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sunriseverse · 4 years ago

Note

rec listtttttttttttttttttttttttttttt

fair warning there’s a lot of different fandoms here—i have, uh. twenty-two pages of bookmarks. lots of newmann though, i promise. in no particular order, i give you a fic rec list

the future’s owned by you and me by kaiyen (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Not Rated)

Years after they stopped writing each other, Newt and Hermann run into each other on the steps of Cambridge University Library. Quite literally.

Newt stares at him, expecting more. He doesn’t get any. “Come on, man, who are you? Maybe I’ve read something.”

I doubt it, Hermann barely catches himself from saying. “Gottlieb. Hermann Gottlieb.”

And Newt looks like he’s struck oil. “Oh my god,” he says, and something flickers behind his eyes, like there’s more than just recognition there, and before he can wonder any more about what it is, Newt blurts, “Oh my god!” and Hermann flinches and makes a face like a disgruntled frog.

What you can expect: emotions, opprotunities missed, and opprotunities taken. I absolutely adore this fic, though I might be biased by the fact that it has Newt as bipolar, and that’s something I always crave (more bipolar Newt fic when???).

Survival is for Nerds by Annabeelee (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 46k, Teen and Up)

It's three hundred and two years after humanity lost to the Kaiju and two hundred and twenty one since the Kaiju left. Not that it matters to Hermann. In relation to following a neurotic genetic experiment across whats left of the Northern American continent while dodging alien predators and hostile subgroups of humans, its possibly the least helpful thing to keep in mind.

What you can expect: scifi, tension, and a very intersting world. Post-apocalyptic, technically, but the way it’s written makes it almost hopeful. I love how the setting and writing makes it feel like a blend between victorian steampunk and futuristic in tone.

people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron (James Bond, James Bond/Q, 10k, Teen and Up)

“I’m not you, Bond. I don’t exactly have a technique for getting rich strangers to like me.”

“Just do your naive cute puppy thing, and they’ll be doting on you in no time,” Bond replies as he pulls up to the grand estate.

“My what?” Q asks incredulously. Bond doesn’t answer, simply giving him an indulgent smile. The fucker.

(or: 00q meets Gosford Park. Except not really.)

What you can expect: humour, murder, and some light espionage. Also, fake dating.

Infinite Distance by lachatblanche (X-Men, Erik Lensherr/Charles Xavier, 7k, Teen and Up)

When they encounter an unfamiliar and seemingly-abandoned ship in the middle of nowhere in space, Captain Charles Xavier of the spaceship Graymalkin heads out to investigate.

What you can expect: drama! Intruige! It’s set in space! I read this a while ago but I have memories of it being rather riveting despite the relatively short length.

Gertrude’s Goulash by lollzie (Gotham, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot, 7k, General Audiences)

Ed needs a new roommate. Oswald needs a room. Oswald may just be the most amazing person Ed has ever met. Shame he's not single. Cue wooing via the medium of cooking.

What you can expect: pining, misunderstandings, obliviousness, and a lot of goulash as a method of romancing.

Death Of The Author by happygolovely (Gotham, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot, 9k, Mature)

Edward Nygma was never intended to be anything more than a secondary character.

The Riddler demands otherwise.

What you can expect: a story within a story within a story. You think you have it figured out, and the next moment the carpet is yanked out from beneath you. Fairly dark, possibly disturbing, but my goodness if it’s not engaging.

we make our friends, we make our enemies by ORiley42 (Mission: Impossible, Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt, 52k, Teen and Up)

Benji finds out he has a new neighbor. This new neighbor happens to be off-the-charts hot. Hijinks, friendship, more-than-friendship, and secret agent drama ensue.

What you can expect: pining. There’s spy stuff going on too, and it eventually gets brought up, but my gods, the pining. Also, it’s fucking hilarious, and, at just over fifty thousand words, the perfect read when you’ve got an hour or two and you want something that’ll make you both laugh and cry.

Self-Sabotage by EmilyweepsforPilfrey (James Bond, James Bond/Q, 2k, Teen and Up)

For some reason, whenever he's alone with Bond, the most ridiculous things come out of Q's mouth.

Or 'the one where Q accidentally invents a girlfriend'.

What you can expect: Q being an utter idiot. It’s hilarious. Nice quick bite of humour if you fancy it.

The Long Con by harleygirl2648 (Hannibal, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, 19k, Teen and Up)

There are two kinds of cons: long and short. Short cons mean short-term gain, with smaller rewards, mostly just everything you have in your pocket at that moment. Long cons mean lots of time, effort, costumes, masks, props, sets, and other characters all looking to set up the downfall of the mark and take them for all that they've got.

Con Artist/Thieves AU: Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter are both interested in acquiring a Botticelli, but both of them are quite fond of each other's short games. For both of them, it's the deception and thrill of the game that's worth more than the payout.

And well, after all, aren't the easiest people to scam are those who think they are smart enough to not get scammed?

What you can expect: no cannibalism, a lot of banter, and, of course, con artistry. Quite delightful if I do say so myself.

deus ex machina by coloredink (Hannibal, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, 26k, Teen and Up)

"What the hell?" said Katz. "Is that--"

"Yeah, I know, it's kinda flashy." Will shut the car door behind him and patted his pockets for the little fob to lock the car.

"Isn't that Hannibal Lecter's car?"

The car beeped to indicate it was locked. "Yeah, I guess so." Will walked away, toward the field, Katz on his heels. "I needed a new car."

"So you bought the cannibal car?"

-----

You asked for it: the one where Hannibal is a murderous self-driving car.

What you can expect: what it says on the tin. Quite funny, especially with the element of magical realism meaning Hanni-car is sentient. The Hannigram is more vaguely implied than an actual thing, owing, probably, to the fact that Hannibal is, well, a car.

adapt, evolve, become. by peupeugunn (Alex Rider, Gen, 3k, Not Rated)

“This is how you get out. You're slowly moving towards a desk job.” A pause, then, “you know, most people do it the other way around.” Alex chuckles softly and and shuffles towards him to lean against his shoulder, burrowing into the crook of his neck. Ben’s arm winds around him, shields him from the world, a solid weight on his back. “You're going to miss the adrenaline rushes, kid.” There's something almost sad in his voice. Alex doesn't want to understand why. Down that road lies madness.

What you can expect: a character study, in a bit of a roundabout way.

A Sharp Dressed Man by Avelera (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 12k, Teen and Up)

Hermann's latest book needs an author photo. However, when he's given a makeover and a suit that actually fits for the photo shoot, his appearance is so transformed that Newt mistakes him for his (much hotter) older brother, Dietrich.

Hermann decides to play along.

What you can expect: gods this fic is so good. It’s the first Newmann fic I ever read, and I’ve reread it a good six times since 2018. I would say more, but I think the fic speaks for itself.

Gestures by Actually_Crowley (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Teen and Up)

Newton finds out what Hermann does with his rare free time, but the discovery leads him to believe that Hermann honestly and unequivocally hates him.

What you can expect: the rituals are fucking intricate. I love this fic so so so much. And the eventual reveal/confession...scream.

Fate’s Horrifying Ways (also known as: CHRISTMAS GODZILLA) by linearoundmythoughts (Pacific Rim, Newton Geislzer/Hermann Gottlieb, 4k, Teen and Up)

Your name is Newton Geiszler and you’re going to have to break things off with your sort-of online boyfriend because you’re cheating on him. Sort of. [AKA the most dramatic summary of a humorous crackfic ever ok]

Originally written for the Pacrim Secret Santa back in 2014.

What you can expect: first off, it’s not second person, I promise. It is, though, really fucking funny, owing to the misunderstandings that ensue. There’s much pining, some angsting, and, of course, humour.

Letters From Berlin by spenshi (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 12k, Teen and Up)

Newton keeps in touch with his family when he's shipped off to the Shatterdome. Jacob and Illia send care packages to the K-Science Lab.

What you can expect: Geiszler-family feels. A lot of them. Also, Newt and Hermann slowly growing closer to until they can finally admit they’re into each other.

Wishbone by cypress_tree (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 8k, Teen and Up)

Hermann doesn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so Newt invites him over for food, family, and a little bit of flirting. Just a warm, fuzzy college AU to get you through the holidays.

What you can expect: fluff, softness, general feel-good fic. It’s really good, and it has Geiszler-family feels. Reading this fic is a bit like drinking hot cocoa on a cold day.

next days by catbeans (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 5k, Teen and Up)

Hermann had never felt an ache quite like this one, and he had felt plenty. He had been running on adrenaline first, and then on the necessity to keep running, pain and bone-deep exhaustion falling to such a low priority that he couldn't even consider it one anymore, and then it had stopped.

(the 18 hour nap date these guys deserve)

What you can expect: Newt and Hermann cuddling. A lot. That’s really it, that’s the fic. It’s 100% indulgent and I love it for that.

Tebori by SkysongMA (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Not Rated)

Newt squints. "It's really not a sex thing? 'Cause I'm not opposed to it being a sex thing, mind you. I just don't want to come in the lab tomorrow and not get to throw things at your stupid face."

Hermann lets out an endless, long-suffering sigh. "It's really not a sex thing, Newton, honestly. We hate each other. That's worked out very well for us so far, and it will continue to work out for us in the future." He doesn't mention that they haven't always hated each other and that, at one point in their long relationship, showing up unannounced at Newton's door for the purpose of sexual favors would not have been so far out of the realm of possibility. Had been, in fact, one of those things Hermann had considered late at night long ago, when he couldn't go a week without a fat envelope in the mail full of Newt's ramblings.

But that was quite some time ago, and he means it. They each get more work done than they would ever have separately, even if only because they like to rub their progress in the other's face.

Anyway, admitting anything different would just give Newt ammunition

What you can expect: Newt gives Hermann a tattoo. There’s a lot of feels.

Newt Inherits a Bar by orphan (Pacific Rim and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 11k, Not Rated)

The scary part is the bar looks exactly like Newt remembers.

What you can expect: you’ll probably tear up a bit. This one hits pretty hard, honestly, but it’s so, so, so good.

First a Darling, Then a Marvel by isozyme (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 20k, Mature)

Newt runs a simulation given three constraints:

1: Newt wants to clone a kaiju 2: Hermann does not want Newt to clone a kaiju 3: Newt is going to clone a kaiju anyway

What you can expect: a lot of sciencing, a lot of feels, and two repressed idiots. There’s like, a paragraph or two of smut but it’s pretty clear when it’s going to happen so it’s easy to skip, which is great. The tl;dr of this fic is Newt clones some kaiju, Hermann reminds him how fucking horrible of an idea that is, and everything more or less works out in the end.

Tea and Sympathy by osprey_archer (Torchwood, Owen Harper/Ianto Jones, 13k, Teen and Up)

Soon after Jack's disappearance, Owen takes sick. Ianto goes to check on him.

What you can expect: crabby doctors, put-upon Welshmen, and a fuckton of emotions that everyone is trying to ignore. Not particularly happy, but then, when is Torchwood ever? It’s good while it lasts, though.

Pareidolia by hal_incandenza (Pacific Rim and The Black Tapes Podcast, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 102k, Mature)

It starts as a profile of paranormal investigator and professional skeptic Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. But it seems the further journalist Newt Geiszler delves into his cases, the more mysterious Dr. Gottlieb becomes. What is he hiding? What is he looking for? What is the truth? What is the difference between a journalist's idea of truth, and a scientist's?

Seeing is not believing. Believing is believing.

What you can expect: suspense, mystery, horror, pining, and apocalypse cults, with a dash of an ambiguous ending. I love this fic so much. I literally would stop what I was doing to read it when I got an alert that there was an update when it was still a work in progress.

Meet Me There Across The Water, And We’ll Start An Endless Storm by Skepticamoeba (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 35k, Teen and Up)

Hermann, an honorably discharged veteran has retired to continue working as a Keeper at a Lighthouse. It is perfectly solitary, and with little in the way for incidents. Newton is the sailor that washes up on the seashore after a summer storm.

[Late 19th century Lighthouse Keeper AU--or the one where Hermann was an aspiring artist whose dreams got a bit derailed, and Newt is the sailor that needs to learn to take his time with things.]

What you can expect: the pining........the intricate rituals............the denial.........*chef’s kiss*

and I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted by Lvslie (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 24k, Teen and Up)

He still smells like Newt; bears traces of his recent nearness. Clothes sleep-wrinkled from the proximity, from the way Newt’s ankle has during the night hooked around the calf of Hermann’s good leg and dragged his whole body seamlessly closer. Cheek half-flushed from the face unconsciously nuzzled his into the side of Hermann’s neck—evidence of his presence, fast asleep, as Hermann lay still and fretful for hours an end, staring at the ceiling and feeling sick with wanting.

[An early 20th century AU inspired loosely by Maurice and Age of Innocence.]

What you can expect: wistfulness, pining, repression, denial, lots of feelings. You’ll probably tear up. There’s an achingly happy ending for both of them. This is one of the fics I want a hard copy of so I can mark it up because, fuck, I love it so much.

leave the car running by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 1k, Teen and Up)

It is clear that, after everything, Newt doesn't like to be touched.

What you can expect: touch starvation, mutual pining, Newt finally getting the human contact he deserves. I wrote my own version of this since it was initially a prompt, but quite frankly, I like Newton’s version better because it hits.

The Man Who Invented Sherlock Holmes by Calais_Reno (Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, 15k, Teen and Up)

John Watson, struggling young doctor, doomed to live an ordinary life, dreams of writing detective fiction. If he can just figure out his hero's name, the story will practically write itself.

What you can expect: Watson sort of, kind of, maybe invents a man into being. Oops. I haven’t read this one in a while but I remember it being quite a lot of fun. There’s elements of what I would say is probably magical realism, but it’s never quite clear.

Newton Isn’t Dead by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb and Vanessa Gottlieb/Karla Gottlieb, 32k, Mature)

Newton Geiszler is currently being possessed by a genocidal alien race known as the Precursors. They’ve taken over his body, leaving him a prisoner in his own mind. However, Newt has a totally awesome plan. He’s going to make a deal with them: let him prove that Earth is worth saving, and if he can’t do that, they can have his body. But convincing a hivemind full of mega-colonizers that one blue planet can be wonderful isn’t going to be easy. He’s going to need the help of his kind-of-ex Hermann, his best friend Vanessa, and one awesome Footloose remake to pull this off.

So, naturally, they go on a road trip.

What you can expect: pining, world-saving, eventual confessions and happy endings. I had the great honour of reading the chapters before they were published, and this fic is one of my top five favourite fics. There were multiple points where I yelled, both literally (quietly) and through text (slightly less quietly).

it takes time, but time moves slow by prettydizzeed (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 2k, Teen and Up)

Hermann conducts a cost-benefit analysis every class period of sitting in the back of the lecture hall versus walking down the stairs to the front. He wishes he had hard data for this, to get some actual statistics, and perhaps after a while, if he records his pain level and his ability to read the board and pay attention after each class, he will be able to predict the outcomes given either choice on a particular day.

Two curves, traveling in opposite directions, inversely proportional: pain goes up, concentration goes down. It’s comforting, somewhat, to make it a numbers game. Impersonal. Absolute. Not a tragedy, and not his doing, only his to interpret, a smudged scrawl across his left knee in an unfamiliar handwriting, his to analyze, to decrypt.

What you can expect: the fic may only be 2k, but it will leave you feeling like you were punched. It’s fantastic.

I Could Be Jew-ish For You by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 10k, Teen and Up)

When Hermann agrees to spend Chanukah with his family in an attempt to wheedle some desperately-needed funding out of his father, Newt insists that he shouldn’t face Lars alone and tags along as his “emotional support family rage distraction”. What they fail to realize are two things: 1. When Hermann brings Newt with him to the festivities, assumptions will be made, and 2. Newt may be half-Jewish, but he sure wasn’t raised as one.

What to expect: fake dating fake dating fake dating— (can you tell I have a favourite trope?) In which Newt is Jew-ish, Hermann is both exasperated and pining, Lars is disliked, and we all get the Jewish romcom we deserve.

It Was Love At Second Sight by rednights (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 35k, Teen and Up)

Hermann receives the first letter when he is eighteen years old.

or: Kaiju don't attack the Earth, but Hermann and Newt still write letters, botch their first meeting, and fall in love, not necessarily in that order.

What you can expect: feels. So many fucking feels. There’s no kaiju but that doesn’t mean you won’t be on the edge of your seat.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite (The Magnus Archives, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, 15k, Teen and Up)

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

What you can expect: tenderness, domesticity, and love. The perfect trifecta.

the truth about me (and the truth about me) by danimagus (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 11k, Teen and Up)

Newton suffers from a bout of memory loss and is told Hermann is his fiancé.

Hermann plays along, to his endless shame.

What you can expect: two words: fake dating. Gods, I love this fic, as Mary can attest from how I unceremoniously started screaming at her about it in her tumblr messages the day of/after it was published. This fic is great because it subverts the trope a bit, and thus avoids issues of consent that may otherwise have occured.

speak right to my heart without saying a word by thekaidonovskys (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 13k, General Audiences)

“Your eyes. Your expression. Your smile. I’ve worked with you for ten years, Hermann, and words have never been our primary method of communication.”

What you can expect: to be knocked the fuck out emotionally. This one hits pretty hard, and that’s what makes it so good.

Transducer by hal_incandenza (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 85k, Teen and Up)

“I need you to hide something for me.”

“Oh, excellent. Of course, Newton, please allow me to jeopardize my career. And yours as well. My pleasure. Do go on.”

“Yeesh, relax,” said Newton. “It’s a personal thing, not a work thing.”

“As if there is any division between the two,” Hermann snapped.

If only you knew, Newt thought.

What you can expect: intruigue, alien tech, light espionage. This fic will have your little nerd heart beating double-time. It’s very very good.

A Really Private Person by astolat (Person of Interest, Harold Finch/John Reese, 18k, Mature)

The end of the world started on a Wednesday in March.

What you can expect: badassery on Finch’s part. One of the few fics I have bookmarked for this fandom, and it’s bookmarked for good reason.

Party For Two by ProblemWithTrouble (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 18k, General Audiences)

“My mother’s parents have a home in the Black Forest that has a guest house. They’ve often allowed me to stay there when I could spare the time.” Hermann looked distant as if he were remembering something; the warmth of a fire and a nice book and the smell of freshly made tea. “It will be quiet, and possibly too boring for you-”

“It won’t be. I could use some quiet after the decade we’ve had. I could actually compile my research. And sleep. It sounds amazing.”

After the world doesn't end Newt and Hermann take a vacation together to live in a cabin and finally relax, as friends. Cue the pining, the longing, and the living together as best friends.

What you can expect: a fic that will wrap you up like a warm blanket. Mutual pining, vacationing together in a cabin, lots of feels—what more can you want?

Dream Drifting by MooseLane (Pacific Rim and Inception, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 5k, General Audiences)

"You're running an extraction on that spastic PPDC biologist, is what I hear." Chau fixes him with a side-eye. "I know I wouldn't want to go poking around in that little bastard's head."

(There are not enough Inception x Pacific Rim crossover fics, so I decided to change that.)

What you can expect: Inception meets Pacific Rim. There’s no other way to say it, really.

I’ve Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile (The Only Living Boy In New York) by gyzym (Inception, Arthur/Eames, 19k, Teen and Up)

Arthur's a corporate lawyer, Eames owns the coffee shop across the street, and all good love stories start with a quadruple shot latte.

What to expect: Arthur is stressed, Eames runs a coffee shop, and, through the power of friendship and a lot of stress-baking, everything works out happily for our intrepid protagonist.

Kalimat/كلمات by rainbowagnes (The Old Guard, Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicolò di Genova, 3k, Teen and Up)

Yusuf translates medical texts for Niccolò from Greek and Persian into Arabic, and Niccolò spots the substratum of the ideas of the classical authors that he had once believed the basis of his own civilisation that he would go to the sword to defend, translated and passed down and sewn into a no longer foreign script. There are words Yusuf does not know how to translate. They will never, ever know all of the words. The prospect is thrilling. --- It takes Niccolò lifetimes to learn Arabic.

What you can expect: if you, like me, are, especially natively, multilingual, this might hit the sweet spot of Language Feels. It did for me. Also, Joe calling Nicky hayati? Yeah.

i never liked that ending either by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 15k, Mature)

You want a better story. Who wouldn’t? - Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out

Once upon a time Dr. Flick Tucker, K-Sci head of Biology, fought a bunch of highly scientific dragons to save the world. Then, they took over her life. It didn’t end well.

