicking his way to the top was the valid, right choice. Sonic is the true version of himself and the opponent he cares most about facing, and his approval means Scourge would win for real. Not getting that wedges a crack in his insecurities.

In his life, heroism had only ever led to problems. It led his dad to neglect him in service of trying to chase peace for everyone else, it led the world to crumble to pieces when that peace failed, and he learned violence was the only thing that got him attention, even though it was negative from everyone outside the Squad. So Sonic embodying that heroism ideal, and then beating him? It throws everything he thinks into question, and he wants to prove that he’s right so he doesn’t have to question it. 

He’s starving for positive interactions from people he respects since they’re so few and far between. He spent time thinking about a comment Sonic made during a previous fight, and then conquered the planet trying to chase the spirit of it even though he got it twisted to the point of unrecognizability. 

Scourge wants to be able to just mill his own confidence- to say he’s a badass and then believe it. And on some level, he can! But that’s flimsy and he requires some manner of outside support he has no real way of getting, and feeling like he’s being looked down on by Sonic hurts him more than he’d admit. 

So, TL;DR: Scourge wants Sonic to validate him and his (bad) worldview, and gets pissy when that doesn’t happen, because he unconsciously respects Sonic more than he’d admit and not getting that means he has to think about how he’s actually messed up in the past. He wants equals because shallow worship borne from fear isn’t a replacement for genuine affection, but he hasn’t matured enough to realize that’s what he actually wants/needs.

[nerdygaymormon]

Do you have a link to your thoughts on the CES letter? Because I'm sure plenty of folk have asked you about it. I'm, struggling.

The CES letter has been mentioned to me a few times in asks, but I don’t recall being asked to respond directly to it. 

Before getting into it, I want to make you aware of this post about Faith Transitions, I think it may be useful to you. 

I read the CES letter many years ago, probably the original version, it’s changed a lot since then. I think the CES letter is sloppy, and twists quotes, uses some questionable sources, and frames things in the worst possible way. It’s basically an amalgamation of all the anti-Mormon literature. But many of the main points of the CES letter are important and correct, even if the supporting details aren’t.

In a way, the CES letter has done the Church a favor. For a long time, Elder Packer insisted that anything which isn’t faith-promoting shouldn’t be taught. As a result, most members of the Church were taught a simplified version of Church history, leaving out anything that is messy or difficult. Although those things could be found if someone was looking for them, I found many of them simply by reading Brigham Young Discourses or other works of the early church. 

With the internet, Elder Packer’s approach to history turns out to be a bad one. This information is out there and now most members learn about it from sources seeking to destroy their faith. One response to this has been a series of essays where the Church talks about some difficult subjects. 

————————————————————

I’m not going to go through all the claims & challenges of the CES letter, but let me address some of the main ones.

1) There are errors in the Book of Mormon that are also contained in the 1769 edition of the Bible.

From the more faithful point-of-view, Joseph recognizes these passages, such as those from Isaiah, and knows they've already been translated into English and copies them from his family’s Bible. The non-faithful point-of-view is that Joseph copied these verses from his family Bible and tried to pass it off as his own translation.

2) DNA analysis has concluded that Native American Indians do not originate from the Middle East or from Israelites but from Asia.

This is correct. The Church has an essay which admits this and then spends a lot of time explaining how genetics works and one day we might find some Middle East connection. I find the Church essay convoluted as it goes through many possible (and unlikely) reasons for why no DNA of the Jaredites, Nephites or Lamanites has yet been found in the Americas.

3) There are things in the Book of Mormon that didn’t exist during Book of Mormon times, or in Central America (assuming this is where the Book of Mormon takes place), such as horses, chariots, goats, elephants, wheat, and steel.

This is also correct. Maybe the translation process was using a common word in English for a common item in the Book of Mormon. Maybe these are errors. Maybe it’s made up. 

4) No archeological evidence has been found for the Nephite/Lamanite civilizations.

Correct. When it comes to archeological evidence, it's true that we haven't found any. For one thing, we don't know where the Nephite & Lamanite civilizations are supposed to have taken place. If you don't know where to look, it's easy to have no evidence. Perhaps Nephites & Lamanites didn’t actually exist and that’s why there’s no archeological evidence. The Book of Mormon does seem to do a decent job of describing geography of the Middle East before Lehi & his family boarded the boat for the Promised Land.

5) Book of Mormon names and places are strikingly similar (or identical) to many local names and places of the region Joseph Smith lived in.

This seems like a funny thing to get hung up on. First of all, it’s not very many names that are similar. Secondly, many places in the US are named for Biblical places & people. If the Book of Mormon people came from Israel, it makes sense they did something similar. For example, the word Jordan is in the Book of Mormon, the Bible, and in many places in America. 

6) He points to obscure books or dime-novels that Joseph Smith might have read and the similarities between them and the Book of Mormon. 

Those similarities are mostly at the surface level. To me it doesn't seem like Joseph plagiarized any particular book, and these specific books seem to not been very popular so difficult to say Joseph, who lived on the frontier, actually read them. Funny how no one from that time period thought the Book of Mormon resembled those books, probably because they hadn’t heard of them. But Joseph did hear and read a number of stories and some of that phrasing or whatever of the time influenced him. Think of songwriters, they create a new song then get accused of plagiarizing because it's similar to another popular song. Even without intending to, they were influenced by things they heard. 

7) The Book of Mormon has had 100,000 changes.

Most of the "100,000" changes to the Book of Mormon were to break it into chapters & verses, to add chapter headings, or to add grammar such as commas and whatnot. There are some changes to fix errors that got printed but differed from the original manuscript. And there's been some clarifications made, but these are few in number. By claiming "100,000" he's trying to make it seem like there's a scam being done. It's easy to get a replication of the first Book of Mormon from the Community of Christ and read it side-by-side with today's version. I’ve done that and occasionally there’s a word or two here or there which differ, but overall it's mostly the same.

8) There were over 4 different First Vision accounts

True. Over the years, the way Joseph described the First Vision changed. I think different versions emphasize different aspects of the experience. I don’t find them to be contradictory. Oh, and the Church has an essay about this.

9) The papyri that Joseph translated into the Book of Abraham has been found and translated and it’s nothing like the Book of Abraham.

This is true. The Church has an essay about it. The Church now says that the papyri inspired Joseph to get the Book of Abraham via revelation, much like his translations of the Bible weren’t from studying the ancient Greek & Hebrew. It is a big change from what the Church used to teach, that this was a translation of the papyrus. The papyri has nothing to do with the Book of Abraham, and the explanations of the facsimiles in the Pearl of Great Price don’t match what the scholars say those pictures are about.

10) Joseph married 34+ women, many without Emma’s consent, some who had husbands, and even a teenager. 

This all appears to be true. Emma knew about some of them, but not all. As for the married women, they were still married to their husbands but sealed to Joseph (I know this is strange to us, but this sort of thing was common until Wilford Woodruff standardized how sealings are done). 

Polygamy was illegal in the United States. Most people who participated were told to keep it secret. So of course there’s carefully-worded statements by Joseph and others denying they participate in polygamy.

The salacious question everyone wants to know is if Joseph slept with all these women. We don’t know, but a DNA search for descendants of Joseph has taken place among the descendants of the women he was ‘married’ to and none have been found. But still, if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, why is he hiding this from Emma? 

11) The Church used to teach that polygamy was required for exaltation, even though the Book of Mormon condemns polygamy. 

This is accurate. The Church says polygamy was part of ancient Israel and so as part of the restoration of all things, polygamy had to be restored, see D&C 132:34. Now we no longer say polygamy is required to get to the highest level of the Celestial Kingdom.

12) Brigham Young taught Adam-God theory, which is now disavowed by the Church.

True. Joseph Smith didn’t teach this and John Taylor & Wilford Woodruff don’t seem to have any time for this teaching. It’s a thing Brigham Young was hot about and taught, but seems a lot of the church didn’t buy it as it was discarded after his death. 

13) Black people weren’t allowed to hold the priesthood until 1978, despite Joseph having conferred it to a few Black people during his life. 

Very true and very sad. This and the Mountain Meadows Massacre are the two biggest stains on the Church’s past. There is a Church essay on Race & the Priesthood. The ban appears to have begun with Brigham Young and he developed several theories to justify it, and these explanations expanded over the decades and bigotry was taught as doctrine. The Church now disavows all explanations that were taught in the past.

No reason for the priesthood ban is put forward in the Church essay other than racism. The past leaders were racists and that blinded them to what God wanted for Black people. There’s a big lesson in that for LGBTQ teachings of the Church.

14) The Church misrepresents how Joseph Smith translated the Book of Mormon. 