Once upon our time Dr. Newt Geiszler, marine biologist, sci-fi aficionado, and accidental discoverer of dimensional travel, got a chance to take her place. He has a couple of ideas.

In which Uprising is still a bad movie, musings on the nature of choice and personal autonomy are made, and somewhere, probably, a coin is showing heads every time.

What you can expect: everything’s fine this is a perfectly normal fic come here i want to cause you as much emotional damage as I can

Not Allowed by acedott (BBC Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, 1k, General Audiences)

Gwen has been dealing with self-imposed touch starvation since she was a child. Morgana sets out to challenge this.

What you can expect: gays. Pining. Touch starvation. Need I say more?

Rocky Horror Pancake Show by ChuckleVoodoos (Daredevil, Matt Murdock/Franklin “Foggy” Nelson, 19k, Teen and Up)

Foggy falls asleep at exactly 12:00 AM, and he’s making a wish. He wakes up at 12:00 AM too—twenty-four hours before he fell asleep.

"Let's do the time warp again!"

What you can expect: Ground-hog Day style time-loop, lots of fluff, and a happy ending.

Ain’t No Nancy Kerrigan by cleverqueen (DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, Leonard Snart/Mick Rory, 13k, Teen and Up)

It's 1994, and young Lisa Snart's jumps aren't strong enough for an Olympic singles skater. Thankfully, her older brother has an athletic friend who can match her in pairs.

Mick Rory is hopelessly in love with Leonard Snart, though he'd never say anything about it, so he jumps at a chance to do Len's little sister a favor. If he's patient and works hard, maybe he'll even get to skate with her older brother.

What you can expect: pining, ice-skating, and general goodness. It’s fun, it’s funny, and it has a happy ending.

#rec list #ask #a good 40% of these are mutual pining but really who's surprised. i love a good mutual pining fic #hopefully all these links work because i spent. an inordinate amount of time compiling this.#let me know if any of the links need to be changed #c.txt

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 4 years ago

Text

Pacific Rim 3

I outline the plot of Pacific Rim 3 as experienced by me in a waking fever dream before and during today's 4am shift as a way to distract myself from real life stress with imaginary stress, written in breaks during work and in the parking lot before driving home because I'm going back to sleep when I get there and I want to preserve this fever dream first before I lose the details of it,

Ok I've been here for 3 hours and I don't know how to do a read more link on mobile I'm sorry you're getting this as is whether you want it or not I need to sleep goodbye

Dr. Gottlieb and Liwen are working on building their own portal to the Precursors to beat them up once and for all

Jake is seen giving an inspiring speech to a new wave of cadets who've been training with the old ones, now fully realized Jaeger pilots. Amara is everyone's favorite instructor.

Jake is very imposing and military and inspiring. Jake is everything the kids need him to be. Jake slips away from the party early and tears off his uniform before disappearing down a side street in his civilian clothes

Nate has the visible emotional human reaction of milk curdling and goes after him

Dr. Gottlieb and Liwen Shao are talking to someone about how they're making progress on the rift but they need help. Someone in particular who knows about alien tech. He's coming in on the next flight, actually. The person they're explaining this to gives a disbelieving "no..."

NEWTON

Wakes up in his house in the middle of fuckass nowhere. Somewhere away from technology he could theoretically use For Evil, or people he could theoretically hurt. This is, however, a self-imposed isolation, as he seems to have been granted his freedom, conditionally.

We see his morning routine, featuring normal stuff like making coffee, panic attack in the shower ft. indistinct memories of the Precursors, taking a massive dose of PPDC-granted experimental medication, starting the car, another indistinct alien trauma flashback, listening to the radio on the way to the airport where people appear to recognize him and he low-key has a panic attack because oh God everyone knows what I did

Jake leaves the bar and runs into Nate, who gives him the old Argh Argh Responsibility And Pride talk and Jake is like yeah man I know shut up

They have a fistfight in the rain and the neon lights in the alley outside the bar

No one properly wins because they've drifted so many times and they can predict each other's attacks but they both land a few and take a few, Jake gets hit a bit more because he's drunk

They both end up just sitting in the rain feeling sorry for themselves

Nate: Jules proposed to her girlfriend.

Jake: I know

Nate: they're getting married.

Jake: yeah that usually happens when someone proposes

So Jules wasn't going to end up with either of them and they're both sad about it. Nate suddenly suggests they go back in the bar. He'll buy Jake a drink to make up for beating him up. Jake is like ok sure but the drink's gonna be soda because I was LEAVING the bar because I was ALREADY drunk

They share a Soda Of Angst at the bar and talk about how they're gonna die alone. Jake says "at least we've got each other" and it's impossible to tell if he's joking. Nate is like "you know what this place isn't that bad we should come back sometime."

Newton reaches the lab. He is terrified of Liwen and awkward around Hermann. He instinctively calls Liwen "boss" and she reminds him matter-of-factly that they're working as equals now, "since you ruined my life's work."

Hermann asks how the medication is working and Newton indicates that it works fine but he still gets anxiety about it not being enough. Hermann promises him it's been proven effective, thus why the PPDC let him out of his crimes against humanity iron cell of shame. It's revealed that what they're giving him is a stronger dose of a medication originally developed for burned-out Jaeger pilots with unmanageable symptoms, and that it blocks out memories related to the drift--and since this is how the Precursors were reaching him, this works to block out their influence. The cost is that Newton doesn't remember much of anything past building his own neural bridge. He knows it happened but the details won't load. He's constantly worrying that it's not enough, that the Precursors will come back, and is taking a dangerously high dose that gives him constant hand tremors and worse insomnia than usual.

The first time he and Hermann are left alone they have an uncomfortable attempt at talking which gradually turns into an argument about nothing in particular. Newt keeps calling him Hermann but it sounds Wrong and Hermann hasn't been allowing people to just use his first name here and he finally snaps at Newton to stop it and he's like "oh my God I can't call you your NAME? what the hell am I supposed to call you??"

Newt says something angsty and Hermann says something like 'yes well the nicest thing that ever happened to me was drifting with a dead and decaying piece of kaiju viscera' and he says it sardonically but he's serious

Newt doesn't remember any context for the time they drifted.

Newt assumes he's being maliciously sarcastic and starts SCREAMING at him

Hermann just looks at him in shock at first then just lets him go for a little while

Eventually shutting his mouth by jabbing him under the chin with his cane and saying, very quietly and coldly, "get out of my lab"

Newton gets out of the lab

Newton runs into Nate and Jake at The Angst Bar and they recognize him but he has no idea who they are but he's willing to just roll with it at this point and asks them if they know Hermann well enough to give him advice

"like that was sarcasm right? I'm pretty sure he was making fun of me but now I'm less sure idk"

Nate's: no he's immune to sarcasm

Jake: yeah it's kinda funny

Nate: *the gaze*

Jake: I mean, nothing wrong with that, but yeah if he was being sarcastic that'd be first time it's happened as far as I can tell

Newt: are. Are you telling me. That someone actually. For some reason. Offered me a sincere compliment. And. I yelled at him

Jake: that's your call, I mean, you know him better than us, right? You guys were friends right?

Newton, who doesn't remember any of these people:

Nate: I mean I wasn't there, only way to tell is to go back and ask him

Newt: aaaaaaa

Newton goes back and Liwen is like "hey I've got no idea what's going on here but can you weirdos just act normal for two seconds so we can get some work done" and Hermann and Newt both just kinda. Laser focus on rift stuff

Remember the guy with the "no why would you involve Newton"reaction? No because he's but important and has no name or real identity? Yeah ok every Pacific Rim movie needs one Designated Douchebag to cause Interpersonal Drama and this guy is it. I'll call him DD for short

DD shows up and is like oh my God you actually turned Newton loose in the lab?? Why would you do this we're all going to die

Everyone just ignores him

Designated Douchebag has the self-importance of a high elf and the confidence of a fucking walnut and doesn't like being ignored

And starts talking directly to Newton, which really freaks Newton out but he continues pretending to ignore him

DD: so you're safe now? Not going to start speaking alien gibberish?

Newton: don't plan on it

Hermann, without turning around: DD you may not like to hear this but it was never your business who we brought in to assist, we don't need your permission, and complaining about Newton now that he's already here is certainly not going to do any good.

DD: alright fine but you'd better keep a close eye on him.

DD: anyways Newton tell your girlfriend I said hi

Newton, blank: who?

DD: you know, Alice?

Newton's face registers several emotions as he grapples with a name from the buried memories-confusion, disgust, terror-mostly shock

There is an abrupt cut

Liwen, thinking her two colleagues were acclimated to each other enough to allow her to leave the room and get tea without disaster, is walking back down the hallway talking with a lab tech when they hear the sound of something breaking

A moment later the doors to the lab are flung open and DD is forcibly ejected, collapsing on the floor in front of them. Dr. Gottlieb exits the lab behind him, holding his cane like a cricket bat. There is a muffled sound of Newton yelling OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING

Liwen backs out of range of cane damage and sips her tea, mildly intrigued. The lab tech starts to run for help and nearly crashes into Nate and Jake, who came running to see what the yelling was about.

Nate: what is--

Dr. Gottlieb, panting with restrained bloodlust: HELLO SIRS GOOD TO SEE YOU I BELIEVE THERE'S BEEN A SECURITY BREACH BECAUSE THIS FELLOW HAS JUST BEEN CASUALLY CHATTING ABOUT RESTRICTED CLASS-J49 INFORMATION PLEASE LOCK HIM UP

DD: it's COMMON KNOWLEDGE and he ATTACKED me

Dr. Gottlieb: YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID SIR!! *He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes some blood off the handle of his cane*

Nate: WHAT is happening

Newton: *trying to have a quiet hysterical laughter meltdown in the lab before anyone remembers he's there*

Anyways next plot point. An alien shows up

Not a Precursor! A nice alien

Listen if PR:U gets to pull all that bullshit with Mt Fuji I'm allowed to add aliens okay

Hermann should have a nice non-genocidal alien friend I think he deserves it

Anyways the alien is clearly a different species than the Precursors (or Kaiju) and seems friendly but they can't communicate with it, the linguistics team is working on it but it's going to take A Lot of Work

Hermann goes "hm I've got a quicker and more accurate option"and wheels out the drift interface

This alien's mind doesn't link well with human minds but Hermann is a pro and powers through

He gets seasick and throws up and finally comes out shaky with a bloody nose and eye but he's managed to communicate!

The alien is a diplomat from another world the Precursors attempted to colonize, they survived because the Precursors underestimated the humans' resilience and spread themselves too thin, trying to invade earth and the alien homeworld at the same time and then getting distracted dealing with the humans, which left the aliens time to prepare their defense

They're here to help with the war effort, they don't have a lot that's relevant to current human scientific understanding but they can help fill in some of the gaps in the human's knowledge about rifts

They're making progress! Yay!

Things are getting serious, training montage Jake and Nate and the new pilots getting ready to kick ass

Newton finally brings himself to apologize to Hermann and explain he was confused but the net progress here is still zero because then they immediately have ANOTHER argument

Hermann has started writing his notes in the alien's language, he wants to make sure he can remember it well enough to help the linguistics team, and it's also beautifully precise and he just loves it and loves that he's able to write it, come on who wouldn't be proud of being the first contact human

Newton sees a bunch of notes of Alien Gibberish (to him) and gets Bad Vibes

Newton doesn't think they can trust the alien, Hermann does but his proof is mainly "I can tell because I drifted with them" and Newton 1. Doesn't remember what that's like and 2. DOES remember that the last time he thought it was a good idea to drift with an alien he ended up nearly killing literally everyone on earth

They yell at each other some more

At some point Hermann tries to deescalate and asks why they can't be friends again and Newton, still yelling, says "people keep acting like we're friends and I don't remember it! As far as I'm concerned this is all we ever had! I barely remember you at all and what I do remember is that we hated each other!"

Hermann: ....I never hated you. .. alright, colleagues, then? We've got a rift to build

Newton, still hyperventilating slightly: ok ok yeah sure yeah

Interlude: Jules gets married!

She asks Hermann to walk her down the aisle (where she meets her wife, who walked down the opposite aisle to meet in the middle)

Newton, protesting "I don't know I don't feel like I should be here," is physically dragged into the venue by Liwen, who is telling him that this is a diplomatic event it's his duty to be at.

She drags him over to Hermann and settles between them, soaking in the chaotic gay science panic vibes

She seems to be enjoying herself

Jules sees Hermann in the audience and an evil gleam comes into her eye

She has a strong arm

She hurls her bouquet directly at his face

Hermann ducks, panic granting him lightning quick reflexes

The bouquet, travelling at about Mach 5, zooms past him and hits Jake Pentecost squarely in the nose

He inhales several petals of baby's breath and gets slapped in the eyelid by a vine and goes into a dramatic coughing fit. Nate pounds him on the back.

Alien, speaking through a translating device they've got set up (it isn't perfect but it works on a basic level mostly): is it bad luck to touch the flowers?

Hermann, still slightly panicked from the near miss: no it's ahh, there's this silly tradition that whoever catches the bouquet is likely to get married next, and ah, as you see there, sometimes a bride with a sense of humor will, err, intentionally aim it at someone who, uh, didn't necessarily want it?

Alien: I think I understand. My sibling often tells me to go the southern hills of ^°^=^^°^°^^°°= to find a mate, though I have told them many times that I have no such desire.

Nate and Jake are like "ok neither of us have a date I guess we're drinking our sorrows away together at the reception" and do that

And maybe make out a little bit

Neither of them is ready to deal with Feelings so they both just blame it on the alcohol and try not to think about it too hard

Newton, venting @ someone, explains that there's an empty space in his memory where he knows that that something about Hermann is supposed to go and it doesn't feel like the other, worse memories he's blocked out, it feels like he lost something precious, but he has no idea what that is

Hermann tells Newton he's been working on a device that might block out the Precursors' influence without affecting his memory, so he can use all of his knowledge. And so he isn't constantly so confused about who he does and doesn't know but he doesn't say that part

It connects to his skin a bit like a drift interface

Newton is terrified but enthusiastic about maybe being Less Confused All the Time

The fact that he is guarded by a full security detail to make sure he doesn't Become Evil Again the whole time he's going off his meds really doesn't help the stress much

Memories start coming back but they're confused and jumbled and at first he's not much better off

The Precursor nightmares are about what he expected but he keeps hearing Hermann's voice in there too and he's not sure why and he can't remember when he heard it like that

Meanwhile Hermann keeps needing to drift with the alien to clarify important details about the rift that they don't know how to translate into human terms, but it fucks him up a little bit more each time he does it until the last time he passes out for like at hour and wakes up disoriented with a nosebleed that just won't stop and Jake orders him to stop drifting

He's ok with that because they've got the information they needed anyway!

IT'S TIME, THEY'RE SENDING THE JAEGERS INTO THE RIFT

Newton, despite his misgivings, reluctantly joins Liwen, dr. Gottlieb and the alien in command to supervise the mission, still wearing the device and getting random bursts of confused memory

Jake and Nate are piloting the Lady Avenger (did u know gypsy is a slur and they prefer to be called Romani) and go though first and start punching Precursors and their bodyguard Kaiju

Newton goes very still and just stares at Hermann for like a solid minute while he's trying to work, his expression shifting to something new

Hermann, softly: what?

Newton, smiling: I remember you.

Hermann, furiously trying to interpret alien data: is this really the best time??

It's a close fight across the rift, the Precursors are on their home turf and the Jaegers are not, fighting in a bizarre low-gravity environment that doesn't really have floors

Their base is set up differently than expected and Hermann decides he needs to check something with the alien. By drifting with them. He's still bleeding uncontrollably after the last stunt that got him banned but he's determined to do it because It's Necessary

Newton takes the headset from him and puts it on instead

It feels Bad

But then he sees another planet, beautiful, so different from his own yet so similar. He sees aliens attacked by monsters from the deep, responding more or less how the humans had, moving inland, building useless walls, building their own monsters for defense. He sees the alien diplomat losing friends and family.

He sees the journey to earth, and drifting with Hermann. He sees the alien's memories of Hermann, and Hermann's memories in the drift. He sees how Hermann remembers him. What he forgot. What the Precursors had blinded him to.

He doesn't have time to think about it because he's feverishly trying to translate the knowledge he's receiving into data that works with their human technology so they can help the Jaegers and there's blood dripping from his face onto the controls but it's there, in the back of his mind, he knows now. Hermann missed him.

The Lady Avenger is hit and Jake is knocked unconscious. They begin to drift downwards as Nate, unable to move the Jaeger alone, yells at Jake with no response

Newton disconnects from the drift, nearly blacks out, and has to sit down for a minute. When he comes back around he sees the Jaegers are in trouble--none completely disabled yet, but they need more help

Newton has an idea

Newton: ok I'm gonna do something stupid. *To his security detail* listen I need you to aim your guns at me and shoot if you think I'm out of control

Liwen, with zero hesitation, reacting quicker than anyone else in the room, pulls out a gun and sticks it right in his face

Newton: see, yeah, that's what I was saying, like that. Thanks boss, glad someone here's got guts.

Liwen: not your boss

Newton: I kinda like saying it tho

Liwen: hm. I'll allow it.

Newton: ok. Hermann--uh

Hermann, hearing his name said right this time: it's ok

Newton: :) ok cool I'm going to deactivate the blocking device I need you to turn it back on as soon as I squeeze your hand, can you do that

Hermann: absolutely.

The Precursors are a hive mind. In battle, when pressed, they can force their thoughts outwards, confusing and scrambling the communications of other species while keeping in contact with each other. This is going well and normal until there's an unexpected distortion which resolves into Newton's voice

Yelling WHAT'S UP MOTHERFUCKERS I'M BACK

(epic Tom Morello riff)

Newton can't keep the connection open for more than a few seconds before they start to overwhelm him, Hermann pulls him back. It was enough to confuse the Precursors and give the jaegers an advantage.

During the delay, Jake wakes up. He's disoriented and in pain and so is Nate, still linked to him, but they can move again. They one-hit-k/o the Precursor that was creeping up on them, turn around, and realize they've drifted almost right into the reactor they've been looking for

So they blow it up

Hermann is still holding Newton's hand as everyone else celebrates. He looks at Newton for confirmation, who nods in relief.

"they're gone. Well, those ones are, anyway."

Humans start opening rifts across the galaxy to kick Precursor ass across multiple star systems

(epic Tom Morello riff intensifies)

Humans team up with multiple alien races previously menaced by the Precursors to take out their common enemy. Jaeger tech is combined with alien science, humans and aliens drifting

They figure out how to use a recording of Newton's Precursor-influenced brainwaves as a weapon to confuse them

So basically Newton makes a recording of himself screaming at the Precursors that's weaponized by teams across the galaxy and it's incredibly cathartic

Jake, in a hospital, is woken up by an infuriating snoring noise. Nate is sleeping in a chair by his bed. He's both annoyed and touched. Mostly the latter.

Hermann writes a book in what is now his third language, the alien script precise and beautiful

We see Newton and Hermann getting dressed together for an Important Event, they're both complaining about having to go but seem not to mind too much. Newton ties his tie too loose, like in the good old days. Hermann fixes it for him.

No one died

The free peoples of the galaxy took down the Precursors with no casualties and the power of screaming

#personal (ok to rb)#pacific rim #what to tag as #headcanons #fanfiction #sorta #humor #extended fever dream that wouldn't let me rest #EVERYONE'S GAY AND NO ONE DIED

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bonsaiiiiiii · 4 years ago

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100 Weird AU's? Yes.

So, I had these AU prompts on my phone for quite a while, and I was actually thinking about using them. And what better way to do it than using them with the Tracy's?

Reading and reading these prompts again (and under the gentle guidance of @willow-salix ) I thought that these prompts doesn't exactly match the brothers' everyday situation, but what if we push it past its limit? Yes, biting more that you can chew can be a little difficult, but I don't think it will be impossible. And that's where this challenge is born!

Get the Tracy's out of International Rescue's bubble and let them live an everyday situation as normal people! They can also be medieval nobles or even futuristic robots, the choice's up to you! You can choose from soo many things others don't even think about (and not even me, for a while)!

Many thanks to @tag2060 for the cover and @willow-salix for the support (both emotional and 'fic-ical'. I love both of you💚

NOTE: THESE PROMPTS AREN'T ALL MINE. I TOOK THEM FROM A GIRL I'M NOT IN CONTACT WITH ANYMORE, BUT I WAS TOLD I COULD USE THEM. ALL CREDITS FOR THESE AU'S GO TO HER, WHATEVER IS HER NAME (lmao). THE GOLD MARKED ONES (7, 11, 20, 23, 39, 47, 63, 64, 70, 83, 89, 91, 93, 96, 100) ARE ALL MINE, IN SUBSITUTION OF A FEW THAT WERE THERE, SO CREDIT FOR THE GOLDEN MARKED ONES GOES TO ME, BUT NOT EVERY ONE OF THEM.

NOTE²: SOME OF THE PROMPTS CONTAIN STRONG THEMES, LIKE DEPRESSION AND SEXUAL CONTENT. IF YOU'RE SENSIBLE TO THESE THEMES, DON'T DO THEM, NOBODY FORCES YOU IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

To participate in this challenge, all you have to do is take one of the AU prompts from the list, one or more (or all) Tracy characters, and post your fic (can be a ficlet, or a series) under the tag #100weirdTracys and #100weirdAUs.

If you don't want to participate, please don't harass/bully me. I made this challenge just for fun, and I don't want for it to feel like something bad. In fact, I don't even regret doing this thing, even if it's strange.

Ah, I almost forgot: this challenge will be over in December, so you have 4 months to choose a prompt and make a fic about it. On December I'll review all the fics, but I'll always be reblogging and reading during these 4 months lol.

If you want to tell me something, hit me up on DM's! I hope you have fun with those prompts and those bois!

(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ

TO RESUME:

• Swearing is allowed.

• You can write as many words as you want!

• Oc's and muses can pop in too!

• Make sure to tag your fic(s) under the '#100weirdTracys' and '#100weirdAUs' tags, so that I can find them easily.

• Always tag or contact me if you need help with anything! I'll be more than glad to help you!

• If you decide to do the mature prompts (19, 90, just to state an example) please refrain from using a too mature language and don't go further than making up. I don't like that kind of language, so it would be peachy to just avoid writing so they make wild sex behind a bush. Any kind of very mature fic or language won't be read by me, I'm sorry. You can still use those prompts, but don't work their bed life too much.

• Any dialect or first language apart from english is more than welcome in this yard! I would love even to read snippets of foreign language in fics, as long as there's a translation near it, but you're not forced to write in another language. If you don't feel comfortable doing it just don't do it, even if I'm telling you. (For the record, I love Irish so much I could listen to a person speaking this language for hours and you won't hear me complaining).

• I will accept this challenge in whatever form it takes, be it a fic, a drawing, a song, etc. I’m open to anything and I watch everything that comes before me!

φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)__φ(．．)

That said, you can find the prompts down here:⬇️

#1 I saved you from drowning!AU

#2 I broke into your house at two in the morning because I was drunk and I thought it was my house!AU

#3 I am a door-to-door seller please buy something!AU

#4 I grabbed the wrong luggage at the airport!AU

#5 I know we hate each other, but a wedding would be more convenient for both of us!AU

#6 I accidentally poured you a love potion!AU

#7 I sent you 12 messages but you left me on read!AU

#8 I am your secret admirer and I leave you anonymous cards!AU

#9 Sorry, but I was first in line!AU

#10 We don’t know each other but let's pretend to be together because someone is bothering me!AU

#11 We pack up to do a funny trip but we end up in Bolivia without fuel!AU

#12 Locked in quarantine and we're bored! AU

#13 I do everything to find out the identity of this superhero and you try to mislead me because it’s really you!AU

#14 I got into a taxi just to find out it was already occupied!AU

#15 I called the wrong number!AU

#16 I got into the wrong car OMG I'm ashamed, but while you’re there why don’t you give me a ride!AU

#17 I found a wallet and my business is to find the owner and return it!AU

#18 I am a street artist and you complain that I play in front of your house at night!AU

#19 I caught you watching porn!AU

#20 We're two strangers that start chatting while waiting for the bus!AU

#21 Nosy and sloppy roommates!AU

#22 Old childhood friends who come back after years!AU

#23 I got shot to the arm/leg but you're there to save me and OMG ILY!AU

#24 We’re sitting next to each other on a plane and please don’t throw up on me!AU

#25 We accidentally switched phones!AU

#26 We are both contestants in a reality show and let's pretend to be together because the audience will ship us!AU

#27 I am a wedding planner and my ex’s wedding had to happen to me!AU

#28 I learned sign language to communicate with you!AU

#29 Professional model and novice photographer!AU

#30 Sorry I ran you over!AU

#31 We make out and then I find out that you are my roommate’s boyfriend!AU

#32 I’m quoting aloud the last book of a series and I’m spoiling you!AU

#33 It is a universally acknowledged truth that a bachelor with a large fortune must be looking for a wife!AU

#34 I am a Partisan and you are a fascist!AU(Italy during World War II!AU)

#35 I am the blood of the dragon!AU (Iron Throne!AU)

#36 Your dog is hitting on mine!AU

#37 I’m depressed and I decide to call a hotline!AU

#38 You are my soulmate but I am in love with someone else!AU

#39 Strange encounter at tattoo shop!AU

#40 On my mark, unleash hell!AU(Roman Empire!AU)

#41 I am an Elf, don’t look at me for ears I am ashamed of!AU(The Lord of the Rings!AU)

#42 Maybe my life should be more than just survival!AU(The 100!AU)

#43 I am an activist and I am trying to convert you to the cause!AU

#44 We are occupying the school but you are a spoilsport!AU

#45 All our friends are drunk and we're not!AU

#46 We’ve been together for three months and now you’re telling me you’re a werewolf!AU

#47 X has to go into a rocket to the moon and Y has to train X!

#48 Knight in shining armor and damsel in distress!AU

#49 We reluctantly team up against the zombie apocalypse!AU

#50 I’m a vampire and your smell is driving me nuts!AU(Twilight!AU)

#51 Monsters have attacked the Earth and the only way to save humanity is aboard giant robots piloted by two people who must maintain a mental union!AU(Pacific Rim!AU)

#52 My timer stopped as soon as I saw you!AU(Soulmate!AU)

#53 I need a lawyer and you are the best!AU

#54 I’m a Viking and I plundered your ship!AU

#55 I’m a classic dandy from the Regency Age and you’re just a silly girl from the lower middle class!AU

#56 I’m a policeman and you’re an intrusive journalist and I really shouldn’t give you any information about the new murder!AU

#57 You are a wannabe actress and I am a theatrical director who is losing patience and health!AU

#58 Due to a computer error, X and Y become college roommates!AU

#59 X wants to see the world of Y, how he lives and what he usually does, and ends up spending a night in prison!AU

#60 I attend the yoga course just to watch how flexible the instructor is!AU

#61 I am a bounty hunter and you are my prey!AU

#62 I am a secret spy and pretend to be your friend only to get information about your father!AU

#63 I discuss with you about a thing but you have in mind another!AU

#64 We are forced to be best friends just because our moms were best friends too but you're too bossy for me!AU

#65 We broke up but I never changed emergency contacts and now I’m in the hospital and they called you!AU

#66 I am an angel and you are a demon!AU

#67 I hit you on the balls during a game of paintball and oh my god I am so sorry!AU

#68 We live in a dystopian world where your partner is chosen by society!AU(Matched!AU)

#69 I’m a dragon trainer I’ll prove to you that they are peaceful creatures!AU(Dragon Trainer!AU)

#70 Date at japanese restaurant!AU

#71 You’re a cheerleader and I’m a punk and we live in two different worlds!AU

#72 I was a zombie and I was "re-animated" but you treat me like I’m still a monster!AU(In the Flesh!AU)

#73 I am your son’s teacher and I am calling to talk to you about his conduct, would he also come to dinner with me!AU

#74 I am an Achaean warrior and you Trojan and we are fighting the Trojan War!AU

#75 I met my asshole boss at the bar but I found out he’s pretty cool!AU

#76 It was not my intention to touch your ass, it’s just that the bus is crowded, it’s not my fault ok!AU

#77 I went fishing and accidentally fished a mermaid!AU

#78 I just committed a crime and I need to use you as a hostage!AU

#79 You’re the bastard who always parks in front of my door and in spite I’ll scratch your car!AU

#80 I accidentally went back in time and fell in love with you, too bad you’re a barbarian!AU

#81 I urgently need you to fix my computer but please don’t judge me for my chronology!AU

#82 I work on the cruise ship where you are spending your holidays!AU

#83 I'm out in the rainstorm without an umbrella because the weather forecast was sunny!AU

#84 I hugged the wrong person from behind!AU

#85 Celebrity on the run and ordinary citizen confused!AU

#86 Stuck in a ranch cleaning horse poop but it doesn’t matter because that cowboy is a badass!AU

#87 We got married in Vegas, but we’re total strangers!AU

#88 But, officer, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I was just smoking a joint, want a hit!AU

#89 X is an astronaut and Y is a weird but funny alien that likes to scream, overreact and laugh!AU

#90 I slept with you for a bet but I loved it and I’d like to keep seeing you!AU

#91 I reveal to some friends that you wear boxers/underwear with green aliens on them but you're behind me and oh gosh total shame!AU

#92 Oops I accidentally entered a busy dressing room!AU

#93 You're a stranger but I keep crossing paths with you and I'm kinda confused right now!AU

#94 X is a medium and Y a ghost!AU

#95 X is a guardian angel and Y wants to die!AU

#96 X accidentally enters in a cat and Y has to rescue it from up a tree!AU

#97 X risks losing the house because Y’s company wants to buy the land!AU

#98 I’m an artist and I need a model do you want to pose for me!AU

#99 I’m not really sick but the new doctor is so beautiful that I found out I have a disease with an unpronounceable name!AU

#100 A strange job application!AU

φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)__φ(．．)

If you find them more practical, I also have some photos down here with all the prompts organized:⬇️

That said, enjoy! Hope it brings you joy and makes you happy while you do it!💙💚🧡💛❤💜💖🖤

#100weirdTracys #100weirdAUs #Thunderbirds are go #ThunderChallenge #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #oc's #muses #fic #drawings #first challenge ever!#enjoy!

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ironxkid · 3 years ago

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ABOUT THE MUSE:

♡ GENERAL ♡

NAME: Paige Hansen Carter Paige Stark NICKNAMES: smartass, junior, songbird GENDER: genderqueer AGE: 24 (main verse - following mcu timeline, 27) BIRTHDAY: july 21st OCCUPATION: part-time waiter, full-time university student

♡ APPEARANCE ♡

EYE COLOR: dark brown HAIR COLOR: dark brown HEIGHT: 5′1″ SCARS: small scar on her right knee; small scar on her left upper arm; scarring on her lower back, more towards the left OVERWEIGHT: no UNDERWEIGHT: no

♡ FAVORITE ♡

COLOR: red (specifically darker shades) ANIMAL/S: birds! corvids in particular, especially ravens and crows! MOVIE/S: almost all the Star Wars films; the og Jurassic Park trilogy; Treasure Planet; Pacific Rim; and a few others TV SHOW/S: Star Wars: The Clone Wars; Star Wars: The Bad Batch; Stranger Things; The Good Place; Alien Worlds; Queer Eye; and a few others FOOD: matzo ball DRINK: peppermint tea BOOKS: here’s a list actually!

♡ HAVE THEY ♡

PASSED UNIVERSITY: not yet HAD SEX: no (default verse, can vary with thread) HAD SEX IN PUBLIC: no GOTTEN PREGNANT: no (default verse, can vary) KISSED A BOY: no (default verse, can vary) KISSED A GIRL: no (default verse, can vary) GOTTEN TATTOOS: yes (two, to be exact!) HAD A BROKEN HEART: yes BEEN IN LOVE: possibly (default verse, can vary) STAYED UP FOR MORE THAN 24 HOURS: yes

♡ ARE THEY ♡

A VIRGIN: yes (default verse, can vary) A KISSER: depends on partner (in general, yes she absolutely is, but it depends on if her partner likes kissing or not) JEALOUS EASILY: depends TRUSTWORTHY: yes IN LOVE: no (default verse, absolutely varies sdfghjdsf) SINGLE: no (default verse, also absolutely varies dsgfhf)

♡ RANDOM QUESTIONS ♡

HAVE THEY HARMED THEMSELVES: yes (ex: too hot showers) THOUGHT OF SUICIDE: yes ATTEMPTED SUICIDE: no WANTED TO KILL SOMEONE: yes DROVE A CAR: yes HAVE/HAD A JOB: yes HAVE ANY FEARS: yes

♡ FAMILY ♡

PARENTS: Tony Stark (biological father), Maya Hansen (biological mother), and Pepper Potts (stepmother) SIBLINGS: Morgan Stark (default verse, can vary; ex: Grayson Stark @/graytitaniumalloy, Logan Stark @/ayoungeststark) CHILDREN: none (default verse, can vary) OTHER RELATIVES: Maria Stark (grandmother), Howard Stark (grandfather) (default verse, can vary; ex: Sunny Stark @/themxlodyofmiidnight) PETS: none

Tagged by: @fullofmemories

Tagging: whoever wants to do it!!

#headcanons #self harm tw #suicide tw #suicidal ideation tw

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

Text

When the World Goes Boom (Part 5)

Okay, this chapter was a challenge and involved lots of whiny Nutty throwing hissy fits. It is also over twice the size of any of the previous parts.

Spoilers & Warnings: Spoilers for season three, angst, 3931 words

Many thanks to @scribbles97 and @i-am-chidorixblossom for putting up with my crazy and reading this at random moments.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

I hope you enjoy it ::hugs::

-o-o-o-

Alan was exhausted after his dressings change, but to be honest, he was ever so happy to see Gordon regardless.

Virgil ruffled his hair and said something about grabbing coffee and going back to see Scott, and left him with his aquanaut brother.

It wasn’t exactly relief he felt at the change of brothers. He loved Virgil, but things were different with Gordon. He had to act less grown up and could be more the kid he sometimes felt like. Gordon never really grew up, so Alan felt less pressure to be the adult.

And besides Gordon was his big brother.

As Virgil had pushed his hoverbed out of the consultation room, they had picked up their security. Jeremy was hanging with Virgil today.

Alan had Brie.

He liked the tiny security specialist. She had a nice smile and was barely tall enough to look him in the eye. Something that was refreshing for a youngest who had to look up at almost every other member of his family.

Except for Gordon, but he was special. Not that he would ever mention that.

On the other hand, Brie may be small, but he had the strongest impression she was quite capable of removing his head from his body with her bare hands. Occasionally Kayo would run the personal team through sparring matches, always an interesting spectator sport for the brothers, each cheering their favourite. Brie had managed to outsmart even the older expert, Jeremy. And she looked good doing it.

Not that Alan would ever admit that little opinion.

Her soft smile at him was cute, though.

Gordon, of course, had Iz with him.

Iz was scary. She hid in the shadows more often than not. Her nose ring, short purple hair and stoic appearance was intimidating. Yes, he had thought the word. Intimidating.

Gordon thought she was groovy.

Alan thought Gordon spent too much time with his retro junk and needed a vocabulary transplant.

But, in any case, both women were highly competent and came with a Kayo stamp of approval.

“Hey, Gords, can we go out into the garden?” He really didn’t want to go back into that room. Seeing Scott upset just hurt. He tried to not show how much it freaked him out, but right now? He was too tired to face it.

“Sure, Allie.” Auckland City Hospital sat next to some extensive gardens and while it wasn’t necessarily encouraged, patients and rebellious Tracys often went out there to escape the sterile corridors and reconnect to the world around them. One advantage of living on an island in the middle of the Pacific was the constant contact with the ocean and its ecosystem. For Gordon it was simply sighting the ocean in the distance that helped. For Alan it was less clear but all the Tracys, if hospitalised ended up out here at some point.

Scott had once had to chase a half delirious Virgil out onto the grass.

It gave security grey hair, but that’s why they were so well paid.

The corridors were stark as with any hospital. Alan let his eyes skip from sign to sign as the fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Windows into other worlds slid past.

At one point his eyes landed on a set of open doors with a radiation symbol blaringly decorating the wall beside it.

Radiology.

Alan blinked.

Had he been here? Something felt wrong. “Gords, can we stop a moment?”

“What? Sure?” His brother looked at the doors. “Why? Feel like getting your innards scanned?”

Alan frowned and ignored him. There was something about that radiation sign. “Have I been here?”

Gordon frowned a little. “Not this time. The medscanners told us enough. Scott has though. For his concussion.” A pause as Alan continued to stare at the gaping doors. “You came here for your broken arm when you were twelve. Remember that?”

Vague. “Yeah.” Maybe that was it. It had been a nasty break and hurt like hell. Not a happy memory. “That must be it.” A man exited the department and the doors closed. More warning signs appeared.

Alan frowned more.

“You okay?”

“Hmm.” Alan shook himself. He needed to get out of this building. It was driving him bonkers. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

“Sure.” But there was a subtle worry in his brother’s voice.

Gordon pushed him out into the sun and Alan closed his eyes against its brightness, but revelled in its warmth.

Of course, it wasn’t as warm as home, but the rustling of a nearby palm tree was reassuringly familiar.

“I’m going to find some shade to park you under. No need to risk that fragile skin of yours with a sunburn.”

Alan scrunched up his face. “I’m not fragile.”

Gordon snorted, but continued to push him easily down the laneway towards the gardens. Security bracketed them. Iz, spoke into her comm quietly. Waitemata Harbour came into view in the distance with Rangitoto looming over everything.

The breeze tickled Alan’s hair.

His brother found them a tree with a view and parked them, brakes secured. “How’s that?”

“Great. Thanks, Gordy.”

Gordon dumped himself on the end of Alan’s bed and a silence fell as Alan let the outside world wash away the antiseptic smells clinging to him.

“How are you feeling?” Gordon’s question was quiet.

“I’m okay. Got me on the good stuff.” He opened his eyes to find his brother’s concerned gaze corrupted by just a hint of a smile. “Don’t worry. One advantage of that procedure is they dose me up and as long as you don’t prod me, I can’t feel a thing.” He threw his own smile into the pot, desperate to remove that worry off his big bro’s face.

Of course, that prompted Gordon to poke his foot with one finger. Repeatedly.

Alan rolled his eyes. “How is everyone?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but it came out without thought. Probably because it was foremost in thought.

Gordon shrugged. “Okay. Virgil has gone all motherhen. John has disappeared into the office. I have no idea what he is doing in there. The media is starting to calm down, so I guess that is part of it, but Eos is snarly and defensive.”

“Eos always snarls at you. And you know why.”

“Not my fault she can’t take a joke.”

Alan smirked. Gordon was going have to rethink pranking John in the future. His watchdog didn’t take nicely to any threat to her father, marshmallow or not.

“How about Dad?”

“Well, you’ve seen him. Shell shocked are the words I’d use. You talk to him at all?”

Alan shook his head just a little. To be honest, he didn’t know what to say. His dad looked lost, almost fearful. While he loved him dearly, really…he still didn’t know his Dad as well as he wanted too. While the man offered comfort, it was awkward and hesitant and Alan was hesitant in return.

The familiarity of his brothers was just a relief.

There was so much guilt in there.

“This sucks.” Alan’s voice was desolate.

“Totally.”

“I just wish Scotty would get better. I hate seeing him like that.” It was horrifying. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry before.” His voice had gotten small.

“I have.”

Alan looked up at his brother. “What? When?”

“After the Zero X. Virgil found him in Dad’s office. I don’t think they knew I was there and I wasn’t there for long.” Gordon’s eyes dropped to the grass. “But this is different. He will get better, Allie.”

“God, I hope so.”

His train of thought was interrupted as Brie approached from the right. “Mr Gordon, Mr Alan, Kayo has requested you return to the room. There has been an incident.”

Alan immediately sat up straighter. “What happened? Is everyone okay?” Gordon slipped off the end of the bed and moved to the head, already disengaging the brakes.

“A threat has been made against the Tracy family and we have been requested to move you to a more secure location.”

A threat? Alan reached for his comms and realised that he wasn’t wearing any having been reduced to a hospital gown for his procedure. “I need my comms.”