The accounts of Joseph Smith putting a seer stone in a hat and reading words from it, that's part of the historic record. Quotes about it don’t make it to our Sunday School lessons, but if you go back to the Joseph Smith papers and other accounts, it’s there to read. Joseph also used the Urim & Thummim, and wrote out characters and studied them, but he seems to have most favored the stone-in-hat method. I think the main problem here is the Church in its artwork and movies does not depict this, and therefore most members are unaware until they see anti-Mormon literature. Why does the Church not show Joseph looking into a hat? Because it seems magical and weird to modern people. But how much weirder is it than he put on the Urim & Thummim like glasses and could translate that way, or he wrote out these characters from some extinct language and was able to figure out what they mean?

————————————————————

A number of the main points in the CES letter are true (even if explanations/supporting details in the CES are problematic). Some of the main points have simple explanations and don’t seem like a big deal. Others challenge what the Church has taught. To its credit, the Church put out essays by historians & scholars, with sources listed in the footnotes, addressing several of these controversial topics. 

————————————————————

Religion is meant to help humans make sense of their world and our place in it. Most religious stories are metaphorical but end up getting taught as literal history and, in my opinion, the same is true of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And that’s why the CES letter has power, it points out things aren’t literally true but were taught by the Church as factual, and the CES letter shows us part of our messy history that the Church tried to hide. 

————————————————————

The story of Adam and Eve can’t literally be true. It doesn’t fit our evolutionary past, but it’s meant to make our lives important, God created us and we have to account to Him for our choices, and it’s important to find someone to go through life with. We can say the same of Job and the Book of Ruth, fiction with a purpose. 

While there are some real events included in the Bible, much of what’s written is there to teach lessons, culture, and give meaning to life. Jesus taught in parables so at least he was upfront that they were stories that contained morals.

Can I believe the same about the Book of Mormon, that it’s inspired fiction with meaning I can apply to my life, or must it be literally history to have value?

————————————————————

I went through a massive faith crisis while attending BYU. I had access to materials that told a different story of this religion than I’d been taught (the sorts of things in the CES Letter) and it threw me for a loop. 

It felt like the floor of faith I had stood on shattered and I fell with no way to stop myself. After I had a chance to process through the things I was feeling, I looked at my shattered faith and picked up the parts that were meaningful to me.

I had lined up my faith similar to a line of dominoes. If the Book of Mormon is true, then Joseph was a prophet. If Joseph was a prophet, then this is the true church. If this is the true church, then...

This works until it doesn’t. Once a domino topples over, it starts a chain event.

Now I look at principles and concepts and decide if they’re meaningful to me. 

I love the idea that we can spend eternity with the people we love most. 

I believe we should be charitable and loving to others. 

People on the margins need to be looked after and helped and lifted. 

Poor people deserve dignity and the rich to be challenged. 

We have a commitment to our community and we all serve to make it better. 

All are alike to God, we’re all loved and God has a grand plan for us. 

Those who passed away can still be saved through the atonement of Christ. 

Those are all principles I find in the Bible and Book of Mormon or at church and I find Love flows through all of those. 

This new approach works for me. I don’t have to believe or hold onto problematic teachings. I can drop them and still hold the parts that I find valuable. I can reject the teachings and statements which are bigoted, homophobic, transphobic, racist, ableist, misogynistic. Prophets can make mistakes and still have taught some useful things.

That little voice of the spirit and what it teaches and guides me to do, I trust it over what Church leaders say. Overarching principles are more important to me than specific details for how this gets applied in the 1800′s or 1950′s or Biblical times. 

————————————————————

I truly hope some of what I’ve written is helpful.

There’s no use pretending that the CES letter doesn’t get some things correct. It’s also helpful to understand it’s not just trying to share truth, but has an agenda to make the Church look as bad as possible.

What about the things the CES letter is correct about? 

Has this church helped you learn to connect with the Divine? 

The Church has some very big flaws, but also has some big things in its favor. Some of its unique teachings are very appealing and feel hopeful and right. 

Can you leave the Church and be a good person and have a relationship with God? Absolutely. 

I also know this church is a community and it’s hard to walk away cold-turkey with nothing to replace it, without another network to belong to. It’s as much a religion as it is a lifestyle and circle of friends. 

Are there parts you can hold onto? Parts you can let go of?

You have a lot to think about and work through. 

[prettyflyshyguy]

Ok here’s Chapter 2!!! its unfinished but I have to go to bed but you can have it anyway!! Like last time if you have critique please hit me with it. I am not a writer. I am simply a fool with two wolves inside me, one craves comedic relief while the other is grabbing a knife from the kitchen. (Chapter 1 if you missed it)

Here’s an indication:

The night air was still, in the distance the sound of helicopters and sirens blaring was the only thing to disturb this empty side of the city, evacuation of all citizens long passed. The orange haze of distant lights and fires lit up the otherwise cloudy dark sky. The crack of crystalline and resin structure splitting broke the silence atop the Research Centre. A cocoon spilled out of the split in the hardened shell, flowing and bulging and wriggling out as something churned and shifted beneath the surface. Rapidly the form of a figure started to appear, breaking free, reaching upwards towards the sky until it slipped and fell backwards. It flopped onto the concrete with the grace of a beached whale, and slid a few meters back.

His lungs kicked into overdrive, gulping deep breaths of air to combat the fear, disorientation and adrenaline that shot through his body. Everything was dark, his eyelids felt glued shut. He was hot, too hot, why was he so hot. 

Crudely wiping whatever was gunking up his eyes, he began to take stock of the situation. He quickly scanned the area, he was alone.

Except for the cocoon.

‘Shit-’

He instinctively tried calling out but a faint rasp was the most he could muster as he scrambled away still on the ground. He reached for his sidearm holster.

Except it wasn't there.

He felt cold concrete on his back, he pushed into it. It was the only thing he knew was real. It was tangible. He looked back towards the cocoon, a trail of viscous liquid stretched between it and himself. He sat there, frozen. Eyes fixed on the cocoon. Tracing its outline, the way it looked like a figure reaching forward. Forward towards something small that reflected the light, sitting just out of reach of the cocoon on the ground. The huge, gaping split down the back that the trail of fluid lead away from. 

Perhaps if he was able to sit completely still he wouldn't be able to feel any of it. The fluid dripping down his hair, into his eyes. The way his arms felt too long. The way his skin felt too tough. The way he felt wrong.

Except he hadn’t forgotten what happened. It was his cocoon. 

His heart rate shot up, he started breathing faster shorter breaths. 

Leon wasn't particularly afraid of much. He tackled any new situation he was thrust into pretty well, actually. Like his brief time as a cop back in Racoon City when the first outbreak of the T-virus happened. Evicting the ‘monster under the bed’ when he’d babysit Sherry when she was younger. Being injected with a parasite egg by a twisted cult in Europe. Accepting Claire’s challenge of who could eat the most hot cross buns last Easter.

The cocoon in front of him made him afraid.

He focused on his breathing, slowing them down, taking in more air in each breath. His pulse began to calm.

A minute or two had gone by before he realised it was getting cold. The exothermic reaction of the cocoon process had ended quite some time ago and he was no longer receiving the benefits. If you could even call them that.

He thought about it again.

‘Ah. That’s right. The cocoon process.’

His memories were intact up until a point, he remembered the flames and how he tried to scream. He remembered the sensation of his skin boiling. He remembered his joints seizing up and everything going dark. The only person he’s seen come out of a cocoon looking ‘normal’ was Ada, but she must be different. Some kind of twisted facsimile that Simmons cooked up. The Ada Wong that infected him was surely not the real deal, at least he hoped.

Ultimately there were only two choices in his current situation. Continue to stare in abject horror at the cocoon or instead, stare in abject horror at whatever it did to him.

Sharply inhaling, he slowly let his gaze fall from the cocoon to his feet. 

At least the assumption was that they were his feet. They looked more structurally like primates but with thick leathery scales or plating running along down from his legs. Not to mention the claws.

‘Ok. Could be worse.’

‘Time to try standing up.’ he thought.

He shuffled into a kneeling position and placed his hands out in front of him on a bare patch of concrete that wasn't covered in goop. Thankfully they still resembled human hands. Just with more scales and claws. 

‘Could be worse.’

Very slowly, with plenty of weight on his hands, he attempted to figure out how to stand up. He quickly realised his feet were more comfortable with weight being fully placed on the toes. Like a dinosaur. Maybe he could get a job as a monster in the next Jurassic Park film. In trying to find a silver lining the brief mental distraction meant he almost toppled over, as his legs were quite shaky. Using the wall behind him for stability, he found he was able to stand comfortably if he bent his knees slightly more than he was used to. 

Carefully, despite wobbling significantly, he made his way without the aid of a wall towards and around the cocoon, to where he had dropped his communicator after Ada… Fake-Ada, had infected him.

He knelt down and gently picked it up, praying that maybe somehow the flames hadn’t damaged it beyond working. The glass screen was cracked. It was unresponsive. 

‘Fuck.’