Gordon’s eyes darted to him. “You do. Brie, make sure Alan gets his comms. If there is a security issue, he needs to be connected to the network.”

“Yes, Mr Gordon.”

“Kill the ‘Mister’, Brie. You know me better than that.”

“I most certainly do, Mr Gordon.”

“What?”

Iz swept in, expression stony and professional, and they were moving back towards the hospital.

As they passed radiology, Alan once again stared at the signs on the doors. The doors were closed, but something still stirred in his gut.

Something he couldn’t quite grasp.

-o-o-o-

Her eldest grandson clung to her as if he was a six-year-old again.

She couldn’t help but cling to him in return. It was disturbing to see the usually strong and emotionally private man so vulnerable.

“C’mon, Scotty, talk to me.”

Another rough indrawn breath and he slowly pulled away. Exhausted, red-rimmed blue eyes stared up at her, almost pleading. “Tell me, Alan’s okay.”

“Alan is okay, honey. He has a couple of nasty burns, but he will heal.”

“That’s what Dad said.”

“Of course, that’s what your father said, because it’s the truth.”

Something flickered in those eyes. Voice faint and dry. “I don’t know what is the truth anymore.” Scott fell back against his pillows with a hopeless sigh.

Sally reached out and stroked his hair. “Be kind to yourself, honey. You were injured, give your body a chance to heal.

“He called me for help, Grandma.”

She frowned. “Who?”

“Alan.”

“When?”

“Before the explosion. I remember his voice. He needed me and I wasn’t there.”

This was new. She sat down on the edge of the bed, but didn’t stop her ministrations. “Are you sure?

The anguish returned. “I don’t know, Grandma. I just keep hearing him.” Both hands came up and covered his face.

“Shh, shh, shh, honey. It’s okay.” His hair needed a wash, the strands stiff from old product and sweat. She didn’t stop stroking.

“Alan was hurt.”

“Yes, he was. But he is going to be fine.”

“H-He called me for help, but I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t help him, Grandma.” Wet, blue eyes widened. “Why couldn’t I help him?”

“You had three people under your care, Scott.”

“But Alan-“

“Alan is going to be okay.”

It wasn’t enough. Her grandson’s brow crinkled in anguish. “He’s my littlest brother, Grandma. Why couldn’t I help him?”

Whatever answer she was going to give him was interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. Before either of them could acknowledge it, Kayo stuck her head in. “Sorry to interrupt.” Her eyes widened at the sight of her big brother. “We have a problem.”

-o-o-o-

It took Virgil far too many seconds to put the likely scenario together in his head. A sign of how tired he actually was.

Lemaire continued to babble until the reporter gave up and cut him off. The ‘projector switched to an advertisement and the café settled down with only one or two people eyeing Virgil and his father with curious frowns.

“Who was that?”

Virgil’s tone was derogatory enough to smear the man’s name into the carpet with his boot. “Repeat customer. Unfortunately, his wealth is inversely proportional to his intelligence.” His father frowned, no doubt at Virgil’s disrespect. “He’s very rich, Dad.”

“But why is he threatening us?”

“That I need to find out.” Though he had his suspicions. This was not the place to discuss them. “We need to head back to the room.”

His father stood up. “Agreed.”

There were still eyes on them. Jez and Gerry’s gazes were like laser beams sweeping the room. Virgil sighed and stood.

They made their way quickly back to the room. Encountering Alan and Gordon in the hallway, Virgil assisted Gordon in manoeuvring Alan’s bed back through the door. To Virgil’s relief, Scott was actually sitting up in bed. He appeared drawn and tired, but he was awake.

Scott’s eyes tracked Alan from the moment he entered the room.

Alan just grinned and waved like he was on a float in a Christmas parade.

Kayo was fidgety. Not that the average person would notice, but Virgil was family and the stoic security officer was literally vibrating on the spot under her calm façade.

They got Alan settled and the entire family arrayed around the room, except for one obvious omission.

Virgil yanked out his phone and sent a priority call to his missing brother. “John, what did you do?”

John’s hologram was dressed in that godawful shirt Virgil wanted to burn. The only reason he hadn’t was because it was tailored to provide gravity support to the astronaut when he was on Earth, the piping providing both sensory output and pressure adjustments as needed.

But it was the last time Virgil was ever going to let his brother choose a colour, ugh.

“Tracy Industries bought Oxy-Baker.”

His father, who had been standing behind Virgil, stepped forward. “Why would you do that?”

Holographic turquoise eyes flashed. “We have history, Dad. The safety systems built into Oxy-Baker reclamation systems are atrocious. This was the fourth time we almost lost an operative to this business. We need to put an end to it.”

The tension emanating off his father was extreme. “Why now?”

John’s eyes flickered to Scott and back. “Why not? When Scott is incapacitated, his Tracy Industries responsibilities fall to me. I saw an opportunity, I took it.”

His father’s eyes shot to Virgil, and yes, Virgil felt guilt regarding that, but Tracy Industries was safer in John’s hands than his, and besides, when Scott was incapacitated, Virgil usually had his hands full with his brothers and International Rescue.

“You’ve created an incident that could have been avoided.”

“There is no incident, Dad. The job is done. We now own Oxy-Baker and can work to fix its many problems.” John obviously considered the problem solved.

His father most certainly did not. “I’m coming home and we will discuss this.”

John froze. “Dad?”

But their father’s expression was firm. “I will speak to you when I get home.”

“Yes, father.”

The respect in John’s tone was there, but it wasn’t. Before their Dad could respond, he blinked out.

Grey eyes frowned.

Oh shit.

The room was silent for a moment, each of the boys staring up at their father, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Dad, John knows what he is doing.”

Those grey eyes flickered to Virgil. “I’m sure he does.” But the sincerity wasn’t there.

Shit.

It had been a long time since he had seen his father angry, but apparently that time was up. “Dad, read the mission reports. There is ample reason for John’s response.”

“Perhaps, but not without discussing it first.”

“I trust him.” The words were parched and tired, but they came from Scott. For the first time those blue eyes, despite being bloodshot and weary, were clear. “I trust John to do what needs to be done.”

Their father continued to frown, but a flash of vulnerability and uncertainty crossed his expression before it once again firmed. “I will discuss it with John.”

“Jeff?” Virgil jumped. He had forgotten his grandmother was in the room. “You need sleep. We are going home.” She stood up off Scott’s bed and brushed her fingers against his cheek. “You feel better, Scotty, you hear me?”

His hand gently took hers and squeezed. “Yes, Grandma.”

She leant over and kissed his forehead, before moving around the end of his bed and doing the same to Alan. A squeeze of Gordon’s hand and a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and she was opening the door. “Jeff?”

Virgil looked up at his father and discovered exhaustion itself. Quietly. “You need sleep, Dad.”

“I’m fine, Virgil.” The snarl in those words had Virgil stepping back.

“Jeff.” Grandma’s tone was firm as was her frown.

Their father nodded once, his eyes darting to each of his boys before he turned and left.

The door closed quietly behind him.

“Shit.” It was an exhaled breath from Gordon as he stared at the door. “Dad’s pissed.”

“Dad is exhausted.” Virgil’s tone was just as firm as Grandma’s.

“You better warn John.” Scott’s voice was still dry and Virgil took those few extra steps closer to his bedside, taking the space left by his grandmother.

A quick comm to John and his exasperated response bounced about the room. “Lemaire was asking for it.”

Virgil’s tone was reassuring. “I’m not the one you’ll have to convince. It was Dad’s business. We should have thought of how he would react.”

John’s sigh was just as tired as any of the Tracys. “Eos has killed the newsfeed. Damage control is in place. Lemaire is still an idiot. He just made it easier with all his chest puffing and grandstanding.” A pause. “Scott?”

Virgil tilted the holoreceiver in his big brother’s direction. “Yes, John?”

John visibly relaxed at the sight of the prone pilot. “Good to see you.”

Scott managed a small smile. “Same. You keeping the execs on their toes?”

A smirk. “Always. You know they love me.”

That smile widened. “Like a case of shingles.” A sigh. “Dad will understand.”

“I hope so.”

“Batten down the hatches.”

“FAB.”

John blinked out and once again the room fell silent. Scott lost the smile and once again fell to tired and wan. “Scott, how about we go out for a little sunshine.”

Kayo immediately started. “Virgil, security-“

He held up a hand. “Task us with as many officers as you like. Scott has been in here for days.”

“Virgil-“

“Okay.” Scott’s voice cut off the both of them and sudden touch of elation in those bloodshot eyes was enough to cancel out the minor risk involved.

Virgil turned to Kayo. “We won’t go far.”

She glared. “No, you won’t because, I’m going with you.”

He shrugged. “Fine. We’ll enjoy your company.” And before any further protest could arise, He undocked Scott’s hoverbed and pushed it towards the exit. A glance in Kayo’s direction, which prompted another glare from his sister, and she opened the door, while simultaneously speaking over her comms.

He arched an eyebrow as both Jez and Iz appeared in the hallway as Virgil and Scott emerged from the room.

“You’re going to pay for this one, Virg.” There was a touch of amusement in Scott’s tired voice.

Virgil grinned. “It’s worth it.”

-o-o-o-

Alan stared as the door shut behind his brothers and sister, leaving the room suddenly empty except for Gordon and himself.

“Well, that was entertaining.” Gordon resumed his perch on the end of Alan’s bed.

Alan didn’t answer him.

“You okay?”

“Hmm?”

“Dad and John will work it out, don’t worry.”

Alan ignored him and hit his comms. “Eos, you there?”

“Yes, Alan, how are you feeling?”

“Getting better. Hey, could you please send the mission report and recordings to my tablet?”

“Are you sure? Mrs Tracy would be upset if you are tiring yourself out.” There was proof of intelligence for you, respect for Grandma. Or it could just be a survival instinct.

Now Gordon was frowning at him.

“I’m good, Eos, I just need to check by memories against what actually happened. Call it a data check.”

“Oh, okay, sending now.”

His tablet on the bedtable pinged and he grabbed it.

“Allie, whatcha doing?”

“I remember something.”

Gordon’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m not sure. It’s vague and it’s bugging me.” He pulled up the reports. John’s neat English bouncing off the screen, explaining the lead up to the explosion and the resultant rescue of his brothers. He pulled up the comm records and listened to the bounce back between himself and Scott just before the explosion. It was extremely odd to hear himself saying words he didn’t remember. Alan helped his brother secure the three rescuees and then returned to the habitat for one last reconnaissance in order to declare the site clear.

His last transmission was “Scott! I need-“ The signal cut as Thunderbird Five’s sensors registered the explosion.

Alan frowned, something stirring in his gut. It felt wrong. Something was wrong. Without saying a thing, he pulled the full sensor logs from Five. He tracked his position and Scott’s position. The rescuees trailed out behind his brother. They were the only lifesigns on sensors.

He watched himself stop not far from the fuel tanks, the distance that had nearly taken his life. Why did he stop? The signal went out to Scott. “Scott! I need-“ And the eruption of heat was blinding.

“What did I need?”

He jumped as he realised Gordon was standing right next to him, staring over his shoulder. “Alan? Talk to me.”

“I...I remember a radiation symbol. You know, the same one on the radiology doors. The fuel tanks were carbon-based fuels, not radioactive. But I remember that symbol.” His finger poked the tablet and the recording replayed. “What did I need?”

“Take a deep breath, Allie.”

Alan frowned at his brother. “I’m fine. It means something, I just don’t know what.”

Gordon reached over and poked the tablet a couple of times. “Check out what the station was stocking. Those reclamation plants pull all sorts of things out of old junk.”

“I already checked. They had space for radioactive materials. Most of the older satellites were nuclear powered. But their storage bins were recorded as empty. John checked that before we even arrived on site in case we needed to take precautions.”

Gordon sat on the bed beside him, his frown getting deeper by the moment. A tap of his comms. “Eos?”

“Yes, Gort?”

Gordon groaned.

Alan snorted. The names changed each time and each time was always amusing. Gordon was going to regret that joke for a lifetime.

“I’m not in the mood, Eos. This is serious.”

“Yes, Thunderbird Fork.”

“Gah. Eos, I said I’m sorry.”

“You said this was important, Gork.”

“Can you please give us a rundown on the supply and delivery runs to and from Oxy-Baker Reclamation Station 094 leading up to the incident.”

“Most certainly, Pork.”

Alan couldn’t help the grin as the data rolled onto his tablet. Three pages in it became obvious that there was a data error.

“These numbers don’t match.” Alan was glaring at the tables. “The carbon-based fuel capacity is to be expected, but they haven’t had a pickup for either their radioactive materials or precious metals in two weeks and yet both storage crates register nothing.”

“Maybe they had a dip in processing. Eos? Can we access their reclamation intake rate?”

“One moment, Mork.”

Alan grinned again. “Ork, ork, ork!”

He was rewarded by a scuff up the back of his head.

“Hey, injured here.”

Eos ignored their by-play. “According to their records, there was no dip in processing or change in product salvage. In fact, they recently broke down one of the earlier military reconnaissance satellites just this week. Definitely nuclear powered. Those statistics are incorrect.”

Alan stared at the numbers and fought his memory, begging it to give him more. The sick feeling in his gut got worse. “I think something happened, Gordy.”

A hand landed on his good shoulder and squeezed. He looked up at his brother and found concern in those russet brown eyes. “Allie?”

But he knew Gordon knew the answer before he said it.

“I don’t think the explosion was an accident.”

-o-o-o-

End Part Five

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Alan Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Jeff Tracy #Grandma Tracy #sally tracy #John Tracy #Scott Tracy

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nearly-theyre · 4 years ago

Text

haikyuu: multi-work series fic recs!

hello friends! we are back at it again with another fic rec list ~

find me on twitter and ao3 (where you can see all the fics I didn’t get to put on this rec list!) ~

LET’S BEGIN

FORMAT:

“title” (ratings) by author (a ✰ means the series is HIGHLY recommended!)

link

Works: # Complete: Yes/No

Warnings: will consist of ALL warnings present in the series, although each warning present may not be present in EVERY fic of the series

description / notes of the series OR the summary of the first fic

WARNINGS AND WORKS/COMPLETE ARE AS OF 8/3/2020 !!!! MAKE SURE YOU ALWAYS READ WARNINGS/TAGS/SUMMARIES BEFORE READING!

“cafe backrooms and serendiptuous shenanigans.” (NR) by turnaboutcafe

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774060

Works: 4 Complete: No

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

in which the haikyuu!! characters work in a university cafe.

in publishing order i. what a bother. / kuroken ii. personal space. / iwaoi iii. cafe latte. / bokuaka iv. wrong order. / kagehina

“Being Human” (T/M/E) by shions_heart

https://archiveofourown.org/series/660140

Works: 7 Complete: No

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings / No Archive Warnings Apply / Graphic Depictions of Violence

Set in an alternate world of magic, witches, and demons, our volleyball sons learn about life, love, and what it means to be human.

“Sometimes You Just Clique” (G/T) by SoVeryAverageMe

https://archiveofourown.org/series/695778

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

No one expected the spoiled rich kid, popular football captain, arrogant school genius, and uptight class president to become best friends following The Incident™ their junior year. Underneath their differing facades and personal armors, lay a bed of similar insecurities and anxieties. This is the story of how they met and what happened afterwards, because sometimes when you meet the right group of people you just... clique.

“omam verse” (T/M/E) by shions_heart

https://archiveofourown.org/series/403992

Works: 4 Complete: No

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence / Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Though some may believe they're monsters, those closest to them know they're just men learning how to love in this world of magic, demons, and faeries.

“iwfyitd verse” (G/T/M/E) by shions_heart, knightswatch ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/378352

Works: 7 Complete: Yes

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence / Major Character Death / Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

The story of a band of Super Soldiers trying to save the world, and their loved ones who fight alongside them.

“a park in amsterdam” (M) by Resamille

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1239377

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Summary of the first fic: They come together unexpectedly. They each have memories: a friend once held dear, now gone. The trail has led them here, and maybe, along the way, they remember each other too.

Or: Over twenty years ago, witch law decreed a split between magic and non-magic worlds. Five humans were the first casualties in the protest. Their five soulmates were left to pick up the pieces.

“Hanamaki Disease: Disturbing the peace of volleyball teams everywhere” (G/T) by Ink_stained_quills

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604839

Works: 4 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Hanamaki disease: when Hanamaki Takahiro must “eyy” whenever he sees someone crushing. A friend to couples and menace to pining people everywhere (or is he?)

“Seijoh Sweets: Aoba Johsai Artisinal Bakery” (T) by FindingSchmomo

https://archiveofourown.org/series/525493

Works: 3 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Collection of Oneshots taking place in my Aoba Johsai Bakery AU

“Haikyuu at Hogwarts” (G/T) by Killthespare ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/952755

Works: 4 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply / Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Pretty much as the title suggests: a Hogwarts!AU with Haikyuu. It's planned as a seven book series so definitely a longer series. This first few can be read out of order with only minor confusion (about as easily as the first few Harry Potter books can) but there is an overall series plot in addition to the individual plots of each story. As of the fourth book, the previous third story should really be read before the fourth or later books.

So far, the stories in order: 1.) Shouyou Hinata and the Mirror of Erised (complete) 2.) Koushi Sugawara and the Heir of Slytherin (complete) 3.) Yu Nishinoya and the Shrieking Shack (complete) 4.) Tooru Oikawa and the Triwizard Tournament (in progress)

“hq detective AUs” (M) by valiantarmor ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/234750

Works: 3 Complete: Yes

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply / Graphic Depictions of Violence

A series of detective AUs.

“Carving Out A Life” (M/T) by RoseSakura ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429972

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence / No Archive Warnings Apply

Zombie Apocalypse AUs - including both longer stories and little one shots

“The Big Bads” (T) by fandom_cat

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612339

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

A collection of chats between different HQ characters! Works can be read separately but what's the fun in that? ;) Oh, and gay: gay everywhere.

Lots of things getting discussed. Mostly light-hearted though, fun was had, jokes were made. Any additional trigger warnings listed before chapters.

“chiaroscuro” (T) by newamsterdam ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/434134

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

chiaroscuro: the interplay of darkness and light.

“We’re called guardians,” Kuro says. “Over time, people have had different names for us, but it really all comes back to that. We’re shifters, shaper-changers… the name doesn’t really matter. What does is that we’re supposed to keep the two kinds of magical forces in the world balanced.” He rattles this off with a roll of his eyes, as though it’s something he’s heard many times over.

Kenma thinks back to the curling snake made of shadows, to Sugawara’s words: People who shine brightly attract a lot of darkness.

“Shadows and light,” he says, not quite a question.

Kuro nods approvingly. “Basically, yeah. There’s a bit more to it than that—shadow magic is born of independence, of isolation and loneliness. Light magic is connections, the relationships between people. Most people have a low dose of both, go through their entire lives not realizing there’s magic in the world.”

“But not you,” Kenma prompts.

“Unfortunately.”

“Circle Universe” (T) by sandersonsister (REQUIRES AO3 ACCT) ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/826590

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings / No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary of the first fic: It was the omega’s that initiated the courtships, the omega’s that decided who was needed in the circle. But it didn’t worry Kenma. Honestly, there was a particular reason it didn't worry him.

That reason was Kuroo.

He always knew the two of them would be together. And he thought that was enough. He was wrong.

“not just good business” (G/T/NR) by ilgaksu

https://archiveofourown.org/series/307530

Works: 7 Complete: No

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence / Underage / Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Description: credit to hamlet-themouse for their invaluable beta throughout this series so far.

Summary of the first fic: It's been years since Kenma bought that pearly-pink powder and tried it on to go meet Kuroo after his shift, been years since Kuroo wiped his hands on his overalls and looked up and said don't you touch them like that. It's been years since he opened the door to the mob. They are the mob now. They're the ones knocking down the doors.

“Shiratorizawa Family” (G) by someonelikej

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857982

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Mostly non-related one-shots and short stories portraying the Shiratorizawa team as a family.