He had no way of contacting Helena. No way of telling her that actually he’s ok. He had left her to run after Ada and now she’s out there, alone, up against Simmons and his personal security army after everything-

‘FUCK.’

He was so stupid, he let his personal feelings get in the way when he should have just let Chris handle it-

He froze.

‘Chris was just outside the door when it happened. He probably saw the cocoon-’

His thoughts were interrupted as the glass of the communicator shattered as it hit the ground. His stomach convulsed as he began to throw up. He hadn’t eaten in hours but the acid burned away at his throat nonetheless. Tears started to well up in his eyes. The full gravity of the situation hit, everything he put his friends through, everything that’s happened to him. What would happen if he finds them again? Would they recognise him? Would they shoot him? Would he even find them? What if something else found him first?

Shoving all that aside, he pulled himself back into the moment. There was nothing he could do for either Chris or Helena if he just sat here, and the risk of a military cleanup unit passing overhead and seeing him was not one he was willing to bargain on. 

-

The balcony door, left open, creaked slightly as the ocean breeze drifted through the city. It would have been nice if not for the smoke and the eeriness of the place left cold and empty. It didn’t take Leon long to find an apartment that had an unlocked door or window, long forgotten about. The infection came with its advantages, namely making it much easier for him to traverse buildings vertically which meant he avoided streets with military patrols, Ja’vo or worse. Cautiously searching, in case he wasn't alone, he swept through each room quickly before entering the bathroom. The sludge that was left over from the cocoon had started to try like mud all over him, a shower might help relieve the stress. Closing the door and looking around, he caught a brief glimpse of his full figure in the bathroom mirror. He turned away sharply, not ready to tackle that just yet, instead focusing on the uncomfortable fact he could see very clearly despite not turning the light on yet. Once again trying to find something he could root himself too, he sunk his feet into the softness of the bathmat. The cold of the tiles. 

He leaned with both arms either side of the basin. 

‘Please don’t throw up again.’ he thought.

Without giving himself time to chicken out of it he flicked his head upwards and stared dead on into the mirror.

‘Could be worse.’

His face was still somewhat recognisable, it might have been even more if he didn’t have two mandibles protruding from both his top and bottom jaw each, beginning near his ears and wrapping comfortably around his face. He was able to see them in his peripheral vision so far but preferred to pretend they didn’t exist. Forced to reckon with it now, he toyed around to determine what level of control he had, if any. The top two folded up neatly alongside his cheeks and the clawed tip bent downwards towards his mouth, while the bottom ones extended along his jawline and pointed up at his chin. More concerningly in each corner of his lips there was a line, almost like a split that ran up his cheeks either side. Tentatively he flexed his jaw and opened his mouth slightly he snapped it shut upon seeing canines that were probably a little too long. Among other teeth that probably weren't there before. At least the BSAA had good dental.

Examining the rest, the same plate scales, more like chitin or carapace, ran up his arms, legs and back. Splits down the sides of his arms and legs had more normal softer skin along with his chest, although these including his face were still stricken with splits and scarring in the skin. Much like how Deborah, Helena’s sister, looked after she emerged from her cocoon. At this point he noticed something shifting behind him, twisting slightly revealing in the mirror a set of thin spines that ran down his back. They twitched and shifted higher the more he stared at them, the more his heart rate elevated.

Not bothering to turn on any lights still, he shoved himself into the shower and doused himself in water as once again, he felt his heart rate climb. 

Sinking down to the floor he leant on his knees and pushed his fingers into his hair as the water enveloped him. 

‘It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse?? I’m a BOW now I’m a fucking BOW I’m a bio organic weapon I’m a B O W  I’M-’

Pulling his hands down his hair and over his face, he took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

‘Ok this is bad, but you’ve been through worse Leon.’ he considered.

He stared blankly for a moment.

‘Ok maybe you haven't been through worse but at least this time you’re in control of yourself. No mind control parasite cults involved. Look on the bright side.’

He looked down at his feet and the water swirling endlessly into the drain.

‘You’ve traumitised Helena right after the same thing happened to her sister, you have no way of contacting anyone for help, and even if you did, you have no guarantee they won’t just try and kill you.’

He slowly looked up. His entire face, mandibles included, drooped as the water cascaded down.

Pressing his hands into his face and leaning back he let out a deep, long groan while he internally wished he could just scream. God knows if he did, if it would even sound human still. 

Debora’s wails and cries still echoed in his mind. Recognisably human in origin but alien and twisted. Would he sound like that too? Like a monster?

(Hi hello its Editing Shy here, sorry this is all I got. I haven't finished it yet, this is the unfinished bit.)

[astrelan]

London Rising

So hey y’all, I know I haven’t been active lately. I’ve been working on something different for my D&D group for a little bit now. We’re about to start a campaign using the Genesys gaming system, actually, and I wanted to share the setting details with you all. It’s a completely homebrewed fantasy/steampunk setting, which Genesys is amazing for. I’d love to hear any feedback if you want to PM me about it. 

Here goes:

London Rising is a dystopian version of earth, where magically-powered airships the size of cities dominate the skies. On the ground below, magical war has rendered most areas of the planet unlivable. It has been almost three thousand years since the outbreak of war drove humanity to live in the sky, and, despite constant maintenance, ships are starting to break down. More frequent landings have been made, even going so far as to stop in dangerous territory. Refueling and refit stops in safe zones take longer. Fear that the great ships will falter and stall is rising. It is impossible to tell if the great era of the air will end soon, or if this is just a hiccup along its path.

Tensions between cities are rising, leading to more than one skirmish between cities. Air piracy has been on the rise, and cities have taken real combat damage for the first time. It's only a matter of time before one falls from the sky. City ships are separated into three major levels: the officers' quarters, which is nearest to the top decks; the engineers' quarters, which is firmly in the middle, around the flight crystal; and steerage, which is the lower decks. The officers' quarters are where the elite stay, while the engineers' is where the skilled laborers and middle class live. Steerage is for the poor or useless crewmembers, and is cramped and dangerous to live in.

Currency is the cubit, abbreviated as a bit. A cubit is a small brass square with a hole in the middle. Twenty-five cubits can be exchanged for a thruppenny bit, which is a small square of sterling silver with a hole in it. Four thruppenny bits can be exchanged for a dollar, which is a round copper coin with a hole in the middle. The coins are lightly engraved, and are accepted in most civilized places.

Magic is a thing, but must normally be focused through an implement, most commonly a crystal glove.

The two major religions on most city ships are the Temple of the Everlasting Cog and the Order of Skysingers. There is also the Cult of Beth'Shalot, but they are illegal in most places. The Temple is an atheist order that reveres order and solidarity, and despises chaos. They sing hymns called shipsongs five times daily, and worshippers are permitted breaks during these times if they do not work on essential functions. The Order worships the sky and its magic. They have a church on the ship's deck, and all members have free access to it. The Cult worships a sleeping old god who will devour the world when he awakes. There are mechanical walker machines that are piloted by humans and some that are controlled by rudimentary machine intelligences. These vary in size, but some of the larger ones have built in rocket engines to allow them to fly. Those owned by London are piloted by the Knights of the Silver Cog, a nearly-religious order that is sponsored by the Temple of the Everlasting Cog.

The city is led by Queen Ileein Southmoreland, who handles the city's foreign affairs. The Archchancellor handles day to day affairs and the Captain handles everything about the ship itself.

Day to day affairs are run by Archchancellor Valeria Hightower. The Archchancellor is elected by popular vote, but most of the steerage doesn't really have a chance; the votes are weighted by class. Elections are held every ten years.

The Captain is elected by the Captain's Council, an elite group of ten men and women that run the ship itself. The Captain is a position for life, as when the elected takes the post, they give up their name to bond with the crystal that runs the ship. There is always a captain shadowing the current captain, whose lifespan is drastically reduced due to the taxing nature of their crystalline bond. The Cogbound are a race of mechanical men created by the Temple of the Everlasting Cog. They are created without inherent sentience, but it can evolve. Those deemed sentient are known as Cogborn, and are revered by the Temple. Every year, all Cogbound take a series of tests called the Sentience Tests, which consist of a large number of empathy-related questions. This happens over the period of a week, which is aptly called Sentience Week. Keeping a Cogbound from their testing is punishable by death in some cases, though whipping and hefty fines are more common.

While mostly human, the populace of London and most other city states has grown varied over the years due to immigration from the surface and a steady stream of emigrants from steerage looking for a better life.

There are three arcane universities in London: St. George's Academy of Sorcery, which is the most elite; Lord Wimbley's School of the Arcane Arts, which is of middling prestige; and the Alderman's House of Spellcraft, which is the state-funded school to make sure all spellcasters have some education. Most of the world is covered in dark grey wasteland. Only dead plants remain there as far as flora. They are crawling with mutants and monsters, and magical storms are common. Crystals can sometimes be found here, though not very big ones. Mostly big enough for lithospats. Areas of wasteland include much of Europe and Asia, parts of Africa and Russia, and the entire Mediterranean coast.