“Domestic Cats” (M) by Avogara

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717717

Works: 2 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

A collection of domestic, homey, post-timeskip Kuroken fluff

“‘Til Human Voices Wake Us” (T) by strikinglight

https://archiveofourown.org/series/393289

Works: 2 Complete: Yes

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings / No Archive Warnings Apply

Haikyuu Pacific Rim Diptych, feat. Daisuga and Kuroken as primary victims

“The Heart of Nekoma” (T/M) by shions_heart

https://archiveofourown.org/series/339679

Works: 3 Complete: Yes

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

The story of a penniless thief and the magical gem who steals his heart.

“brunch friends” (T/M) by newamsterdam ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/612757

Works: 3 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary of the first fic: “Iwaizumi’s left his cell phone on the bench, and while Suga keeps his gaze away from Iwaizumi the phone lights up with a new message.

Iwa-chan, it reads, Have a good day today! Good luck! <3 <3 <3

Suga chokes. It’s hard to imagine anyone calling the scowling and fierce Doctor Iwaizumi “Iwa-chan.” But marriage probably comes with all sorts of liberties.

Mrs. Iwaizumi must be quite the doting wife, Suga thinks. Delivering hand-made bentos and sending along loving messages.”

No one really knows much about the new surgical resident, Doctor Iwaizumi, other than the fact that he's married. Suga's determined to find out more, and make a friend of him in the process

“Among Us” (M) by dgalerab ✰

https://archiveofourown.org/series/540973

Works: 5 Complete: No

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence / Rape/Non-Con / Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

X-men AU with my favorite volleydorks.

“It’s A Good Life” (G/T) by LisaVanDerMolen

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615756

Works: 3 Complete: No

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply / Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Summary of the first fic: Kenma opened his eyes again and looked at the door. The dark hallway greeted him, something was wrong. And then he saw it, a small figure peeking at him from behind the door. Big golden eyes like his own greeted him. Kenma felt himself smiling at the sight in front of him, when he heard soft sniffles.

Kenma and Kuroo awaken to their kid crying and comfort him while not knowing what's wrong.

And that’s all for today folks! Hit me up here on tumblr or in my twitter DM’s if you want more recs or want to discuss any of the fics on this list in more depth! I’m happy to help you find the perfect series!

Show these authors some love - don’t forget to kudos, comment, and message them on their socials to show your appreciation!

take your meds, drink water, eat some food, get enough sleep, and reach out to someone today! I love you and you got this!

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic recs #fanfiction #fic recs #writing #fandom #ao3 #archive of our own #n e ways i love fanfiction and these authors deserve more love!

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celmation-gibson · 5 years ago

Photo

Hello, Well 2018 was a Great time for Cinemas, and what a Year for such Creature Features such as the ones I will be reviewing here, and now may I present to you some reviews of the movies that I've observed on the Big Screen that year.

Pacific Rim: Uprising – My First movie to see in Theaters since I couldn’t find a Perfect time to see Aardman’s ‘Early Man’, but I’m pretty sure this Year would be a Monster of a Movie experience in the Cinemas. Since I’ve have and Watched the First film on DVD, I would think that I should enjoy its Sequel that has been made, and even though Mr. Guillermo Del Toro (the first film’s Director) didn’t direct this Film, he Helped Produce it as well. And as I said before, I do Love a Good Giant monster film, and this film was always filled with Suspense, Action, & Drama, and I would Fear that there won’t be any Hope left if those Giant Monsters win. Also it breaks my Heart wide Open to see a Character who I say and Liked in the First film died in this one. And that one Villainous Character is sure a Wicked Dick (*pardon my Language*) about this one being Possessed by a Kaiju Masterminded Brain. And surprising how that Rouge Jaeger was controlled by a Kaiju Brain, Hit him once & he’ll hit you back Twice as Hard. But I’m glad the heroes win in this Battle, and it took near the Tail end of the Film for the Movie’s Title to appear, unlike the First one where you wait 15-20 minutes for the Main Title to appear in a longest prologue, but for Me, I would almost stick with the Original Film.

Rampage – As I said before, I do Love a Good Giant monster Movie, and this is one of them. And it was a God-Epic monster Mash, even had some hilarious Moments, like when George flips the Bird, and I was like “Did that Primate just flip a Bird?”, though I do know another Ape who can Flip a Bird. And not to mention that the movie is actually based off an Old Arcade game of the same name, and if you Look very closely in the Office Building of Energyne, there are Arcade Cabinets of the Original ‘Rampage’ game, and ‘Rampage: World Tour(?), though I’m not quite sure what the other one is. And the monsters are Hardcore Badass, I don’t know which one(s) are Great (though I pick all of them), and for Bonus, there was another Creature in the Beginning of this Film that was a Rat Test subject. And the Sequence where they hunt the Giant Wolf Down was Awesome and it gave me Goosebumps completely. Plus some Good Elements from the Game is Included as Well, such as Eating People, Tearing down a Building from top to bottom, the military being involved, and Destruction of the monsters themselves. Even when me and my Dad were watching it in the Theaters, and when Dad watched the Commercials for the Film, one of his Favorite Quotes from the movie was “And of course the Wolf Flies”, LOL! And the Lizard Monster in the Film was so Massive & a “Pain in the Ass”, there was no End in that Creature, even when you plant an Explosion in his Ears & throw Missiles at him, he gets back up again, and I thought the Impalement on George would have Killed him Completely, but it was just thru his Shoulders and Thank goodness not the Heart Area or Between the Chests. But still, this film was an Epic Fun Thrillride, the characters are Great & Fun-filled, and I guaranteed this Year would be a Monster Movie Experience in the Theaters.

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom - Well, me and my Dad seen the first 'Jurassic World' in Theaters back in 2015, so we figured since we love Dinosaur movies, we go this this latest update, and to our Surprise, Original Jurassic Park star Mr. Jeff Goldblum (the big Chill, the Fly(1986)) will be starring in Guest Role, and it was a Surprise seeing him in a Honda(?) commercial to promote the Film. And That my Foodtown was already selling products, even sodas & Chips in Promoting the Features, and it featured some of my Favorite Dinosaurs in the Film such as the Classic T-Rex, and boy was that Opening Scene in the Pouring Rain so Intense, the Surviving Raptor of the Original JW film Blue, who is one of my Favorite 'Good Guy' Raptors, the Comical Dino Hard-head Stiggy, who I find entertaining & Funny in the Movie, and My Favorite Villainous Dinosaur, the IndoRaptor, and if you think the Indomenous Rex in 'Jurassic World' was Terrifying, this IndoRaptor is one Badass Creep, even when she(?) smiles while playing Dead while one of the Soldier guys was about to Chip a Tooth off her, kinda gives it like a Cartoon-y feel to it like the minor ones in 'the Adventures of Pinocchio'(1996). And that Epic moment where the Island was in Volcanic Eruption was so Frantic, even one scene in the Film was shot in One single Lengthy shot during those Round Vehicle Thingies, an I thought the Part where one of the Brachiosaurus was Left behind on the Island while Massive smoke was covering him was the most Disturbed sequences in the Film. Well i certainly enjoyed the film, while my Daddy didn't, cuz he thought there wasn't much action or creature footage in the film, as he thought there was more of some "Love Stories" being put into it, that's why he might like 'Rampage' more, where they showed some monsters earlier in the film, but you might say that some Critics praised Pratt's and Howard's performance, Bayona's direction, the visuals, Michael Giacchino's score and the "surprisingly dark moments", while others suggested the series had run its course, criticizing the screenplay and lack of innovation.

Hotel Transylvania 3: Summer Vacation - Well, Mr. Genndy Tartakovsky Never Fails to impress us with this Three-times Charmer, and how Lucky was I to reserve a Seating to see this on my Birthday of 2018, after a Good Morning at the Meadowlands flea Market, and a goof Lunch at Taco Bell, I hit the Theaters with my Dad, and the Movie was Fantastic, and since Mr. Genndy Tartakovsky Co-written this Film (along with one of the 'Austin Powers' writer), I know what some Moments in the Film, there are certain scenes that are free of Dialogue, just like the ones in 'Samurai Jack'. And it was a-bit strange to see a Character from one the 'Hotel Transylvania' shorts that I've never seen, and that short was "Puppy", but in order to watch the short (even for myself), I have to watch that Gross-out 'Emoji movie' for it. But for HT3, the Climatic part of the DJ Battle with Professor Van Helsing (Drac's old Nemesis, and was surprise to see him still Alive in Machine parts) & the Kraken was Awesome, I didn't remember the first Official song played, but I do know the second being 'Don't Worry, be Happy', and the Final one was none other than the 'Macarena' and supposedly it's the Extended River remix version of the song which I have on my I-Tunes and have no regret in Purchasing it, along with Daft Punk's 'One More Time'. So I like the Film and can't wait to get it for Christmas, along with 'Rampage' this Year. And I even heard that Genndy will be working more at SPA where he will be set to Direct an R-rated animated feature titled 'Fixed', and an Adventure Film named 'Black Knight'.

Smallfoot - When I saw some Preview ads on CartoonBrew, I thought this looks kinda Weird and thought I'd just pass on it, but after seeing some TV Ads for the film, and seeing how interesting it looks, I thought I'd give it a shot, and kinda find the movie very Interesting if you wanna feel Young at Heart, and was Lucky to see it on Columbus Day, the only Actor(s) in the Cast i know were comedian Danny Devito & Basketball superstar Lebron James, and to my surprise seeing the closing credit of the film that Cartoonist Justin Roiland voiced in the film as well as one of the Yeti folks in the Kingdom, and I only know the names Common & Gina Rodriguez starring in the film. And the Music and songs in the Film are Nice, and I like how some Advance the Characters or Advance the plot, and it was Hilarious hearing one Song being sung in the tune of Queen/David Bowie's 'Under Pressure', and since Common is a Rapper in real-life, he did a Good Singing on when the Stonekeeper himself tells Migo that Humans & Yetis were Enemies in the old ages. And the other reasone I like watching this film is that I'm also Fascinated with Yetis and Drawing them, as you can see from my old 'YETI & other Stories' story in my Gallery, and one of my Yeti inspirations was the old Unfinished/soon-to-be-Finished David Allen film 'the Primevals'. And don't forget that the SF film was inspired by a book called 'Yeti Tracks', which is a good thing that some Films were based on Books such as 'Mr. Popper's Penguins', 'Home', & 'the Adventures of Pinocchio(1996)'. And I like how the Film was promoted "from the Studio who brought you 'Looney Tunes'" in which case, it is made by Warner Bros., and also the people who worked on 'Storks', and this film now made me think of two Environmental Animated films from 20th century Fox such as 'Ferngully: the Last Rainforest' & 'Once upon a Forest'.

Halloween(2018) - I never even heard that the Original 1978 classic is getting a Remake, although It may not look like a remake, but a True sequel to the Original film, and avoiding stuff on what happened in 'Halloween II(1981)', 'Halloween 4 -Curse', & 'H20'. And I read that the original star Ms. Jamie Lee Curtis will be in this Film, as well as being executive producer for the feature along with the Original 1978 Film's Director Mr. John Carpenter, as in they want to make it look Perfect as the original Monsterpiece, and they did succeed in it in Keeping the Spirit & Atmosphere like the 1978 movie. And I gotta say, Micheal Myers is one 'Pain-in-the-Ass' monster in this Film, like he always is in the original series, and I feel sorry for the People who got killed by that Creep, the Podcasters, the Boy who was equipped with a Gun along with his daddy, and a Woman who Micheal murdered and left a Baby behind. And an amazing thing my dad found in a Twist of Story is when Micheal got hit by the Sheriff, the Sheriff and the Late Dr. Loomis' student professor went out to investigate and kill Micheal, only for the Sheriff to be killed by the Professor, and when the Professor dude wore Micheal's mask, my dad thought that he was gonna be the New Micheal Myers, but Micheal resurfaced and soon killed the Professor afterwards. And one part in the Film which left the Audience in an applause is a Sequence that was based off the Original film, when Micheal attacked Laurie and pushed her off the Balcony, he saw her Body Lying there, but when Micheal turned away and looked back again, she was gone, just like what happened in the 1978's film ending. even after watching this film with my dad, he still had alot of Questions need to be Answered about some parts in the film, and I wish they showed more of the Ending with Micheal being Burned alive in the Cellar. And this may be one Creepy Classic that i might never watch again, but I just stick with the original Masterpiece of Fright & Shock.

the Grinch - Man, I am seeing alot of Good films in 2018, and this one may be the Last that interest me that Year, and this one was an Adaption of Dr. Suess' Classic Holiday Tale, 'How the Grinch stole Christmas', or simply titled 'the Grinch'. And seeing how Interesting it looks after seeing some Previews and TV Ads, especially that part where the Grinch whispers to Max and Fred "This is the Loudest Snow I've ever heard in my Life", I've decided to give it a Go, and hoping to see if it's Fascinating like the Original 1966 Animated Classic and more Better than the 2000 Live-Action Jim Carrey one, and it was. How lucky i was to see this movie on a Day off afternoon on a Wednesday, and I thought i would be the only one seeing the Film in Theaters, but it was also some Girls and their Parents & Guardians, possibly had a Half a day off. But for the Film, I Loved how the Narrator of the Film narrates in Rhyme, like the Original Dr. Suess books, and how the Writers improvised the Story using the same Lines in the Books, and It had a Great choices in Christmas soundtrack, especially in the part with Grinch Wake-up Radio with some Familiar tunes I know and Cherished. And it was a Great Film produced by the Wonders of Illumination, the Wizards behind 'Despicable me', 'the Secret Life of Pets', & 'Sing', plus they did another Dr. Sues adaption such as 'the Lorax', even some of the character designs in the film made me think of the Designs from Disney features such as 'Wreck-It Ralph' & 'Monster University'. And some of the Voice Cast in the film I know of was Keenan Thompson of 'All That' & 'Keenan & Kel' voicing Bricklebaum, a jolly citizen of Whoville, and Angela Lansbury as the Whoville's Mayor, and how Surprised/Not Surprised to hear another Familiar Voice in the Film playing one of Cindy Lou's Friends, who that boy is none other than Mr. Sam Lavagnino, the Voice of Baby Grizz in 'We Bare Bears' & Pepper and Alien King in 'Summer Camp Island'. And I'd thought Ms. Cindy Lou Who would have a cute design just like the one in the 1966 Classic, and she did have a Cuter design in this Film when it comes to the Creative Artists of Illumination. And Yet, this has become another Holiday Classic, and when I told my Mother how much Fun it is, she might be hoping to get the Film on DVD for my Niece to Enjoy.

There was a Movie called 'the Meg', though I may have interest to see that, but I wasn't sure how much interested I will be with the Whole thing. And sorry if I didn't felt like seeing 'Ralph breaks the Internet' or 'Into the Spider-Verse', I go for the Obscure & Non-Disney taste in the Cinemas as of now.

#2018 #best of #movies #smallfoot #the grinch #pacific rim uprising #rampage #jurassic world fallen kingdom #hotel transylvania 3 #Halloween #george #reviews #cindy lou who #indoraptor #my artwork #drawing

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gottaread13 · 5 years ago

Text

ELEVEN

WAITING ON DOC’S DOORSILL AT WORK WAS A POSTCARD FROM some island he had never heard of out in the Pacific Ocean, with a lot of vowels in it’s name. The cancellation was in French and initialed by a local postmaster, along with the notation courier par lance-coco which as close as he could figure from the Petit Larousse must mean some kind of catapult mail delivery involving coconut shells, maybe as a way of dealing with an unapproachable reef. The message on the card was unsigned, but he knew it was from Shasta. “I wish you could see these waves. Its one more of these places a voice from somewhere else tells you you have to be. Remember that day with the Ouija board? I miss those days and I miss you. I wish so many things could be different… Nothing was supposed to happen this way, Doc, I’m so sorry.” Maybe she was, then again, maybe not. But what about this Ouija board? Doc went stumbling through his city dump of a memory. Oh …oh, sure, dimly… it had been during one of those prolonged times of no dope, nobody had any, everybody was desperate and suffering lapses of judgment. People were opening up cold capsules and laboriously sorting the thousands of tiny beads inside by color, in the belief that each color stood for a different belladonna alkaloid, which taken in big enough doses would get them loaded. They were snorting nutmeg, drinking cocktails of Visine and inexpensive wine, eating packets of morning-glory seeds despite rumors that the seed companies were coating them with some chemical that would make you throw up. Anything. One day when Doc and Shasta were over at Sortilege’s house, she mentioned this Ouija board she had. Doc had a brainflash. “Hey! You think it knows where we can score?” Sortilege raised her eyebrows and shrugged, but waved a go- ahead hand at the board. The usual suspicions then arose, like how could you be sure the other person wasn’t deliberately moving the planchette to make it look like some message from beyond, and so on. “Easy as pie,” Sortilege said, “just do it all by yourself.” Following her instructions, Doc breathed himself deeply and carefully into a receptive state, letting the tips of his fingers rest as lightly as possible on the planchette. “Now, make your request, and see what happens.” “Groovy,” said Doc. “Hey—where can I find some dope, man? a-and, you know, good shit?” The planchette took off like a jackrabbit, spelling out almost faster than Shasta could copy an address down Sunset somewhat east of Vermont, and even throwing in a phone number, which Doc promptly dialed. “Howdy, dopers,” cooed a female voice, “we’ve got whatever you need, and remember—the sooner you get over here, the more there’ll be left for you.” “Yeah like whom I talking to? Hello? Hey!” Doc looked at the receiver, puzzled. “She just hung up.” “Could’ve been a recording,” said Sortilege. “Did you hear what she was screaming at you? ‘Stay away! I am a police trap!’” “You want to come along, keep us out of trouble?” She looked doubtful. “I have to advise you at this point that it might not be anything. See, the problem about Ouija boards—” But Doc and Shasta were already out the door and soon rattling up the chuckholed obstacle course known as Rosecrans Boulevard under a cloudless sky, in the sort of perfect daylight you always saw on TV cop shows, unshaded even by the eucalyptus trees that had recently all been chopped down. KHJ was playing a Tommy James & the Shondells marathon. Commercial-free in fact. What could be more auspicious? Even before they reached the airport, something about the light had begun to go weird. The sun vanished behind clouds which grew thicker by the minute. Up in the hills among the oil pumps, the first raindrops began to fall, and by the time Doc and Shasta got to La Brea they were in the middle of a sustained cloudburst. This was way too unnatural. Ahead, someplace over Pasadena, black clouds had gathered, not just dark gray but midnight black, tar-pit black, hitherto- unreported-circle-of-Hell black. Lightning bolts had begun to descend across the L.A. Basin singly and in groups, followed by deep, apocalyptic peals of thunder. Everybody had turned their headlights on, though it was midday. Water came rushing down the hillsides of Hollywood, sweeping mud, trees, bushes, and many of the lighter types of vehicle on down into the flatlands. After hours of detouring for landslides and traffic jams and accidents, Doc and Shasta finally located the mystically revealed dope dealers address, which turned out to be an empty lot with a gigantic excavation in it, between a laundromat and an Orange Julius-plus-car wash, all of them closed. In the thick mist and lashing rain, you couldn’t even see to the other side of the hole. “Hey. I thought there was supposed to be a lot of dope around here.” What Sortilege had tried to point out about Ouija boards, as Doc learned later back at the beach, while wringing out his socks and looking for a hair dryer, was that concentrated around us are always mischievous spirit forces, just past the threshold of human perception, occupying both worlds, and that these critters enjoy nothing better than to mess with those of us still attached to the thick and sorrowful catalogs of human desire. “Sure!” was their attitude, “you want dope? Here’s your dope, you fucking idiot.” Doc and Shasta sat parked by the edge of the empty swamped rectangle and watched it’s edges now and then slide in, and then after a while things rotated ninety degrees, and it began to look, to Doc at least, like a doorway, a great wet temple entrance, into someplace else. The rain beat down on the car roof, lightning and thunder from time to time interrupting thoughts of the old namesake river that had once run through this town, long canalized and tapped dry, and crippled into a public and anonymous confession of the deadly sin of greed…. He imagined it filling again, up to it’s concrete rim, and then over, all the water that had not been allowed to flow here for all these years now in unrelenting return, soon beginning to occupy the arroyos and cover the flats, all the swimming pools in the backyards filling up and overflowing and flooding the lots and streets, all this karmic waterscape connecting together, as the rain went on falling and the land vanished, into a sizable inland sea that would presently become an extension of the Pacific. It was funny that of all things to mention in the limited space of a coconut-launched postcard Shasta should have picked that day in the rain. It had stuck with Doc somehow too, even though it came at a point late in their time together, when she was already halfway out the door and Doc saw it happening but was letting it happen, and despite it there they were, presently making out frantically, like kids at the drive-in, steaming up the windows and getting the seat covers wet. Forgetting for a few minutes how it was all going to develop anyway. Back at the beach, the rain continued, and every day up in the hills, another fragment of real estate came sliding down. Insurance salesmen had Brylcreem running down into their collars, and stewardii found it impossible even with half- gallon cans of hair spray purchased in duty-free zones far away to maintain their hairdos in anything close to a stylish flip. The termitic houses of Gordita Beach had all turned to the consistency of wet sponge, emergency plumbers reached in to squeeze the beams and joists, thinking of their own winter homes in Palm Springs. People began to go crazy even while on the natch. Some enthusiast, claiming to be George Harrison of the Beatles, tried to hijack the Goodyear Blimp, moored at it’s winter quarters at the intersection of the Harbor and San Diego Freeways, and make it fly him to Aspen, Colorado, in the rain. The rain had a peculiar effect on Sortilege, who was just around then beginning to get obsessed by Lemuria and it’s tragic final days. “You were there in a former life,” Doc theorized. “I dream about it, Doc. I wake up so sure sometimes. Spike feels that way, too. Maybe it’s all this rain, but we’re starting to have the same dreams. We can’t find a way to return to Lemuria, so it’s returning to us. Rising up out of the ocean—‘hi Leej, hi Spike, long time ain’t it…’” “It talked to you guys?” “I don’t know. It isn’t just a place.”