Magical storms ravage some areas constantly. These places are absolutely filled with monsters and mutants, and what plants do grow there are warped, evil things that grow fat on magical energy. Crystals are abundant here, often being big enough to fly city ships with. Those places include all of north america, most of Russia, and parts of South America.

Most safe zones have isolated themselves, all trade being done via the air. These include India, Japan, Cuba, parts of Scandinavia, Switzerland, the Netherlands, and some areas in the Himalayas and South America's mountain ranges.

Australia is the only country to emerge almost completely unscathed, and is the world's largest trade hub.

Greenland is partially covered in storms, but its safe zones are widely visited trading ports.

Most of the long-lasting technology that exists is ancient crystal-based technology. Newer technology is normally steam-based or more primitive crystal technology, cobbled together by mechanomancers.

City ships are primarily kept aloft by their lift crystals, but are also kept aloft by a variety of other technologies depending on the city, including balloons and steam-powered machines. Propulsion is partially achieved by lift crystals but is mostly provided by steam-powered propellers. Most of the internal systems and living areas are steam-powered, but the officers' quarters are normally crystal-powered.

Smaller airships are normally kept aloft by balloons and steam-powered machines, but some ancient or well-financed airships use smaller lift crystals. Propulsion is almost always provided by propellers.

There are two primary types of small aircraft: gyrospats and lithospats. Gyrospats are little more than a wooden open cockpit, a steam engine, a propeller, and normally some sort of weaponry. Lithospats are separated into ancient and modern lithospats, both powered by lift crystals. Ancient lithospats are elegant, aesthetically pleasing aircraft with no visible means of propulsion. Their crystals are tucked into a protective shell. They are normally made of materials that are now impossible to reproduce with modern technology. Modern lithospats bear more resemblance to gyrospats, but made of steel or iron. Their crystals are normally only protected by a thin hemisphere of metal.

Weapons technology ranges from single shot weapons to clockwork loading mechanisms to weapons firing crystal charges. Melee weapons are fairly standard fare, but also include chainswords and other mechanized weapons.

Advanced locks can either be steam-run transaction engine locks, or crystal-board locks similar to highly tuned modern electronic locks.

Thinking machines are normally run off of crystal-boards, ancient technology that is similar to a modern computer chip or motherboard. The art of making these has been diluted but not lost; with the tools available, it is not possible to make high quality crystal-boards anymore, but the Temple puts out reasonable facsimiles for the Cogbound they make. The quality varies from city to city.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (9/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Please go away and don’t read the stuff I write.

They have been out to sea for twenty minutes now, Arendelle’s coast disappearing in the distance the same way Elsa’s hope for this day to go any way even close to how she hoped vanished before her eyes. 

After the safety briefing from the crew (which she barely heard) she had attempted to direct the conversation towards the contract, the parts and pieces that needed to still be negotiated and finalized, but Mister Westergaard had other ideas. 

Eat first. He had said. We have all day.

Bits of polite conversation had floated around her. Hans Westergaard entertained the group with intentional questions, occasionally including her but in some ways almost purposefully excluding her. She is simultaneously thrilled and annoyed, but she is not prepared to deal with either emotion.

So she had picked at the sumptuous fare: cold roasted squash wrapped in hickory smoked bacon, miniature parfait cups with berry compote and tangy greek yogurt topped with a sprig of mint, delicate quiche bites that even served cold are still creamy and without a hint of the rubbery texture she always achieves when cooking eggs. There is mixed fruit salad with a lime reduction glaze, brown sugar crusted salmon delicately seated on lemon buttered crostini, and single waffle quarters served with ten dozen options for toppings including jalapeno infused maple syrup. The list goes on.

Elsa is accustomed to tastings and decadence when it comes to food but nearly always when planning it for someone else, some other occasion. She had little experience being the recipient of such gourmet assortments and has never bothered to learn to cook. Still knowing they will sail she does not feel a great need to indulge as she is not sure she will handle the sea well. Her stomach is already a mess.

Her team dives in, filling actual china plates with their choice delicacies as the crew comes to take drink orders. They are each handed a menu printed on thick card stock that feels like silk. The drink options are embossed into the surface of the luxe paper. The feel of it in her hand along with the weight of her plate in the other and the heat of Hans Westergaard at her side is a sensory overload she never imagined having. 

“Coffee,” she does hesitate, “with just a splash of cream.” 

The crew member nods and takes her drink menu for her. She notices later that a smattering of those menus were artistically mounted on stainless steel stands just in case she wants to indulge in a mango-passion-fruit mimosa or a mint lemonade slush infused with vodka. While both sound tempting she needs to stay alert. Especially with him sitting so close. 

His plate is balanced on one thigh with an assortment of the fare that errs on the sweeter side. She notes the same way she would for any client. Hans Westergaard likes dessert. 

She does not consider why knowing that makes her uncomfortable.

He also orders the same coffee as she. 

Again she cannot be certain if this is intentional or just another ploy to generate a doomed connection. She will always lean towards the latter. 

He is still close, but at least she had the sense to extend his arm over the empty seat away from Elsa instead of behind her back. There is a limit even to her control and if he touched her she may explode right out of her skin.

Her team seems to be enjoying the royal food treatment. Rapunzel feeds Eugene her favorite flavor combination, something unusual certainly, and slaps his chest at the grimace. Kristoff loads up on the protein while Anna selects sweeter alternatives. Elsa takes a single quiche, vegetable options, and crostini. She does not want to seem ungrateful but she also does not want to appear over eager or succumb to sea sickness and never be able to eat salmon again. 

She nibbles the barest tip of the roasted summer squash and tries to not notice his plate while also engaging him.

“This is lovely. Thank you,” her team was watching, nodding and eating politely in agreement. 

“Of course. I want you to get a sense for what I want.” 

He now has retreated even further, inches between their bodies, an appropriate distance but still somehow feels too close. She is thankful and suspicious all at once. He leans in again, but just his head. The rest of him is conspicuously distant. His eyes had been green at the wedding but now they almost appeared gold. Were they hazel? 

“That is my team and I would love to talk with you about. We know so little about this initiative, what we are creating, and while this is lovely -”

He cuts her off by pressing two fingers on her mouth.

She had not seen it coming and the feel of it shoots heat previously unknown through her body. She can practically hear the collective gasp from the watching four and her embarrassment is palpable. His fingers are gone as quickly as they had arrived. She didn’t even have the chance to pull back. The heat and pressure of his touch lingers and it takes every bit of self control to not pressed her lips together to try to erase the electric tingling dancing there. 

If she had not been so caught off guard by the sensations racing through her body at the contact she would have had the sense to be furious.

“All in good time.” He leans back and puts the hand on his knee, the other gripping his plate. “But first a tour perhaps?” 

He is already standing and Elsa can just barely catch a breath. 

Her team all stand, albeit cautiously, watching her while she attempts to mentally reboot. Hans Westergaard offers her his hand, the same hand that had pressed her lips just moments before in a facsimile of a kiss. What would it be like to kiss him? 

That inquisitive thought is enough to launch her to her feet without assistance. She sets her plate and attache case down with more force than necessary, straightens, and steps away from him. It takes all of her mortal strength to meet his gaze. 

It is soft and warm but also fearful. That disconcerting humanness there again like he never did anything to upset her. Like he is afraid of rebuttal for his forwardness, like he knows he oversteps but couldn’t help himself just like she cannot bring herself to truly be upset by the touch. Like maybe it undid him the same way it undid her. 

That idea is just as bad, if not worse, than his action.

She needs to put it behind them. Now. No. Sooner than now. 

She lifts her chin and clears her throat. “I think it is best if we stick to business.”

She is responding to his offer for a tour and hopes that is how her team takes it, how he takes it. Clearly she does not need to invite trouble when he is more than willing to produce it on his own. His expression rearranges itself to something more polished, but no less intense. She can practically see his strategy shifting behind those color changing eyes and she steels herself against it. 

Whatever he dishes out she can take. She has overcome more than most and there is not much that can throw her, but the way he looks at her makes her realize she has met her match. 

This is not an arm’s length situation.

But to be close to him?

Close to anyone?

“I agree.” The sound of his voice snaps her back. “Which is why I absolutely insist on a tour of the vessel. It is integral to the process.”

She does not understand. Her mind reels, but she acknowledges that a tour could give her time to regroup and she needs that. 

“Then by all means, lead the way.” She takes several steps away from his projected footpath putting the ornate seat they had shared well between them. 

If there is any hesitation she cannot be certain. Instead he sweeps to the front of the ship where more chrome and glass greet them. “This way then.”

Thus begins a tour of a yacht that is more ornately equipped and furnished than most homes. Right of the main bow deck there is a leisure room filled with plush royal blue and rich chocolate furniture, stainless steel fixtures along with cream carpets and accents. There are florals, books, and staggering decor pieces that would be excessive and gaudy in any other context but here they all flow together seamlessly. The streamlined design of the furniture and the ship is accentuated with the extravagant accents. No. It this the height of refinement, elegance. 