DOC TURNED OVER Shasta’s postcard now and stared at the picture on the front. It was a photo taken underwater of the ruins of some ancient city—broken columns and arches and collapsed retaining walls. The water was supernaturally clear and seemed to emit a vivid blue-green light. Fish, what Doc guessed you’d call tropical, were swimming back and forth. It all seemed familiar. He looked for a photo credit, a copyright date, a place of origin. Blank. He rolled a joint and lit up and considered. This had to be a message from someplace besides a Pacific island whose name he couldn’t pronounce. He decided to go back and visit the Ouija-board address, which, being the site of a classic dope misadventure, had remained permanently entered in his memory. Denis came along for muscle. The hole in the ground was gone, and in it’s place rose a strangely futuristic building. From the front it might have been taken at first for some kind of religious structure, smoothly narrow and conical, like a church spire only different. Whoever put it up must have had a pretty comfortable budget to work with, too, because the whole outside had been covered in gold leaf. Then Doc noticed how this tall pointed shape was also curved away from the street. He went down the block a little way and looked back to get a side view, and when he saw how dramatic the curve was and how sharp the point at the top, he finally tumbled. Aha! In the old L.A. tradition of architectural whimsy, this structure was supposed to be a six- story-high golden fang. “Denis, I’m gonna look around for a while, you want to wait in the car or come in and cover my back or something?” “I was gonna go try and find a pizza,” Denis said. Doc handed him the car keys. “And… they did have driver ed at Leuzinger High.” bure. “And you remember this is a stick, not automatic and so forth.” “I’m cool, Doc.” And Denis sped off.

THE FRONT DOOR was nearly invisible, more of a big access panel that fit snugly into the curving façade. In the lobby beneath a tasteful sign in sans-serif face reading GOLDEN FANG ENTERPRISES, INC. \ CORPORATE HQ and behind a nameplate of her own that said “Xandra, hi!” sat an Asian receptionist wearing a black vinyl jumpsuit and a distant expression, who asked him in a semi-Brit accent whether he was sure he had the right place. “This is the address they told me at the Club Asiatique in San Pedro? Just here to pick up a package for the management?” Xandra reached for a telephone, punched a button, murmured into it, listened, gave Doc another doubtful once- over, stood, and led him across the reception area to a brushed- metallic door. It took only a step or two for him to dig that she’d logged more dojo hours in the year previous than he’d spent in front of the tube in his whole life—not the sort of young lady whose displeasure you’d go looking to provoke. “Second office on the left. Dr. Blatnoyd will see you in a moment.” Doc found the office and looked around for something to check out his hair in but saw only a small yellow-framed feng shui mirror by the door. The face looking back did not seem to be his own. “This is not promising,” he muttered. Behind a titanium desk, the window revealed a stretch of lower Sunset—taquerías, low-rent hotels, pawn shops. There were beanbag chairs and a range of magazines—Foreign Affairs, Sinsemilla Tips, Modern Psychopath, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists— that gave Doc no handle on the clientele here. He started paging through 2000 Hairdos and was just getting into “That Five-Point Scissor Cut—What Your Stylist Isn’t Telling You,” when Dr. Blatnoyd came in wearing a suit in a deep, nearly ultraviolet shade of velvet, with very wide jacket lapels and bell-bottom trousers and accented with a raspberry-colored bow tie and display handkerchief. He seated himself behind the desk, reached for a weighty loose-leaf manual of some kind and began consulting it, squinting over at Doc from time to time. Finally, “So…you have some ID, I imagine.” Doc went looking through his wallet till he found a business card from a Chinese head shop on North Spring Street he thought would do the trick. “I can’t read this, it’s in some … Oriental… what is this, Chinese?” “Well, I figured that you, being Chinese—” “What? what are you talking about?” “‘The … the Golden Fang …’?” “It’s a syndicate, most of us happen to be dentists, we set it up years ago for tax purposes, all legit— Wait,” peering at Doc you’d have to say diagnostically, “where’d you tell Xandra you were from again?” “Uh…” “Why, you’re another one of those hippie dopefiends, aren’t you. My goodness. Here for a little perking up, I’ll bet—” In a jiffy he was out with a tall cylinder of brown glass sealed elaborately with globs of some bright red plastic—“Dig it! just in from Darmstadt, lab quality, maybe I’ll even have some with you...” And before Doc knew it the hectic D.D.S. had a quantity of fluffy white cocaine crystals all chopped up into snortable format and arranged in lines on a nearby copy of Guns &Ammo. Doc shrugged in apology. “I try not to do dope I can’t pay for, ‘s what it is.” “Whoo!” Dr. Blatnoyd had a soda straw and was busy snorting away. “No worries, it’s on the house, as the TV antenna man always sez…Hmm, missed a little...” He took it on his finger and rubbed it enthusiastically into his gums. Doc did half a line in either nostril, just to be sociable, but somehow could not shake the impression that all was not as innocent here as it looked. He had been in a dentist’s office or two, and there was a distinctive smell and a set of vibes that were as absent here as room echoes, which he’d also been wondering about. Like something else was going on— something… not groovy. There was a quiet but no-nonsense knock at the door, and Xandra the receptionist looked in. She had unzipped the top of the jumpsuit, and Doc could now make out this exquisite pair of no-bra tits, their nipples noticeably erect. “Oh, Doctor,” she breathed, half singing it. “Yes, Xandra,” replied Dr. Blatnoyd, moist-nosed and beaming. Xandra nodded and slid away back on out the door again, smiling over her shoulder. “And don’t forget to bring that bottle” “Be right back,” Blatnoyd assured Doc, speeding out after her, eyes frenziedly focused on where her ass had just been, his echoless footsteps soon vanishing into unknown regions of the Golden Fang Building. Doc went over and had a look at the manual on the desk. Titled Golden Fang Procedures Handbook, it was open to a chapter titled “Interpersonal Situations.” “Section Eight— Hippies. Dealing with the Hippie is generally straightforward. His childlike nature will usually respond positively to drugs, sex, and/or rock and roll, although in which order these are to be deployed must depend on conditions specific to the moment.” From the doorway came a loud, violent chirp. Doc looked up and saw a smiling young woman, blond, Californian, presentable, wearing a striped minidress of many different “psychedelic” colors and waving at him vigorously, causing enormous earrings, shaped like pagodas of some kind, to swing back and forth and actually jingle. “Here for my Smile Maintenance appointment with Dr. Rudy!” A blast from the past. “Hey! that’s at Japonica, ain’t it. Japonica Fenway! Imagine meeting you here!” This was not a moment he’d been either dreading or hoping for, though now and then somebody would remind him of the ancient American Indian belief that if you save somebody’s life, you are responsible for them from then on, forever, and he would wonder if any of that applied to his history with Japonica. It had been his first paying gig as a licensed private eye, and pay it did, for sure. The Fenways were heavy-duty South Bay money, living on the Palos Verdes Peninsula in a gated enclave located inside the already gated high-rent community of Rolling Hills. “How am I supposed to come see you,” Doc wondered when Crocker Fenway, Japonica’s dad, called him at the office. “Guess it’ll have to be outside the gates and down in the flats,” said Crocker, “like Lomita?” It was a pretty open-and-shut runaway-daughter case, hardly worth daily scale, let alone the extravagant bonus Crocker insisted on paying when Doc finally brought Japonica back, one lens missing from her wire-rim shades and vomit in her hair, making the handoff in the same parking lot where he and Crocker had met originally. It wasn’t clear if she’d ever clearly registered Doc then, or remembered him now. “So! Japonica! what’ve you been up to?” “Oh, escaping, mostly? There’s this, like, place? that my parents keep sending me to?” Which turned out to be Chryskylodon, the same nut plantation in Ojai that Doc remembered his Aunt Reet mentioning and which Sloane and Mickey had donated a wing to. Though Doc once may have rescued Japonica from a life of dark and unspecified hippie horror, apparently restoration to the bosom of her family had been enough to really drive her around the bend. Against the neutral surface of the wall opposite, Doc had a moment’s visual of an American Indian in full Indian gear, perhaps one of those warriors who wipe out Henry Fonda’s regiment in Fort Apache (1948), approaching with a menacing frown. “Doc responsible for crazy white chick now. What Doc planning to do about that? If anything.” “Excuse me, short man with strange hair? Are you all right?” And on she went without waiting for an answer, twinkling like a roomful of speed freaks hanging Christmas tinsel, about her different escapes. It was beginning to give Doc a headache. Owing to Governor Reagan’s shutdown of most of the state mental facilities, the private sector had been trying in it’s way to pick up some of the slack, soon in fact becoming a standard California child-rearing resource. The Fenways had had Japonica in and out of Chryskylodon on a sort of maintenance-contract basis, depending as always on how they themselves were feeling day to day, for both led emotional lives of unusually high density, and often incoherence. “Some days all I had to do was play the wrong kind of music, and there’s my bags already packed, down in the front hall waiting for the driver.” Soon Chryskylodon had found itself attracting a type of silent benefactor—middle-aged, male, though occasionally female, more focused than usual on the young and mentally disturbed. Freaky chicks and fun-loving dopers! Why do they call it the Love Generation? Come on up to Chryskylodon for a rockin weekend and find out! Absolute discretion guaranteed! Circa 1970, “adult” was no longer quite being defined as in times previous. Among those who could afford to, a strenuous mass denial of the passage of time itself was under way. All across a city long devoted to illusory product, clairvoyant Japonica had seen them, these travelers invisible to others, poised, gazing from smogswept mesa-tops above the boulevards, acknowledging one another across miles and years, summit to summit, in the dusk, under an obscurely enforced silence. Wingfeathers trembled along their naked backs. They knew they could fly. A moment more, an eyeblink in eternity, and they would ascend… So, Dr. Rudy Blatnoyd, out on a first blind date with Japonica at the Sound Mind Caff, a secluded eatery with a patio in back and a menu designed by a resident three-star organic chef, was not only enchanted, he was wondering if somebody hadn’t slipped some new psychedelic into his pomegranate martini. This girl was delightful! Being a little ESP-deficient, of course Rudy failed to appreciate that behind her wide sparkling gaze Japonica was not only thinking about but at this point actually visiting other worlds. The Japonica sitting with the older man in the funny velour suit was actually a Cybernetic Organism, or cyborg, programmed to eat and drink, converse and socialize, while Real Japonica tended to important business elsewhere, because she was the Kozmic Traveler, deep issues Out There awaited, galaxies wheeled, empires collapsed, karma would not be denied, and Real Japonica must always be present at some exact point in five- dimensional space, or chaos would resume it’s dominion. She returned to the Sound Mind to find that Cyborg Japonica had somehow malfunctioned and gone skipping into the kitchen and done something gross to the Soup of the Day, and now they would have to pour it all down the sink. Actually, it was the Soup of the Night, a sinister indigo liquid which probably didn’t deserve much respect, but still, Cyborg Japonica could have showed some self-control. Naughty, impulsive Cyborg Japonica. Perhaps Real Japonica should not let her have those special high-voltage batteries she had been asking for. That would show her. Dr. Blatnoyd, escorting her out through a roomful of disapproving faces, only grew more bedazzled. So this was a free-spirited hippie chick! He saw these girls on the streets of Hollywood, on the TV screen, but this was his first up-close encounter. No wonder Japonica’s parents didn’t know what to do with her—his assumption here, which he didn’t examine too closely, being that he did. “And actually, I wasn’t too sure about who he was till I came in for my first Smile Evaluation…” At which point in Japonica’s reminiscing, in popped the lecherous toothyanker himself, zipping up his fly. “Japonica? I thought we’d agreed never to—” Catching sight of Doc—”oh, you’re still here?” “I escaped again, Rudy,” she twinkled. Denis also now came lurching in. “Hey man, your ride’s in a body shop.” “It signed itself in, Denis?” “I sort of mashed the front end. I was looking at these chicks out on Little Santa Monica—” “You went to Beverly Hills for a pizza, and rear-ended somebody there.” “Needs a new … what do they call that, with the hoses, where the steam comes out—” “Radiator—Denis, you said you took driver ed in high school.” “No, no, Doc, you said did they have Driver Ed, and I said yes cause they did, this dude Eddie Ochoa, that there wasn’t a cop south of Salinas could get near him, and that’s what everybody called him—” “So, like, you … never actually… learned …” “All that stuff they wanted you to remember, man?” Xandra, visibly disheveled, now came running in after Denis, yelling, “I told you you couldn’t come up here,” then spotted Japonica and screeched to a halt. “Oh. Smile Maintenance Chick. How lovely,” while scaling tiny glares Dr. Blatnoyd’s way like the star-shaped blades in kung fu movies. “Miss Fenway,” the doctor began to explain, “may seem a little psychotic today….” “Groovy!” cried Denis. “What?” Blatnoyd blinking. “Being insane, man? it’s groovy, where are you at, man?” “Denis …” Doc murmured. “It is not ‘groovy’ to be insane. Japonica here has been institutionalized for it.” “Yep,” beamed Japonica. “Like, in the place? Psychedelic! They put those volts in your head, man?” “Volts ‘n’ volts,” twinkled Japonica. “Whoa. Bad for la cabeza, man.” “C’mon, Denis,” said Doc, “we’re gonna have to figure out how to catch a bus back to the beach.” “If you need a ride, I’m heading that way,” offered Japonica. Running a fast eyeball diagnostic, Doc could see nothing too alarming—right at the moment she was being as sane as anybody here, not too many useful remarks Doc could pass, so he settled for, “Everything cool with your brakes and lights, Japonica? license-plate lights and so forth?” “A-OK? Just had Wolfgang in for periodic maintenance?” “That’s…” “My car?” Yes, another warning buzzer, but Doc was now on to obsessing over the vast numbers of law enforcement likely to be deployed between here and the beach. “Excuse me,” wondered Xandra, who’d been staring at Denis, “is that a slice of pizza on your hat?” “Oh wow, thanks, man, I’ve been lookin all over for that…” “Mind if I tag along with you people?” asked Dr. Blatnoyd. “Contingencies of the road and so forth.” Wolfgang turned out to be a ten-year-old Mercedes sedan with a roof panel passengers could slide back, allowing them, like dogs in pickups, to stick their heads out in the wind if they wanted. Doc rode shotgun, widebrim fedora down over his eyes, trying to ignore a deep foreboding. Dr. Blatnoyd climbed in the back with Denis and then spent some time trying to push a #66 market bag full of something under the front seat on Doc’s side. “Hey,” exclaimed Denis, “what’s in that bag you’re stuffing under Doc’s seat?” “Pay no attention to that bag,” advised Dr. Blatnoyd. “It will only make everybody paranoid.” Which it did, except for Japonica, who was maneuvering them smoothly up Sunset through the late rush-hour traffic. Denis had his head out the roof. “Drive slower,” he called down after a while, “I want to dig this.” They were crossing Vine and about to go past Wallach’s Music City, where each of a long row of audition booths inside had it’s own lighted window facing the street. In every window, one by one as Japonica crept by, appeared a hippie freak or small party of hippie freaks, each listening on headphones to a different rock ‘n’ roll album and moving around at a different rhythm. Like Denis, Doc was used to outdoor concerts where thousands of people congregated to listen to music for free, and where it all got sort of blended together into a single public self, because everybody was having the same experience. But here, each person was listening in solitude, confinement and mutual silence, and some of them later at the register would actually be spending money to hear rock ‘n’ roll. It seemed to Doc like some strange kind of dues or payback. More and more lately he’d been brooding about this great collective dream that everybody was being encouraged to stay tripping around in. Only now and then would you get an unplanned glimpse at the other side. Denis waved, yelled and flashed peace signs, but nobody in any of the booths noticed. At last he slid back down into the Mercedes. “Far out. Maybe they’re all stoned. Hey! That must be why they call those things headphones!” He put his face closer to Dr. Blatnoyds than the dentist was really comfortable with. “Think about that, man! Like, headphones, right?” Japonica was driving so skillfully that it wasn’t till they were out of the white dazzle of Hollywood and across Doheny that Doc noticed (a) it was now dark and (b) the headlights weren’t on. “Ah, Japonica, like, your lights?” She was humming to herself, a tune Doc recognized, with dawning concern, as the theme from Dark Shadows. After four more bars, he tried again. “Like, it would be so groovy, Japonica, really, to have some lights working is all, seeing ‘s how Beverly Hills cops are known to lurk uphill on these different cross streets? just waiting for minor violations, like lights, to pop folks on?” Her humming was way too intense. Doc made the mistake of looking over, only to find her staring at him and not the road, eyes glittering ferally through a blond curtain of California-chick hair. No, this was not reassuring. Though hardly a connoisseur of the freakout, he did recognize a wraparound hallucination when he saw one and understood immediately that while she likely didn’t see Doc at all, whatever she was seeing was indeed physically out there, in the gathering fog, and just about to— “Everything all right, baby?” Rudy Blatnoyd rang in. “Oo-oooo” warbled Japonica, putting some vibrato onto it and stepping on the gas, “Ooo-ooo woo-oo, woo-ooo…” Cross traffic, neighborhood machinery such as Excaliburs and Ferraris, came blurring by at high speed, missing them by small clearances. Dr. Blatnoyd, as if wishing to start a therapeutic discussion, was glaring at Denis. “There. That’s just what I’ve been talking about.” “You didn’t say nothing about it happening while she’s driving, man.” Japonica had meantime decided that she must run every red light she could find, even speeding up to catch some before they could turn green. “Urn, Japonica, my dear? That was a red light?” Blatnoyd pointed out helpfully. “Ooh, I don’t think so!” she explained blithely. “I think that was one of Its eyes!” “Oh. Well, yes,n Doc soothed. “We can sure dig that, Japonica, but then again—” “No, no, there’s no It’ watching you!” Blatnoyd now in some agitation. “Those are not eyes,’ those are warnings to come to a full stop and wait till the light turns green, don’t you remember learning that in school?” “That’s what those colors are for, man?” Denis said. Suddenly, like a UFO rising over the ridgeline, the flashing lights of a police car appeared uphill and came swooping down on them, the siren screaming. “Like, shit,” Denis heading for the hatch in the roof again, “I’m outta here, man,” overlooking for the moment the streetscape rushing past. Feeling no sign of deceleration, Doc, trying not to think about the paper bag under the seat, kept reaching with his foot for the brake pedal, meantime trying gently to steer the car over to the shoulder. If he’d been in his own ride and by himself, he might have chosen to make a run for it, at least open a door an inch or two and get rid of the bag, but by the time he could bring himself to try even that, the Man was on top of them. “License and registration, miss?” The cop seemed to be focused on Japonica’s tits. She smiled back at him in high- intensity silence, occasionally glancing at the Smith & Wesson on his hip. His partner, a rookie even blonder than he was, came and leaned on the passenger side, content for the moment to watch Denis, who had paused in his effort to climb through the roof to gaze at the strobing array of colored lights on top of the cruiser, and now and then go, “Oh wow, man.” “Are you the Great Beast?” inquired rattling-mad Japonica in her sub-jailbait lilt. “No no no,” Blatnoyd droning desperately, “that’s a policeman, Japonica, who only wants to make sure you’re all right…” “Just the license and registration if you wouldn’t mind,” said the cop. “You know you were driving without your headlights, miss.” “But I can see in the dark,” Japonica nodding emphatically, “I can see real good\n “Her sister went into labor about an hour ago,” Blatnoyd imagining he was charming their way out of a ticket, “and Miss Fenway promised she’d be there in time to see the baby born, so she might’ve been a little inattentive back there?” “That case,” said the cop, “maybe somebody else ought to be driving.” Japonica promptly jumped in the back seat with Blatnoyd, while Doc slid over behind the wheel and Denis moved up front to ride shotgun. The cops looked on beaming, like instructors at an etiquette class. “Oh and we’ll need everybody’s ID, too,” the rookie announced. “Sure thing,” Doc bringing out his PI license. “What’s it about, Officer?” “New program,” shrugged the other cop, “you know how it is, another excuse for paperwork, they’re calling it Cultwatch, every gathering of three or more civilians is now defined as a potential cult.” The rookie was making checkmarks on a list attached to a clipboard. “Criteria,” the other cop continued, “include references to the book of Revelation, males with shoulder-length or longer hair, endangerment through automotive absentmindedness, all of which you folks have been exhibiting.” “Yeah man,” Denis put in, “but we’re in a Mercedes, and it’s only painted one color, beige—don’t we get points for that?” Doc noticed for the first time that both cops were... well, not trembling, the police wouldn’t tremble, but vibrating for sure, with the post-Mansonical nerves that currently ruled the area. “We’ll hand this all in, Mr. Sportello, it’ll go in some master data bank here and in Sacramento, and unless there’s wants or warrants we don’t know about, you won’t hear any more on this.” FOLLOWING DR. BLATNOYD’S directions, Doc turned off Sunset, braking almost immediately for a guard gate staffed by private heat of some kind. “Evening, Heinrich,” boomed Rudy Blatnoyd. “Nice to see you, Dr. B.,” replied the sentry, waving him through. They went winding through Bel Air, up hillsides and canyons, arriving at a mansion with another gate, low and nearly invisible inside it’s landscape gardening, seeming so much constructed of night itself that at sunrise it might all disappear. Behind the gate glimmered a pale slash through the dark, which Doc finally figured out was a moat, with a drawbridge over it. “Won’t be a minute,” Dr. Blatnoyd climbing out, grabbing the bag from under the front seat and getting into a cryptic discussion over the gate intercom with a voice Doc guessed to be female, before the gate opened and the drawbridge came down, rumbling and creaking. Then the night was very quiet again—not even the distant freeway traffic could be heard, or the footpads of coyotes, or the slither of snakes… “Way too quiet,” said Denis, “it’s freaking me out, man.” “I think we’ll wait here on this side of the moat,” Doc said. “Okay?” Denis rolled an enormous joint and lit up, and soon the interior of the Mercedes was full of smoke. After a while there was shrieking on the gate intercom. “Hey man,” said Denis, “you don’t have to yell, man.” “Dr. Blatnoyd wishes us to inform you,” announced the woman at the other end, “that he will be remaining as our guest, and there is thus no further need for you to wait.” “Yeah, and you talk like a robot, man.” It took them a while to find their way back to Sunset. “I guess I’ll crash with some friends in Pacific Palisades,” Japonica announced. “Mind letting us off at the Greyhound in Santa Monica? We can grab the midnight local.” “By the way, aren’t you the man who found me and brought me back to my dad that time?” “Just doing my job,” Doc immediately defensive. “Did he really want me back?” “I’ve worked gigs like that a couple of times since,” Doc said carefully, in case she had to drive much more tonight, “and he seemed like your standard worried parent.” “He’s an asshole,” Japonica assured him. “Here, this is my office number. I don’t have regular hours, so you may not always find me in.” She shrugged and managed a smile. “If it’s meant to be.”

THINGS WERE WEIRD for a few days with the Dart over in Beverly Hills, though Doc imagined it was having itself a nice time in the company of all those Jaguars and Porsches and so forth. When he finally went over to pick up his ride, at Resurrection of the Body, a collision emporium somewhat south of Olympic, he ran into his friend Tito Stavrou having a lively argument with Manuel the owner. Tito ran a limo service, though there was only one unit in his fleet, unfortunately not one of those limos able to Glide from the Curb, much less Insert Itself Effortlessly into Traffic—no, this one lurched from the curb percussively into traffic, being in fact garaged for at least half of any given premium period (as Tito’s latest insurance carrier had just discovered, much to it’s own, and you can imagine how much to Tito’s, dismay) or being attended to by various sand-and-fill crews around the Greater L.A. Area. One calendar year it got repainted six times. “You sure you mean limo and not limón?” suggested Manuel, as part of the recreational abuse he liked to lay on Tito whenever the vehicle showed up with a new set of dings. They stood out in the main shed, assembled from a Quonset hut first cut in half lengthwise and the two pieces then rearranged so that they met in a point high overhead to make a sort of churchlike vault. “It would be cheaper if you just pay me in front, small fee, anytime you want it painted, just bring it by, day or night, any color in stock includin the metallics, in and out in a couple hours.” “What worries me,” said Tito, “is that ‘in and out,’ you know, all these high-risk elements of the auto-parts community you deal with?” “This is Resurrection, ése! Were in the miracle business! If Jesus turned water into wine in front of your face? would you be goin, ‘What’s this I’m drinkin, I wannit Dom Perignon,’ or some shit? If I was that picky about what comes in here for a paint job? ask for what? their license and registration? Then they’re really pissed off, they go someplace else, plus I get put on a shit list I might not want to be on?” Manuel noticed Doc for the first time. “You the Bentley?” “The’64 Dodge Dart?” Manuel looked back and forth between Doc and Tito for a while. “You guys know each other?” “That would really depend,” Doc was about to say, but Manuel went on. “I was gonna charge you more, but guys like Tito here, they’re sub-sidizin guys like you.” The amount on the invoice was nevertheless a Beverly Hills type of number, and half Doc’s day got blown setting up a payment schedule. “Come on,” said Tito, “I’ll buy you lunch. I need your advice on something.” They went down to Pico and headed toward Rancho Park. This street was a chowhound’s delight. Back when Doc was still new in town, one day around sunset—the daily event, not the boulevard—he was in Santa Monica near the western end of Pico, the light over all deep L.A. softening to purple with some darker gold to it, and from this angle and hour of the day it seemed to him he could see all the way down Pico for miles into the heart of the great Megalopolis itself, having yet to discover that if he wanted to, he could also eat his way down Pico night after night for a long while before repeating an ethnic category. This did not always turn out to be good news for the indecisive doper who might know he was hungry but not necessarily how to deal with it in terms of specific food. Many was the night Doc ran out of gas, and his munchies- afflicted companions out of patience, long before settling on where to go eat. Today they ended up at a Greek restaurant called Teké, which according to Tito meant an old-time hashish parlor in Greek. “I hope this won’t be a problem,” said Tito, “but word is around you’ve been working on this Mickey Wolfmann case?” “Not how I’d put it. Nobody’s paying me. Sometimes I think all it is is guilt. Wolfmann’s girlfriend is my ex-old lady, she said she needed help, so I’ve been trying to help.” Tito, who had made a point of facing the front entrance, lowered his voice till Doc could hardly hear him. ‘“I’m taking a chance that you ain’t bent, Doc. You ain’t bent, are you?” “Not so far, but I could always use a nice envelope full of cash.” “These guys,” an unhappy look crossing Tito’s face, “don’t hand you envelopes, it’s more like, do what they want, maybe they don’t fuck you up too bad.” “You’re sayin this is mob-related—” “I only wish. I mean, I know some Family badasses who scare most people, they sure scare me, but I wouldn’t ever go to them with this, they’d just take a look at who it is and go, like, ‘Pasadena, man.’” “Not to mention you owe them money.” “No more, I kicked all that.” “What. No horses, no pan parlors? No Li’l T-Rex? No Salvatore ‘Paper Cut’ Gazzoni? No Adrian Prussia?” “Nope, even Adrian’s off my ass anymore, all paid off, the vig, everything.” “Good news cause sooner or later that fucker’d be reachin for his baseball bat, going to town on your head or somethin. Man gives loan-sharkin a bad name.” “They’re all in my sorry past now, I been twelve-steppin it, Doc. Meetings, everythin.” “Well, Inez must be happy. How long’s it been?” “Comin up on six months next weekend. We’re gonna go celebrate it in style, too, we’re takin the limo to Vegas, stayin at Caesar’s—” “Excuse me, Tito, am I confusing Las Vegas with someplace else where all they do is fucking gamble nonstop? How do you expect to—” “Avoid temptation? Hey that’s just it, how’m I ever gonna know? Thing is to jump in, see what happens.” “Oboy. This is all cool with Inez?” “Her idea.” Mike the owner and cook appeared with a huge plate of dolmadhes, Kalamata olives, and midget spanakopitas it looked like it would take a week to polish off. “You’re sure you want to eat here,” he greeted Tito. “This is Doc, he saved my life once.” “And this is how you thank him?” Mike shaking his head in reproof. “Think long and hard, my friends,” muttering back to the kitchen. “I saved your life?” Tito shrugged. “That time up on Mulholland.” “You saved mine, man, you’re the one knew where it was,” this particular “it” being a car-napped 1934 Hispano- Suiza J12 whose return Doc had been negotiating with a Lithuanian thyroid case who showed up carrying a modified AK-47 with a banana clip so oversize that he kept tripping over it, which looking back was what had saved everybody’s lives, probably. “I was doin that all for myself, man, you happened to be there when we brought it back and all that money started flyin around.” “Whatever, Doc—there’s somethin now that you’re the only one I can tell it to.” A quick look around. “Doc, I was one of the last people to talk to Mickey Wolfmann before he dropped off the screen.” “Shit,” replied Doc, encouragingly. “And no, I haven’t been near the heat with this. It would get back to these guys before I was out the door, and I’d end up a shark hors oeuvre. “D and D, Tito.” “What happened, Mickey got to where he didn’t always trust his drivers. They were most of ’em ex-cons, which meant they had their own IOUs to pay off that sometimes he didn’t know about. So once in a while he calls me on the unlisted line, and I pick him up someplace we decide on at the last minute.” “You used that limo? Not exactly a low profile.” “Nah, we’d use Falcons or Novas, I can always score one on short notice, even a VDub if it ain’t painted too funny.” “So the day Mickey disappeared… he called you? you took him someplace?” “He wanted me to pick him up. He called in the middle of the night, it sounded like a pay phone, he was talking real quiet, he was scared, like somebody was after him. He gave me an address out of town, I drove up there and waited, but he never showed. After a couple hours I was getting too much attention so I split.” “Where was this?” “Ojai, near someplace called Chryskylodon.” “I’ve been hearing about it,” Doc said, “some nuthouse for the upper brackets. Old Indian word that means ‘serenity.’” “Ha!” Tito shook his head. “Who told you that?” “It’s in their brochure?” “It ain’t Indian, it’s Greek, trust me, they talked Greek around the house all the time I was coming up.” “What’s it mean in Greek?” “Well, it’s squashed together a little, but it means like a gold tooth, this one here—” He tapped at a canine. “Oh, shit. Tang’? Could it be that?” “Yeah, close enough. Gold fang.”