And this is just the first room.

There is more.

There is a board room with a massive white oak table and yellow leather swivel chairs that scream their cush. There is a movie theater complete with leather reclining seat, popcorn maker, and a custom bar.  The floors are either lush carpet, marble, or white oak that gleamed so brightly she swore it was covered in glass. There is a large bathroom that is all Italian marble with fixtures that may actually be gold plated.

The second level bow mirrors the first but without the infinity pool. Instead it boasts more seating and several marble top cocktail tables that almost seem to grow out of the pristine deck. He takes them back then through the main bar, the library, and the gaming room complete with a billiard table that was once Marlon Brando’s. 

“There is more above, but those are the private quarters. We have capacity for up to twenty guests to stay comfortably. Plus the sauna.” He says. “But since those are not strictly business I doubt they will interest you.”

He is teasing, directing his attention at her specifically for the first time in this tour, but she will not take the bait. She is almost ruffled by the sudden attention, by the lack of it beforehand, but the majesty of the ship had distracted her. 

She had never conceived a vessel could be as luxurious as anything she had seen in the last twenty minutes. 

She thought she had understood wealth, had worked with her share of affluent clientele, but nothing like this. Outside the challenge of Hans Westergaard she is quickly realizing just how out of their depth they may be. The challenge of it looms like an insurmountable cliff face. Thirty eight days to meet the highest standards she has ever faced professionally all while tiptoeing through the minefield of working with a man that clearly lacked any sort of boundaries. If she even had a chance of scaling that rock wall it they needed to start immediately. 

“As curious as I am sure we all are I think it best we maximize what little time we have, Mister Westergaard, and begin discussing how we can help your initiative.” Elsa responds diplomatically. 

“Your every wish is my command.”

He smiles at her then, teeth impossibly straight and white. The look in his eye seems to say he only sees her. Like somehow the whole world melts to nothing and she is the sole light of his entire universe. The intensity of it is staggering and she sways a bit under the weight. His hand is on her elbow immediately, close and hot. 

“Whoa there. You’ll get your sea legs before long.” His breath hits her burning cheek as she extracts herself from his hold as quickly as possible. 

She steps away, careful to not make eye contact with any of the group, and gives a sharp nod. “I’m sure I will.” 

There is the slightest pause before and she can feel him staring, willing her to meet his gaze, but she doesn’t. “Right then,” he says. “Let’s return below board and we can discuss what comes next.” 

Elsa is careful to fall behind, and Anna matches suit with Rapunzel. 

“So you weren’t kidding about him coming on strong. Is this okay? Are we okay? Do we need to call this off?” Anna rattles off her questions on a quiet breath as Kristoff and Eugene engage Hans about some of the more technical aspects of the ship.

“Yeah. Or do we need to get you two a room?” Rapunzel asks, green eyes wide. “When Eugene looks at me like Hans looked at you I know we are about to have a really good time.” Typically her innocent honesty is one of her more endearing characteristics but now the implication of her sentence makes her grit her teeth.

“He’s a flirt. That’s all. We’ve all dealt with his kind before.” She tries to keep her whisper lighthearted, but she can sense how little her companions believe her. “I’ve got this under control.” 

She gives them both a pointed look at Anna lifts a brow and purses her lips. “Do you? Because you really don’t have to.” 

Elsa gapes, nearly stopping in her tracks at Anna’s presumptuous question. 

And just like that she swears the ship rolls and she nearly loses her balance only to be caught by her sister and friend. 

“Look. All I’m saying is the guy clearly likes you and isn’t afraid to show it.” Anna forces her to keep pace with the men ahead of them as they venture through one well appointed room after another. “And to be honest - you could use a little fun.” 

“Yeah,” Rapunzel nods emphatically. “You literally have nothing to lose anyway since you’re totally into him too.” 

Elsa stops in her tracks, red from head to toe. “I am not!” 

Anna rolls her eyes and grabs Elsa’s wrist to drag her along. “Okay fine. You’re not, but you could be. I know you want to keep your professional distance or whatever, but why not just tell him the truth about everything and let him make up his own mind?” 

Elsa’s mind goes blank for a moment at the possibility she had never considered.

Tell him the truth? She never told her clients the truth. Hell, she hadn’t told Eugene or Rapunzel until they had been on board long enough to get suspicious after her second unexplained, prolonged absence. And she definitely never told any of the dates she has had the truth. She just gave them enough time to get bored, to move on, and enjoyed a few less lonely nights. She never looked for long term because she wasn’t going to last long term. So why couldn’t she just approach Hans Westergaard with the same fatalist sensibility?

Why did the idea of telling him everything seem appealing? 

She knows why, but she is not ready to admit it, never will be. That niggling What If that has haunted her since that first insanely frustrating day: what if this could work? 

What if he wouldn’t be afraid, would be down for the ride as long as it lasted? What if she had the luxury of considering the possibilities? 

But she doesn’t. She made her choices two years ago and she is not going to put herself through that again. She is not going to put anyone else through that. She is just going to enjoy what time she has left and leave it at that. And she is going to do it in the familiar comfort of solitude.

“The truth isn’t relevant to the job, and that is all this is. This is a job and it is a bitch of a job. If we are going to pull this off I need to focus on what is important, and dating my client is not one of those things.” 

Anna and Rapunzel share a meaningful glance. 

“Don’t do that.” Elsa shakes her head. “This is professional. Nothing more.” 

“Okay,” Anna rolls her eyes again.

“Okay,” Rapunzel echos with a gallic shrug. 

And somehow even though they are agreeing with her Elsa feels like she lost this conversation at some point. 

She knows what they want and she doesn’t suppose she can blame them. They want to give her a reason to stay, to fight, to try. They want to give her a reason to change her mind as if it was that simple. She cannot blame them for not understanding but she cannot make this harder on herself than it already is. She has enough goodbyes to say without adding one more.

They are back to where they started now. The original spread is still in place but their requested drinks are waiting, all just the right temperature, wait in addition. 

She stays close to Anna as she takes her coffee and conspicuously jams herself between her sister and an armrest. Between Anna, Kristoff, and herself the new seating arrangement is a bit tight but she has a point to make not only to her crew and Hans Westergaard, but to herself. She is a professional adult and is perfectly capable of acting like one.

So there.

He seems to take it all in stride, not batting an eye when he takes his coffee in hand and sits comfortably spread out on the couch that Elsa had strategically vacated. As they all settle in, Mister Westergaard reaches for a few more treats for his plate and the rest follow suit. Elsa carefully balances her coffee as she selects one or two choice morsels. The sea hadn’t caught her yet but she couldn’t be too careful. Her stomach is already in knots. 

He leans back, thick auburn hair catching just the smallest corner of light and setting aflame. His high cheekbones cut with highlight and shadow of the mid-morning light. She remembers the feel of his cheek sliding along her own, the slightest brush of the silk fringe of his hair against her fingers as she had clung to him, and her eyes jerk back to her coffee. 

“This is a lovely ship, Mister Westergaard,” she breaks the strange silence. “I assume you have a purpose for showing her off?”

It is not the most graceful entrance to a negotiation, but it is all she can muster. She lifts her gaze to his and sees the calculation, the wants - feels it.

“It’s my father’s. My ship - well - it won’t do for what I have in mind but I think this ship will do nicely.” He sips his coffee as Elsa sets hers aside to reach for her attache case and open it. 

She withdraws her multi-function tablet. “And what exactly do you have in mind?” 

They have loaded his client file with offline capability for which she is glad as she cannot bring herself to ask for a wi-fi password. She notes that the rest of her team are also bringing out their matching tablets and she hopes that they will not have too many corrections and overlaps when they finally get back to the mainframe. 

He settles further into his seat with a smirk and it almost feels like he is building fortification, bracing himself for a fight he is all too sure to enjoy. 

“Your company primarily plans weddings,” he does not ask as he pops a berry into his mouth. “According to your online portfolio your business is about seventy-two percent wedding related, a few baby shower, a Quinceanera, and a few corporate events. Would you say this is a fair assessment?”

So he had done his homework. Or had someone else do it for him. Had he known all of this before he came in yesterday and asked her to recite job titles and functions that were all available on their website? Was this a test the way she had felt yesterday had been a test? 

She sits a bit straighter: “I don’t have the precise statistics in front of me but the majority of our clients have been wedding related, yes.” 

Her mind goes to the contract, unsigned and un-amended. Had he not signed it because he didn’t want them anymore? Did he want someone with more experience outside of the wedding industry? Would she have to go to battle to prove to him that weddings were just as demanding, if not more so, than a standard corporate event? Would she have to fight for this client she wasn’t even sure she wanted? 

It takes all of her self control not to fidget. 

“Why is that? Why the wedding specialty?” 

It is a good question. Most would assume it is the money, but there is much more money to be had planning outside of weddings and for less stress. She has a prepared answer, the standard line, but she nearly chokes on it. 

She holds his gaze, levels the barrel, fires, “We believe love is worth it.” 

The corners of his eyes tighten in - amusement? She cannot quite be sure yet. 

“Has that been your professional experience?” His eyebrow quirks and it appears he takes a bite of his mini-berry tart to keep from smiling. It irks her just how much he irks her. 

Anna clears her throat and Elsa realizes she has leaned forward, gripping her tablet between her hands like her life depends on it, and dear gods she might as well be foaming at the mouth for how crazy she is acting. She straightens, squares her shoulders, and meets his gaze. 

“Our professional experience has been delivering exactly what our clients ask of us to create their ideal atmosphere and execution.” 

She mentally pats herself on the back.

He nods as if to agree with her hidden sentiment. “Good. I don’t want something cold and corporate. I want something beautiful and intimate. I want what you did with Eric and Ariel’s wedding. There was - what? Two hundred people there, three?” 

“Two hundred and eighty eight,” Rapunzel offers with a  grin and Eugene squeezes her knee. 

Hans looks to Elsa with raised brows as if asking for confirmation. Elsa nods her head. “Rapunzel is never off on numbers.” 

“It never felt like that. It was a big event but it felt like having the most amazing dinner party with your closest friends. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.” He addresses the entire group and Elsa feels her insides warm involuntarily at his praise. She doesn’t want his approval to matter, but apparently it does. Then he meets her eyes and everything runs cold, hot, frigid, scalding. The look in his eye sends her heart soaring and stomach plummeting all at once, “It is a night I will never forget.”

And then they are the only two in the world again and her only saving grace is that she is sitting down. She looks down at her tablet screen but her eyes will not focus. 

“We are happy to hear you enjoyed the event,” Anna jumps in this time. “We thought it was a smash. What stood out to you as being a highlight?” 

Elsa’s head jerks up at that question. His gaze catches her with an easy smile that she can feel all the way to her toes, but it isn’t self-congratulatory. He is not commending himself. He smiles as if he is savoring something sweet, something secret.

“There were too many to single out just one, but I remember the dancing being outstanding,” he speaks as if the words are for everyone, but when his gaze settles on her she knows they aren’t. They are for her. 

“So you want dancing at your event, Mister. Westergaard?” She uses his proper name as always, instating her distance the same way she had by forcing her seat next to Anna. 

He shrugs. “To tell the truth I am not a big dancer. It all depends on the partner.” 

Elsa’s ears burn and she nearly chokes on a swallow. No one else knew about their rendezvous. There was no way they could pull the subtext from what he said, but she stills feels it creeping across their conversation like steaming lava. 

She forces a laugh to offset the tension she feels and is relieved when it comes off sounding halfway natural. “Well that does not give us much to go off of, Mister Westergaard. While we are thrilled that Ariel and Eric’s wedding left such a positive impression on you that does not particularly give us a trajectory for your event.”

“I understand.” He nods and turns his head towards the horizon off the bow before bringing his gaze right back to hers. “So why don’t I show you?”

[ previous ] [ next ]

[secretsolenoid]

Revolution Day

Gift for @warlordenfilade! Sorry about the wait, but I hope you enjoy. This fic is based on your Tarnsaurus prompt. I went a bit off the beaten path with the holiday of choice, by making a Decepticon-centric holiday, but I started thinking about battle reenactments and how Tarn would be obsessed with the tactical and historical side of things, and Deathsaurus would probably enjoy the more physical aspects of it all.

-

The shuttle settled to the ground with a rattling clunk. Deathsaurus didn’t mind it-- most of his fleet’s vessels were rather cobbled together, now. Not poorly made, but with a tenuous hold on their own manufacturing sources, they often had to make do with the supplies captured from various sources. It certainly wasn’t scavenging, just… creative supply line interruption. Deathsaurus had long since grown used to the audial effect this inconsistent sourcing had on the engines of their ships-- they tended to groan, rattle, and click a little bit more than a Decepticon ship fresh off the assembly line--but the sound clearly did not put his companion at ease. 

Tarn seemed to be doing his best to look unconcerned, but Deathsaurus caught the concerned look he had shot the roof of the shuttle at the groan and rattle of the engines slowing their descent. He’d been fidgety, too, for Tarn, folding and refolding his hands over the arms of his seat. Or perhaps that was simply the effects of spending a long shuttle ride in a space too small for him to transform. Deathsaurus fully expected the leader of the DJD to drop into tank mode a few times the moment they set foot out onto the planet’s surface. He might characterize it as stretching out his cables, of course, but the excuse to indulge his transformation addiction surely wouldn’t hurt. Deathsaurus knew all about that, no matter how Tarn tried to hide it. He was reasonably certain that it was known fact among most high-ranking Decepticons (and former Decepticons), and common rumor among the genericons. 

As soon as the groaning began to settle and the engines started to power down again. Deathsaurus levered himself out of his pilot’s chair. “We’re here,” he announced, rather unnecessarily. 

“I would be thrilled,” Tarn said dryly, “if I knew where ‘here’ was.”

Still, he levered himself out of his own seat and prepared to follow Deathsaurus off of the shuttle. It was tight maneuvering for the both of them, as large as they were, and Deathsaurus was pleased with the chance to exit the ship first. He wanted a chance to check out the terrain. And, in fact, he wanted to do some stretching of his own. Not of the transformation kind, but even the largest settings on the shuttle’s pilot seat got rather cramped for his wings. 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Deathsaurus said, grinning. He didn’t get more than an aggravated huff from Tarn in response, but it made him grin even further, as he hit the button to open the shuttle doors. 

They unsealed with the hiss of pressure exchange, and Deathsaurus led the way out first. The planet was a rather familiar one, atmosphere-wise, but the terrain in front of them was unfamiliar to Deathsaurus. He could see the mock-ups of particular buildings, drab gray plastisteel and concrete facsimiles of the once-grand style of Cybertronian architecture. 

Behind him, Deathsaurus heard the whirring and clicking of transformation, then the rumble of tank treads on decking as Tarn drove himself down the ramp. He even heard the slow groan of relief that Tarn made as he slid back into bipedal form. Deathsaurus stretched his own limbs, one wing after another, as Tarn stepped up to join him. He was critically surveying the array of buildings before them. “Welcome to Theta-2349071.”

“So this ‘historical event’ you’ve taken me to… is ruins.” 

Deathsaurus smirked. Tarn didn’t show much confusion, but the hints of hesitance showing through his masks both literal and figurative were incredibly amusing. He was looking forward to the moment of realization. And to using up his extra adrenaline with Tarn in a very enjoyable way, after today’s celebrations were done. “Not at all. Do the ruins look familiar?” 

Tarn gave them a second survey, his optics narrowing. “Cybertronian. Rather crude, however. Hastily constructed. It’s certainly meant to look like a city, but it is hardly habitable, or defensible.” 

Deathsaurus grinned. “No, it’s a mock-up, isn’t it?” 

Tarn gave him a suspicious and unimpressed look. “And what are we doing here? Next to a mock-up city?” 

“I’ll explain,” Deathsaurus said, and pinged at Tarn’s comm. “But first, tap in to these channels.” 

He watched as Tarn, clearly suspicious, scanned them for some sort of virus before accepting the invitation. The frown only deepened as he entered them, and surely began to sort through the various levels of chatter. 

In only moments, Tarn was glaring at him. “Deathsaurus,” he snapped. “What is this?” 

“Only a battle reenactment,” Deathsaurus explained. “Esmeral organizes them. You’re so fond of strategy and history and all that rust, I thought you’d have heard of them before.” 

“Battle reenactment,” Tarn repeated, his voice flat. “And we are here to…?” 

“Join in, of course. She does it every Revolution Day,” Deathsaurus explained. “This time it’s the battle of Tyger Pax. The first one, with the decisive Decepticon victory. One of the most decisive early war victories. The tanks were a huge part of that one, I figured you would enjoy being on the key team. Decepticons, of course. I wouldn’t offend your sensibilities by making you be an Autobot.” 

Tarn gave a full-body shudder at even the word. Then he turned away from the ruins to give Deathsaurus a sharp look. “The tanks. Not a strategist?” 

Deathsaurus’s optics flickered in a blink, all the sets of them. “Of course,” he said. “It’s a battle reenactment, not a strategy game. Can’t have the Autobots winning on Revolution Day, can you?” 

Tarn did not look pleased by this. “Then what is the point? Playing grunt?” 

Deathsaurus shrugged. “Blowing things up for the glory of the revolution, of course. Much more fun than sitting around sipping on someone’s energon and rereading After the Ark, or whatever it is you DJD normally do. Now come on, we’re almost ready to start. Time to get into position.” 

-

Thirty breems or so into the battle, Deathsaurus caught the first glimpse of fliers over the city. “There they go,” he said, elbowing Tarn next to him, who stepped away with ill-concealed irritation. “Time for us to move in.” 

“What?” Tarn said, looking around. “That’s hardly possible. In the battle of Tyger Pax, it took five cycles for the heavy artillery reinforcements to make it to the city and begin turning the tides of the battle.” 

“And it’s sped up in the reenactment,” Deathsaurus countered, “because no one wants to wait around that long. Now are you going to transform and join in, or not?” 

Tarn grumbled, but sure enough, he slid into his tank mode. 

-

“This is not accurate,” Tarn muttered into Deathsaurus’s comm. Deathsaurus chanced a glance at him, then turned back to shooting at the spires of the inner buildings. 

“What isn’t?” he responded, cavalier. Tarn made another grumbling sound. 

“The weapons. This early in the war, phase-matter blasters were only in the hands of the Senate’s forces--” 

“If you know where we can find a stash of pre-war cannons to equip ourselves with, we can use those next time,” Deathsaurus said. “Until then, just enjoy the destruction.” 

- 

“Tarn-- what are you going?” 

Next to Deathsaurus, the tank rolled to a stop. “What am I what? This is the proper invasion route!” 

“Yeah, I know that,” Deathsaurus said. His own HUD was lit up with the proper path through the great gates of Tyger Pax. “But you’re out.” 

Tarn transformed, his shoulders hiked high with irritation. “I’m what?” 

“Er. You’re dead. Haven’t you been checking your comms?” 

“What for?” Tarn growled. “I know this battle better than anyone here. I have been keeping track of the time conversion. How am I dead?” 

Deathsaurus gestured to the vibrant green dust coating Tarn’s plating. “Looks like a bomb, to me. Where did you get hit?” 

Tarn looked down at himself, then back up. “How does that mean I’m dead?” 

“Every patch of green is a wound,” Deathsaurus explained. “You’ve probably ‘bled out’ by now.” 

Tarn smeared away some of the green. “This is hardly enough to kill a tank, especially not a properly armed one!” he protested. “I refuse to exit the battle simply because--” 

There was a whistling sound around them, and then another bomb dropped right between them, coating them both from helm to pede in green powder.

-

“This--” Tarn was jabbing a finger into Deathsaurus’s chest plating, “--was a horrible idea. I’ll have to do a deep clean now.” 

Deathsaurus held up his hands in surrender. “I thought you’d like it. You’re always going on about the glory of the Decepticon message, and the early days of the war.” 

Tarn scoffed. “The elegance of the battles is not in the shooting and the chance to personally engage in overdramatic death scenes,” he argued, swiping another hand over his plating. It did very little to dislodge all the green and grey dust still coating him. 

“The death scenes are the best part!” Deathsaurus argued. “You know you enjoyed seeing the people you shot spin wildly off the walls.” 

“I won’t even bother to comment on that,” Tarn huffed. Then he leveled a finger at Deathsaurus. “The real battle was nothing like that. I have video archivals that prove it.” 

“Propaganda vids?” Deathsaurus asked, archly. “If you think you’re getting me to watch those--” 

“I sat through a cycle of your Revolution Day activities,” Tarn said, arms crossed. “Now, you will sit down, and you will watch them with me, or you can make your own way off this planet.” 

“All right, all right,” Deathsaurus said. “As long as it’s less than ten breems of footage.” 

This seemed to satisfy Tarn, who gestured Deathsaurus over to the viewscreen. “And,” he said, in the voice of a ‘con who knew exactly how much he’d just won, “next time, I insist on doing the battle of Polyhex. It’s far more interesting.” 

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [804]

He'd tried his best not to look. But despite the fact that he knows his field of vision is narrow due to having only the one eye, despite the fact that he moved fast and kept his eye focused on something else, despite him consciously trying not to look — he still saw.

He saw most of the names and words on those tomb stones. But there were only two that he had allowed himself to read consciously. His own and — because she asked him to, Ellana’s.

“How come you didn’t tell her what you read?” Cole murmurs. He’s somehow more solid, now that they’re a few days away from Adamant. That’s a…strange thing to think about someone. But it’s true. Cole seems more real. Tangible. Hopefully that’s a good thing. Well. Bull’s choosing to think that it’s a good thing because going the other way sounds worse.

“She told me to tell her if I thought she could handle it,” Bull reminds the kid. ��And I don’t.”

“Why?”

Because I know her. Because I know her and I know that what was written there would have hurt her and she’s already wounded. Because I hurt her already and now isn’t the time to be adding onto that.

Because I know that if I told her she’d carry that with her forever and it’s something she doesn’t have to carry if she doesn’t have to.

Because I shouldn’t be putting more on her if I can help it.

Bull doesn’t say this out loud. Naturally Cole begins to say it for him anyway. Bull fights down exasperation as Cole murmurs his thoughts — with added splashes of poetry.

“Cole,” Bull cuts in. “Stop.”

“Sorry,” Cole says. He doesn’t really mean it, but Bull isn’t going to press that. He’s not the kid’s — guardian or whatever. He’ll leave the teaching and the mentoring and stuff up to Varric and the Inquisitor and whoever else has decided to attempt to put a single grain of logic into the kid’s wheat and cotton head. Good luck to them, that’s going to be a tall ask. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand.”

Bull isn’t looking at the kid, but he can feel Cole’s confusion and his displeasure at that.

“There are things you don’t have to know,” Bull says, finally turning to face the spirit. “There are things that aren’t meant to be known. And that’s alright.”

“How do you know which things should and shouldn’t be known? How do you know anything if there are things that shouldn’t be known at all? How do you choose?”

“Cole,” Bull sighs, “I am not the person to be asking this kind of shit. Do I look like a philosopher?”

“What does a philosopher look like?”

Bull covers his face with a hand.

“Look. I didn’t tell her because she asked me to use my judgement on whether or not it was something she’d be able to handle. I judged that no, she would not be able to handle it. So I’m going to handle it for her and someday if she ever asks me again and I think she’s changed in a way that would change my answer, I’ll tell her. She knows that I know, and she knows that I know her. And since we’re both in agreement that I know her then she knows that if I’m not telling her something when she asked me not to unless she could deal with it, that means she can’t deal with it.”

Cole stares at him blankly.

“It’s like a cup.”

“A…cup?”

“It’s like a cup,” Bull repeats. “People are like cups. There’s a finite amount of stuff they can handle. Otherwise they overflow. Ellana’s at the brim right now. She’s got a lot going on. And she asked me if I thought she could handle one more thing being dropped into that. The answer is no. So someday, when Ellana’s level drops enough and she asks me again, I’ll give her this. Do you understand?”

“No,” Cole replies immediately. “But I know you are trying. And…I. Appreciate it.”

Cole doesn’t sound very sure about that. He also looks like he very much wants to disagree with what Bull just said. That’s either Varric’s influence or Trevelyan’s. Probably Trevelyan’s. Bull’s pretty sure that Varric isn’t teaching Cole manners.

The boy goes still for a moment, too still. And then he relaxes into something closer to the facsimile of boy than before.

“She’s coming to talk to you,” Cole says. “Can you feel her?”

“No.”

Cole’s hands are absolutely still at his side but somehow by looking at him Bull gets the impression of fidgeting and endless twitching. Like grass in wind. Like a tumbleweed.

“And I have a feeling you’re about to tell me, so go ahead.”

Even as Bull speaks Cole’s speaking under — over? — him.

“It’s like sunlight through thick forest. Slowly creeping, spreading, finding its way through knots of wood and leaf and blades of grass. Unspooling silver that becomes gold after being fire in between. Like cold fire that turns into warm water. Both and everything at once. Neither too. It slides. Do you feel it creep like a shadow? Do you feel her? It’s like a hand slowly stretching across the dark, fingers inching over a surface. Spider’s legs. Red and black ladybird legs. Eyelashes on cheeks. She’s like that. But fast and all at once. A horizon advancing. Why would you call this a cup? This can’t be contained in a cup. There aren’t enough cups for this horizon, you can’t craft a cup that deep and thirsty.”

“Just letting it all out, huh,” Bull murmurs as Cole’s voice trails off.

“A river flows to the sea,” Cole replies quietly. “It pools, but it will always flow away eventually.”

“I get it, next time I attempt to be metaphorical I won’t,” Bull says. “I’ll leave that shit to you. You wanna make yourself…not here for this conversation? Yes, Cole. I know you’re going to know about it anyway. I’d like to — I dunno — pretend that you won’t anyway.”

“Is your cup too full to know that you are seen?” Cole asks but he’s gone before Bull can respond.

[slashhinginghasher]

Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 3: Unmasking

Things start to heat up in more ways than one.

This work is on Ao3!

She woke up wearing nothing but her underwear. Her knives were gone. It was dark. And it was fucking hot. Marena’s head and neck throbbed with bruises, and her nose was sore but not broken. She prodded her mouth with her tongue, wincing slightly when she passed over the cut on her lip, and noted with some relief that all her teeth were still present.  The cuts on her cheek and torso were itchy and starting to scab. Judging by the nausea twisting her stomach, she’d probably been drugged again, too. She hadn’t even noticed the needle; the second that fucker had ripped open her shirt, she’d retreated into greyspace, the empty place she went in her head when her brain didn’t want to observe what was happening to her body. (Dr. Call Me Linda had called it traumatic dissociation. Marena had told her to shut the fuck up.)

She attempted to sit up and immediately hit her head on something hard, like wood. The fuck…? Feeling around with her hands and feet, she tried to identify her surroundings. Long, rectangular box. Satiny fabric lining. A coffin? That fucking… SkullBitch had put her in a fucking coffin?? Rage and bile rose in her throat and Marena had to fight not to vomit. Think, Masha. Observe. A dull, mechanical roar grumbled continuously, and every so often the coffin rocked and rattled gently. Unless SkullBitch had buried her beneath a construction site, she was likely above ground, maybe in a vehicle. Her mind recalled a snippet of a cartoon movie she’d seen bits of once, about zoo animals packed into boxes and shipped across the world. Maybe she would end up on an island with talking monkeys, too. Marena felt a sudden, wild urge to laugh. She choked that down as well, knowing from experience that laughter was a razor’s edge away from screaming or crying.

Instead, she focused on keeping her breathing slow and steady. Ignoring the way the fabric clung to her bare, sweat-sticky skin… Ignoring the increasing staleness of the air… Ignoring…

...the way her nails broke and her knuckles split as she threw herself against the door. The smell of burning dust. The roar of the furnace. The rising heat. The sound of skin hitting skin, of bones breaking, of screaming, screaming, screaming….

“FUCK!” Marena shrieked, slamming both fists against the lid of the coffin. That was over. It was over. Now matter what level of fucked her current circumstances were, she wasn’t there anymore, and she never would be again. Never again for as long as she lived...

Which, admittedly, might not be long. It was getting harder to breathe, the stifling heat pressing against her like a physical weight. All she’d done, everything she’d survived, and she was going to cook to death in this fucking box. Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck them. Fuck everything.

Marena let herself slip back into greyspace.

***

An unforgiving concrete surface slammed into her like… well, concrete, punching the air from her lungs. Somebody had dumped her onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, but she was too busy sucking in as much cool air as her aching throat would allow to be angry about that. After a few moments of rather undignified coughing and gasping and spitting out strands of hair, she became aware of a presence in the room with her. The scars on her back seemed to crawl and writhe under the weight of unseen eyes. Shiny, chrome eyes that she would just loooove to dig her fingers into. She couldn’t see his face, but she just knew that bastard was smirking at her.

Marena pushed herself unsteadily to her knees. Her limbs felt like quivering jelly, and she could feel every cut and bruise throb in time with her heartbeat. I am a pain jello. Again, that lunatic need to laugh. She bit her cheek until she tasted blood and glanced around the room. There wasn’t much to see. A folding bed with a scratchy-looking grey blanket was pushed against one wall. A drain was set into the floor in the opposite corner. The rest was empty, just sickly fluorescent light and blank concrete. And the asshole lurking behind her. Right. Him. With great effort, she rose to her feet and turned around.

And sure enough, SkullBitch was standing behind her with his stupid fucking mask and his stupid fucking suit, holding up his stupid fucking phone so she could read his stupid fucking message.

SLEEP WELL?

A fresh wave of anger, irritation, and exhaustion swept over her. The only reason she’d smuggled herself into this country was specifically so she would not have to put up with bullshit like this anymore… 

At that moment, Marena noticed he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore. Her stomach dropped. If he wasn’t worried about leaving fingerprints, that meant he was in complete control of their surroundings and was confident they wouldn’t be found. And she most likely wasn’t going to be leaving.

Which, in turn, meant she was free to do whatever idiot thing popped into her head. Like snatching the phone out of his gloveless hands and typing her own message.

FUCK OFF

SkullBitch tilted his head. Marena watched the muscles in his throat twitch, but with his face hidden she couldn’t tell if he was pissed or trying to hold back laughter. It was taking all her concentration to keep the tremble from her body. Some combination of the drugs, adrenaline, and the fact that she’d been living off vending machine snacks for the past week. Oh, and almost dying of heatstroke. Her thoughts fluttered wildly, like cracked-out butterflies, impossible to hold onto. 

Don’t shake don’t laugh don’t scream hurt him stay still try to run I am stone I am stone I am stone just let it fade I am stone don’t feel slip away-

She was jolted back from the precipice of greyspace by the heated touch of skin against skin. Skullbitch had grabbed the phone, along with her entire hand. His own hand was lightly calloused and large enough to swallow Marena’s entire fist with ease. He was close enough now that she’d need to crane her neck to see his face. She consciously decided not to do that, focusing instead on the buttons of his black dress shirt. Heat poured off him like a goddamn human furnace. When his other hand - the one she’d bitten - touched her face, she barely stopped herself from flinching. Under any other circumstances, Marena would have felt a bit of smug satisfaction at the sight of his gauze-wrapped fingers. But here, now, in this concrete box of a room, she was hyper-aware of her body in a way she hadn’t felt in years. It felt like someone dragging matches down her bones. Like her insides had turned into live insects. Like her skin was turning inside out. Exact words failed her, but it was nonetheless deeply unpleasant.

Skullbitch traced his thumb over her split lip, pressing down slightly and smearing blood down Marena’s chin like fingerpaint. The way he cradled the side of her face was almost mockingly gentle, a facsimile of a lover’s caress. He traced the shape of her lips, ran his fingers over her cheekbone, before sliding down and settling over the hand-shaped bruise on her throat. He kept his hand there for a long moment - not squeezing, just letting the weight of his hand rest over her pulse like a reminder of what he could do. As if I could forget. His fingers twisted into her hair, thumb sliding up to caress the scar on the side of her neck-

OH HELL FUCKING NO

Marena jerked backwards  and kneed him in the groin. She missed, of course; the fucker was way too tall. But the impact of her knee against his thigh startled him enough for her to shove him back a step. Then she did the only thing she could think of and ripped off his mask.

The clatter of metal against the ground hung in the air like a gunshot.

Nu der’mo.

Judging by the blank shock in Skullbitch’s eyes, he wasn’t expecting that move either. Eye, actually. His right eye socket was nothing but a knot of scar tissue. The rest of his face was scarred as well, though not with any noticeably distinct injuries. It was more like somebody had peeled his face off and put it back on slightly crooked.

Marena stared. Skullbitch stared. The tension in the room thickened. Marena braced for a punch. Another hand around her throat. A knife to the gut.

She was not prepared for him to kiss her.

He lunged forward - surprisingly fast for a man his size - fisted the hair at the nape of her neck, and crushed his scarred lips to hers with such force that their teeth clicked together. They stood frozen that way for a few seconds - him bent nearly double, her balanced on the very tips of her toes. Then he hooked his free arm around her hips and hoisted her as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. Marena instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. Her heart had turned her entire body into a drum, staccato rhythm pounding everywhere from her head to the tips of her fingers.

She bit him.

He bit her back, and then - god - slid his tongue into her mouth. She twisted the lapels of his jacket in her hands as though she could throttle him through the fabric alone; he dug his fingers into her thigh hard enough to leave fresh bruises. The atmosphere in the room had turned electric. They both gasped for air, tongues twisting in a slick and desperate dance, nipping at each other until their mouths filled with blood.

Marena didn’t realize they’d moved until her back hit the bed. Skullbitch’s hand was moving up her thigh, fingers sliding between the parallel scars marring the skin. His mouth left hers and began to trace a path down her jawline with lips and teeth and tongue. Her breath stuttered when he sucked on the tender spot just below her ear, his wandering hand now tracing along the crease where thigh met hip. The combined heat of the body above her and the fire growing in her chest was searing the air from her lungs. She felt certain she’d crumble into ash as he trailed a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck…

...and sank his teeth directly into her scar.

Terror immediately flooded her system like a long scream carved into her veins with ice. Marena’s head filled with a panicked, wordless !!!!!!! as she lashed out with hands and feet until she felt her heel drive home between Skullbitch’s legs. He doubled over, and Marena barely had time to process the pure murder in his eye before he slammed her head against the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. Bright lights burst across her vision with each hit before giving way to black sparks. She was on the floor and couldn’t remember how she got there. Skullbitch moved away; the door closed with an angry slam that barely cut through the ringing in her ears. She slumped against the cheap metal bed frame and wondered idly if she was dying yet. The lights snapped off, plunging the room into utter blackness.

Alone in the dark, Marena raised a trembling hand to the fresh blood dripping down her face and laughed.