§ § §

TYRION

A horse whickered impatiently behind him, from amidst the ranks of gold cloaks drawn up across the road. Tyrion could hear Lord Gyles coughing as well. He had not asked for Gyles, no more than he'd asked for Ser Addam. or Jalabhar Xho or any of the rest, but his lord father felt Doran Martell might take it ill if only a dwarf came out to escort him across the Blackwater. Joffrey should have met the Dornishmen himself, he reflected as he sat waiting, but he would have mucked it up, no doubt. Of late the king had been repeating little jests about the Dornish that he'd picked up from Mace Tyrell's men-atarms. How many Dornishmen does it take to shoe a horse? Nine. One to do the shoeing, and eight to lift the horse up. Somehow Tyrion did not think Doran Martell would find that amusing. He could see their banners flying as the riders emerged from the green of the living wood in a long dusty column. From here to the river, only bare black trees remained, a legacy of his battle. Too many banners, he thought sourly, as he watched the ashes kick up under the hooves of the approaching horses, as they had beneath the hooves of the Tyrell van as it smashed Stannis in the flank. Martell's brought half the lords of Dorne, by the look of it. He tried to think of some good that might come of that, and failed. "How many banners do you count?" he asked Brorm. The sellsword knight shaded his eyes. "Eight ... no, nine." Tyrion turned in his saddle. "Pod, come up here. Describe the arms you see, and tell me which houses they represent." Podrick Payne edged his gelding closer. He was carrying the royal standard, Joffrey's great stag-and-lion, and struggling with its weight. Bronn bore Tyrion's own banner, the lion of Lannister gold on crimson. He's getting taller, Tyrion realized as Pod stood in his stirrups for a better look. He'll soon tower over me like all the rest. The lad had been making a diligent study of Domish heraldry, at Tyrion's command, but as ever he was nervous. "I can't see. The wind is flapping them." "Bronn, tell the boy what you see." Bronn looked very much the knight today, in his new doublet and cloak, the flaming chain across his chest. "A red sun on orange," he called, "with a spear through its back." "Martell," Podrick Payne said at once, visibly relieved. "House Martell of Sunspear, my lord. The Prince of Dome." "My horse would have known that one," said Tyrion dryly. "Give him another, Bronn." "There's a purple flag with yellow balls. "Lemons?" Pod said hopefully. "A purple fleld strewn with lemons? For House Dalt? Of, of Lemonwood." "Might be. Next's a big black bird on yellow. Something pink or white in its claws, hard to say with the banner flapping." "The vulture of Blackmont grasps a baby in its talons," said Pod. "House Blackmont of Blackmont, ser." Bronn laughed. "Reading books again? Books will ruin your sword eye, boy. I see a skull too. A black banner." "The crowned skull of House Manwoody, bone and gold on black." Pod sounded more confident with every correct answer. "The Manwoodys of Kingsgrave." "Three black spiders?" "They're scorpions, ser. House Qorgyle of Sandstone, three scorpions black on red." "Red and yellow, a jagged line between." "The flames of Hellholt. House Uller." Tyrion was impressed. The boy's not half stupid, once he gets his tongue untied. "Go on, Pod," he urged. "If you get them all, I'll make you a gift." "A pie with red and black slices," said Bronn. "There's a gold hand in the middle." "House Allyrion of Godsgrace." "A red chicken eating a snake, looks like." "The Gargalens of Salt Shore. A cockatrice. Ser. Pardon. Not a chicken. Red, with a black snake in its beak." "Very good!" exclaimed Tyrion. "One more, lad." Bronn scanned the ranks of the approaching Domishmen. "The last's a golden feather on green checks." "A golden quill, ser. Jordayne of the Tor." Tyrion laughed. "Nine, and well done. I could not have named them all myself." That was a lie, but it would give the boy some pride, and that he badly needed. Martell brings some formidable companions, it would seem. Not one of the houses Pod had named was small or insignificant. Nine of the greatest lords of Dorne were coming up the kingsroad, them or their heirs, and somehow Tyrion did not think they had come all this way just to see the dancing bear. There was a message here. And not one I like. He wondered if it had been a mistake to ship Myrcella down to Sunspear. "My lord," Pod said, a little timidly, "there's no litter." Tyrion turned his head sharply. The boy was right. "Doran Martell always travels in a litter," the boy said. "A carved litter with silk hangings, and suns on the drapes." Tyrion had heard the same talk. Prince Doran was past fifty, and gouty. He may have wanted to make faster time, he told himself. He may have feared his litter would make too tempting a target for brigands, or that it would prove too cumbersome in the high passes of the Boneway. Perhaps his gout is better. So why did he have such a bad feeling about this? This waiting was intolerable. "Banners forward," he snapped. "We'll meet them." He kicked his horse. Bronn and Pod followed, one to either side. When the Dornishmen saw them coming, they spurred their own mounts, banners rippling as they rode. From their ornate saddles were slung the round metal shields they favored, and many carried bundles of short throwing spears, or the double-curved Dornish bows they used so well from horseback. There were three sorts of Dornishmen, the first King Daeron had observed. There were the salty Dornishmen who lived along the coasts, the sandy Dornishmen of the deserts and long river valleys, and the stony Dornishmen who made their fastnesses in the passes and heights of the Red Mountains. The salty Domishmen had the most Rhoynish blood, the stony Dornishmen the least. All three sorts seemed well represented in Doran's retinue. The salty Dornishmen were lithe and dark, with smooth olive skin and long black hair streaming in the wind. The sandy Dornishmen were even darker, their faces burned brown by the hot Dornish sun. They wound long bright scarfs around their helms to ward off sunstroke. The stony Dornishmen were biggest and fairest, sons of the Andals and the First Men, brownhaired or blond, with faces that freckled or burned in the sun instead of browning. The lords wore silk and satin robes with jeweled belts and flowing sleeves. Their armor was heavily enameled and inlaid with burnished copper, shining silver, and soft red gold. They came astride red horses and golden ones and a few as pale as snow, all slim and swift, with long necks and narrow beautiful heads. The fabled sand steeds of Dome were smaller than proper warhorses and could not bear such weight of armor, but it was said that they could run for a day and night and another day, and never tire. The Domish leader forked a stallion black as sin with a mane and tail the color of fire. He sat his saddle as if he'd been born there, tall, slim, graceful. A cloak of pale red silk fluttered from his shoulders, and his shirt was armored with overlapping rows of copper disks that glittered like a thousand bright new pennies as he rode. His high gilded helm displayed a copper sun on its brow, and the round shield slung behind him bore the sun- and-spear of House Martell on its polished metal surface. A Martell sun, but ten years too young, Tyrion thought as he reined up, too fit as well, and far too fierce. He knew what he must deal with by then. How many Dornishmen does it take to start a war? he asked himself. Only one. Yet he had no choice but to smile. "Well met, my lords. We had word of your approach, and His Grace King Joffrey bid me ride out to welcome you in his name. My lord father the King's Hand sends his greetings as well." He feigned an amiable confusion. "Which of you is Prince Doran?" "My brother's health requires he remain at Sunspear." The princeling removed his helm. Beneath, his face was lined and saturnine, with thin arched brows above large eyes as black and shiny as pools of coal oil. Only a few streaks of silver marred the lustrous black hair that receded from his brow in a widow's peak as sharply pointed as his nose. A salty Dornishmen for certain. "Prince Doran has sent me to join King Joffrey's council in his stead, as it please His Grace." "His Grace will be most honored to have the counsel of a warrior as renowned as Prince Oberyn of Dome," said Tyrion, thinking, This will mean blood in the gutters. "And your noble companions are most welcome as well." "Permit me to acquaint you with them, my lord of Lannister. Ser Deziel Dalt, of Lemonwood. Lord Tremond Gargalen. Lord Harmen Uller and his brother Ser Ulwyck. Ser Ryon Allyrion and his natural son Ser Daemon Sand, the Bastard of Godsgrace. Lord Dagos Manwoody, his brother Ser Myles, his sons Mors and Dickon. Ser Arron Qorgyle. And never let it be thought that I would neglect the ladies. Myria Jordayne, heir to the Tor. Lady Larra Blackmont, her daughter Jynessa, her son Perros." He raised a slender hand toward a black- haired woman to the rear, beckoning her forward. "And this is Ellaria Sand, mine own paramour." Tyrion swallowed a groan. His paramour, and bastard-born, Cersei will pitch a holy fit if he wants her at the wedding. If she consigned the woman to some dark comer below the salt, his sister would risk the Red Viper's wrath. Seat her beside him at the high table, and every other lady on the dais was like to take offense. Did Prince Doran mean to provoke a quarrel? Prince Oberyn wheeled his horse about to face his fellow Domishmen. "Ellaria, lords and ladies, sers, see how well King Joffrey loves us. His Grace has been so kind as to send his own Uncle Imp to bring us to his court. " Bronn snorted back laughter, and Tyrion perforce must feign amusement as well. "Not alone, my lords. That would be too enormous a task for a little man like me." His own party had come up on them, so it was his turn to name the names. "Let me present Ser Flement Brax, heir to Homvale. Lord Gyles of Rosby. Ser Addam Marbrand, Lord Commander of the City Watch. jalabhar Xho, Prince of the Red Flower Vale. Ser Harys Swyft, my uncle Kevan's good father by marriage. Ser Merlon Crakehall. Ser Philip Foote and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, two heroes of our recent battle against the rebel Stannis Baratheon. And mine own squire, young Podrick of House Payne." The names had a nice ringing sound as Tyrion reeled them off, but the bearers were nowise near as distinguished nor formidable a company as those who accompanied Prince Oberyn, as both of them knew full well. "My lord of Lannister," said Lady Blackmont, "we have come a long dusty way, and rest and refreshment would be most welcome. Might we continue on to the city?" "At once, my lady." Tyrion turned his horse's head, and called to Ser Addam Marbrand. The mounted gold cloaks who formed the greatest part of his honor guard turned their horses crisply at Ser Addam's command, and the column set off for the river and King's Landing beyond. Oberyn Nymeros Martell, Tyrion muttered under his breath as he fell in beside the man. The Red Viper of Dorne. And what in the seven hells am I supposed to do with him? He knew the man only by reputation, to be sure ... but the reputation was fearsome. When he was no more than sixteen, Prince Oberyn had been found abed with the paramour of old Lord Yronwood, a huge man of fierce repute and short temper. A duel ensued, though in view of the prince's youth and high birth, it was only to first blood. Both men took cuts, and honor was satisfied. Yet Prince Oberyn soon recovered, while Lord Yronwood's wounds festered and killed him. Afterward men whispered that Oberyn had fought with a poisoned sword, and ever thereafter friends and foes alike called him the Red Viper. That was many years ago, to be sure. The boy of sixteen was a man past forty now, and his legend had grown a deal darker. He had traveled in the Free Cities, leaming the poisoner's trade and perhaps arts darker still, if rumors could be believed. He had studied at the Citadel, going so far as to forge six links of a maester's chain before he grew bored. He had soldiered in the Disputed Lands across the narrow sea, riding with the Second Sons for a time before forming his own company. His tourneys, his battles, his duels, his horses, his carnality ... it was said that he bedded men and women both, and had begotten bastard girls all over Dome. The sand snakes, men called his daughters. So far as Tyrion had heard, Prince Oberyn had never fathered a son. And of course, he had crippled the heir to Highgarden. There is no man in the Seven Kingdoms who will be less welcome at a 7)7rell wedding, thought Tyrion. To send Prince Oberyn to King's Landing while the city still hosted Lord Mace Tyrell, two of his sons, and thousands of their men-at-arms was a provocation as dangerous as Prince Oberyn himself. A wrong word, an ill-timed jest, a look, that's all it will take, and our noble allies will be at one another's throats. "We have met before," the Domish prince said lightly to Tyrion as they rode side by side along the kingsroad, past ashen fields and the skeletons of trees. "I would not expect you to remember, though. You were even smaller than you are now." There was a mocking edge to his voice that Tyrion misliked, but he was not about to let the Dornishman provoke him. "When was this, my lord?" he asked in tones of polite interest. "Oh, many and many a year ago, when my mother ruled in Dome and your lord father was Hand to a different king." Not so different as you might think, reflected Tyrion. "It was when I visited Casterly Rock with my mother, her consort, and my sister Elia. I was, oh, fourteen, fifteen, thereabouts, Elia a year older. Your brother and sister were eight or nine, as I recall, and you had just been bom." A queer time to come visiting. His mother had died giving him birth, so the Martells would have found the Rock deep in mouming. His father especially. Lord Tywin seldom spoke of his wife, but Tyrion had heard his uncles talk of the love between them. In those days, his father had been Aerys's Hand, and many people said that Lord Tywin Lannister ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but Lady Joanna ruled Lord Tywin. "He was not the same man after she died, imp," his Uncle Gery told him once. "The best part of him died with her." Gerion had been the youngest of Lord Tytos Lannister's four sons, and the uncle Tyrion liked best. But he was gone now, lost beyond the seas, and Tyrion himself had put Lady Joanna in her grave. "Did you find Casterly Rock to your liking, my lord?" "Scarcely. Your father ignored us the whole time we were there, after commanding Ser Kevan to see to our entertainment. The cell they gave me had a featherbed to sleep in and Myrish carpets on the floor, but it was dark and windowless, much like a dungeon when you come down to it, as I told Elia at the time. Your skies were too grey, your wines too sweet, your women too chaste, your food too bland ... and you yourself were the greatest disappointment of all." "I had just been born. What did you expect of me?" "Enormity," the black-haired prince replied. "You were small, but far-famed. We were in Oldtown at your birth, and all the city talked of was the monster that had been born to the King's Hand, and what such an omen might foretell for the realm." "Famine, plague, and war, no doubt." Tyrion gave a sour smile. "It's always famine, plague, and war. Oh, and winter, and the long night that never ends." "All that," said Prince Oberyn, "and your father's fall as well. Lord Tywin had made himself greater than King Aerys, I heard one begging brother preach, but only a god is meant to stand above a king. You were his curse, a punishment sent by the gods to teach him that he was no better than any other man." "I try, but he refuses to learn." Tyrion gave a sigh. "But do go on, I pray you. I love a good tale." "And well you might, since you were said to have one, a stiff curly tail like a swine's. Your head was monstrous huge, we heard, half again the size of your body, and you had been born with thick black hair and a beard besides, an evil eye, and lion's claws. Your teeth were so long you could not close your mouth, and between your legs were a girl's privates as well as a boy's." "Life would be much simpler if men could fuck themselves, don't you agree? And I can think of a few times when claws and teeth might have proved useful. Even so, I begin to see the nature of your complaint." Brorm gave out with a chuckle, but Oberyn only smiled. "We might never have seen you at all but for your sweet sister. You were never seen at table or hall, though sometimes at night we could hear a baby howling down in the depths of the Rock. You did have a monstrous great voice, I must grant you that. You would wail for hours, and nothing would quiet you but a woman's teat." "Still true, as it happens." This time Prince Oberyn did laugh. "A taste we share. Lord Gargalen once told me he hoped to die with a sword in his hand, to which I replied that I would sooner go with a breast in mine." Tyrion had to grin. "You were speaking of my sister?" "Cersei promised Elia to show you to us. The day before we were to sail, whilst my mother and your father were closeted together, she and Jaime took us down to your nursery. Your wet nurse tried to send us off, but your sister was having none of that. 'He's mine/ she said, 'and you're just a milk cow, you can't tell me what to do. Be quiet or I'll have my father cut your tongue out. A cow doesn't need a tongue, only udders."' "Her Grace learned charm at an early age," said Tyrion, amused by the notion of his sister claiming him as hers. She's never been in any rush to claim me since, the gods know. "Cersei even undid your swaddling clothes to give us a better look," the Dornish prince continued. "You did have one evil eye, and some black fuzz on your scalp. Perhaps your head was larger than most ... but there was no tail, no beard, neither teeth nor claws, and nothing between your legs but a tiny pink cock. After all the wonderful whispers, Lord Tywin's Doom turned out to be just a hideous red infant with stunted legs. Elia even made the noise that young girls make at the sight of infants, I'm sure you've heard it. The same noise they make over cute kittens and playful puppies. I believe she wanted to nurse you herself, ugly as you were. When I commented that you seemed a poor sort of monster, your sister said, 'He killed my mother/ and twisted your little cock so hard I thought she was like to pull it off. You shrieked, but it was only when your brother Jaime said, 'Leave him be, you're hurting him/ that Cersei let go of you. 'It doesn't matter/ she told us. 'Everyone says he's like to die soon. He shouldn't even have lived this long."' The sun was shining bright above them, and the day was pleasantly warm for autumn, but Tyrion Lannister went cold all over when he heard that. My sweet sister. He scratched at the scar of his nose and gave the Dornishman a taste of his "evil eye." Now why would he tell such a tale? Is he testing me, or simply twisting my cock as Cersei did, so he can hear me scream? "Be sure and tell that story to my father. It will delight him as much as it did me. The part about my tail, especially. I did have one, but he had it lopped off." Prince Oberyn had a chuckle. "You've grown more amusing since last we met." "Yes, but I meant to grow taller." "While we are speaking of amusement, I heard a curious tale from Lord Buckler's steward. He claimed that you had put a tax on women's privy purses." "It is a tax on whoring," said Tyrion, irritated all over again. And it was my bloody father's notion. "Only a penny for each, ah ... act. The King's Hand felt it might help improve the morals of the city." And pay for Joffrey's wedding besides. Needless to say, as master of coin, Tyrion had gotten all the blame for it. Brorm said they were calling it the dwarf's penny inthestreets. "Spread your legs for the Halfman, now," they were shouting in the brothels and wine sinks, if the sellsword could be believed. "I will make certain to keep my pouch full of pennies. Even a prince must pay his taxes." "Why should you need to go whoring?" He glanced back to where Ellaria Sand rode among the other women. "Did you tire of your paramour on the road?" "Never. We share too much." Prince Oberyn shrugged. "We have never shared a beautiful blonde woman, however, and Ellaria is curious. Do you know of such a creature?" "I am a man wedded." Though not yet bedded. "I no longer frequent whores." Unless I want to see them hanged. Oberyn abruptly changed the subject. "It's said there are to be seventyseven dishes served at the king's wedding feast." "Are you hungry, my prince?" "I have hungered for a long time. Though not for food. Pray tell me, when will the iustice be served?" "Justice." Yes, that is why he's here, I should have seen that at once. "You were close to your sister?" "As children Elia and I were inseparable, much like your own brother and sister." Gods, I hope not. "Wars and weddings have kept us well occupied, Prince Oberyn. I fear no one has yet had the time to look into murders sixteen years stale, dreadful as they were. We shall, of course, just as soon as we may. Any help that Dome might be able to provide to restore the king's peace would only hasten the beginning of my lord father's inquiry - " "Dwarf," said the Red Viper, in a tone grown markedly less cordial, "spare me your Lannister lies. Is it sheep you take us for, or fools? My brother is not a bloodthirsty man, but neither has he been asleep for sixteen years. Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some mummer's show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane ... but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that." He smiled. "An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?" "No," Tyrion admitted warily. "Why, if the gods were cruel, they would have made me my mother's firstborn, and Doran her third. I am a bloodthirsty man, you see. And it is me you must contend with now, not my patient, prudent, and gouty brother." Tyrion could see the sun shining on the Blackwater Rush half a mile ahead, and on the walls and towers and hills of King's Landing beyond. He glanced over his shoulder, at the glittering column following them up the kingsroad. "You speak like a man with a great host at his back," he said, "yet all I see are three hundred. Do you spy that city there, north of the river?" "The midden heap you call King's Landing?" "That's the very one." "Not only do I see it, I believe I smell it now." "Then take a good sniff, my lord. Fill up your nose. Half a million people stink more than three hundred, you'll find. Do you smell the gold cloaks? There are near five thousand of them. My father's own swom swords must account for another twenty thousand. And then there are the roses. Roses smell so sweet, don't they? Especially when there are so many of them. Fifty, sixty, seventy thousand roses, in the city or camped outside it, I can't really say how many are left, but there's more than I care to count, anyway." Martell gave a shrug. "In Dome of old before we married Dacron, it was said that all flowers bow before the sun. Should the roses seek to hinder me I'll gladly trample them underfoot." "As you trampled Willas Tyrell?" The Domishman did not react as expected. "I had a letter from Willas not half a year past. We share an interest in fine horseflesh. He has never bome me any ill will for what happened in the lists. I struck his breastplate clean, but his foot caught in a stirrup as he fell and his horse came down on top of him. I sent a maester to him afterward, but it was all he could do to save the boy's leg. The knee was far past mending. If any were to blame, it was his fool of a father. Willas Tyrell was green as his surcoat and had no business riding in such company. The Fat Flower thrust him into tourneys at too tender an age, just as he did with the other two. He wanted another Leo Longthom, and made himself a cripple." "There are those who say Ser Loras is better than Leo Longthom. ever was," said Tyrion. "Renly's little rose? I doubt that." "Doubt it all you wish," said Tyrion, "but Ser Loras has defeated many good knights, including my brother Jaime." "By defeated, you mean unhorsed, in tourney. Tell me who he's slain in battle if you mean to frighten me." "Ser Robar Royce and Ser Emmon Cuy, for two. And men say he performed prodigious feats of valor on the Blackwater, fighting beside Lord Renly's ghost." "So these same men who saw the prodigious feats saw the ghost as well, yes?" The Domishman laughed lightly. Tyrion gave him a long look. "Chataya's on the Street of Silk has several girls who might suit your needs. Dancy has hair the color of honey. Marei's is pale white-gold. I would advise you to keep one or the other by your side at all times, my lord." "At all times?" Prince Oberyn lifted a thin black eyebrow. "And why is that, my good imp?" "You want to die with a breast in hand, you said." Tyrion cantered on ahead to where the ferry barges waited on the south bank of the Blackwater. He had suffered all he meant to suffer of what passed for Dornish wit. Father should have sent Joffrey after all. He could have asked Prince Oberyn if he knew how a Dornishman differed from a cowflop. That made him grin despite himself. He would have to make a point of being on hand when the Red Viper was presented to the king.

§ § §

BRAN

The tower stood upon an island, its twin reflected on the still blue waters. When the wind blew, ripples moved across the surface of the lake, chasing one another like boys at play. Oak trees grew thick along the lakeshore, a dense stand of them with a litter of fallen acorns on the ground beneath. Beyond them was the village, or what remained of it. It was the first village they had seen since leaving the foothills. Meera had scouted ahead to make certain there was no one lurking amongst the ruins. Sliding in and amongst oaks and apple trees with her net and spear in hand, she startled three red deer and sent them bounding away through?the ?rush. Summer saw the flash of motion and was after them at once. Bran watched the direwolf lope off, and for a moment wanted nothing so much as to slip his skin and run with him, but Meera was waving for them to come ahead. Reluctantly, he turned away from Summer and urged Hodor on, into the village. Jojen walked with them. The ground from here to the Wall was grasslands, Bran knew; fallow fields and low rolling hills, high meadows and lowland bogs. It would be much easier going than the mountains behind, but so much open space made Meera uneasy. "I feel naked," she confessed. "There's no place to hide." "Who holds this land?" Jojen asked Bran. "The Night's Watch," he answered. "This is the Gift. The New Gift, and north of that Brandon's Gift." Maester Luwin had taught him the history. "Brandon the Builder gave all the land south of the Wall to the black brothers, to a distance of twenty-five leagues. For their ... for their sustenance and support." He was proud that he still remembered that part. "Some maesters say it was some other Brandon, not the Builder, but it's still Brandon's Gift. Thousands of years later, Good Queen Alysanne visited the Wall on her dragon Silverwing, and she thought the Night's Watch was so brave that she had the Old King double the size of their lands, to fifty leagues. So that was the New Gift." He waved a hand. "Here. All this." No one had lived in the village for long years, Bran could see. All the houses were falling down. Even the inn. It had never been much of an inn, to look at it, but now all that remained was a stone chimney and two cracked walls, set amongst a dozen apple trees. One was growing up through the common room, where a layer of wet brown leaves and rotting apples carpeted the floor. The air was thick with the smell of them, a cloying cidery scent that was almost overwhelming. Meera stabbed a few apples with her frog spear, trying to find some still good enough to eat, but they were all too brown and wormy. It was a peaceful spot, still and tranquil and lovely to behold, but Bran thought there was something sad about an empty inn, and Hodor seemed to feel it too. "Hodor? " he said in a confused sort of way. "Hodor? Hodor? " "This is good land." Jojen picked up a handful of dirt, rubbing it between his fingers. "A village, an inn, a stout holdfast in the lake, all these apple trees ... but where are the people, Bran? Why would they leave such a place?" "They were afraid of the wildlings," said Bran. "Wildlings come over the Wall or through the mountains, to raid and steal and carry off women. If they catch you, they make your skull into a cup to drink blood, Old Nan used to say. The Night's Watch isn't so strong as it was in Brandon's day or Queen Alysanne's, so more get through. The places nearest the Wall got raided so much the smallfolk moved south, into the mountains or onto the Umber lands east of the kingsroad. The Greatjon's people get raided too, but not so much as the people who used to live in the Gift." Jojen Reed turned his head slowly, listening to music only he could hear. "We need to shelter here. There's a storm coming. A bad one." Bran looked up at the sky. It had been a beautiful crisp clear autumn day, sunny and almost warm, but there were dark clouds off to the west now, that was true, and the wind seemed to be picking up. "There's no roof on the inn and only the two walls," he pointed out. "We should go out to the holdfast." "Hodor," said Hodor. Maybe he agreed. "We have no boat, Bran." Meera poked through the leaves idly with her frog spear. "There's a causeway. A stone causeway, hidden under the water. We could walk out." They could, anyway; he would have to ride on Hodor's back, but at least he'd stay dry that way. The Reeds exchanged a look. "How do you know that?" asked Jojen. "Have you been here before, my prince?" "No. Old Nan told me. The holdfast has a golden crown, see?" He pointed across the lake. You could see patches of flaking gold paint up around the crenellations. "Queen Alysanne slept there, so they painted the merlons gold in her honor." "A causeway?" Joien studied the lake. "You are certain?" "Certain," said Bran. Meera found the foot of it easily enough, once she knew to look; a stone pathway three feet wide, leading right out into the lake. She took them out step by careful step, probing ahead with her frog spear. They could see where the path emerged again, climbing from the water onto the island and turning into a short flight of stone steps that led to the holdfast door. Path, steps, and door were in a straight line, which made you think the causeway ran straight, but that wasn't so. Under the lake it zigged and zagged, going a third of a way around the island before jagging back. The turns were treacherous, and the long path meant that anyone approaching would be exposed to arrow fire from the tower for a long time. The hidden stones were slimy and slippery too; twice Hodor almost lost his footing and shouted "HODOR!" in alarm before regaining his balance. The second time scared Bran badly. If Hodor fell into the lake with him in his basket, he could well drown, especially if the huge stableboy panicked and forgot that Bran was there, the way he did sometimes. Maybe we should have stayed at the inn, under the apple tree, he thought, but by then it was too late. Thankfully there was no third time, and the water never got up past Hodor's waist, though the Reeds were in it up to their chests. And before long they were on the island, climbing the steps to the holdfast. The door was still stout, though its heavy oak planks had warped over the years and it could no longer be closed completely. Meera shoved it open all the way, the rusted iron hinges screaming. The lintel was low. "Duck down, Hodor," Bran said, and he did, but not enough to keep Bran from hitting his head. "That hurt," he complained. "Hodor," said Hodor, straightening. They found themselves in a gloomy strongroom, barely large enough to hold the four of them. Steps built into the inner wall of the tower curved away upward to their left, downward to their right, behind iron grates. Bran looked up and saw another grate just above his head. A murder hole. He was glad there was no one up there now to pour boiling oil down on them. The grates were locked, but the iron bars were red with rust. Hodor grabbed hold of the lefthand door and gave it a pull, grunting with effort. Nothing happened. He tried pushing with no more success. He shook the bars, kicked, shoved against them and rattled them and punched the hinges with a huge hand until the air was filled with flakes of rust, but the iron door would not budge. The one down to the undervault was no more accommodating. "No way in," said Meera, shrugging. The murder hole was just above Bran's head, as he sat in his basket on Hodor's back. He reached up and grabbed the bars to give them a try. When he pulled down the grating came out of the ceiling in a cascade of rust and crumbling stone. "HODOR!" Hodor shouted. The heavy iron grate gave Bran another bang in the head, and crashed down near Jojen's feet when he shoved it off of him. Meera laughed. "Look at that, my prince," she said, "you're stronger than Hodor." Bran blushed. With the grate gone, Hodor was able to boost Meera and Jojen up through the gaping murder hole. The crannogmen took Bran by the arms and drew him up after them. Getting Hodor inside was the hard part. He was too heavy for the Reeds to lift the way they'd lifted Bran. Finally Bran told him to go look for some big rocks. The island had no lack of those, and Hodor was able to pile them high enough to grab the crumbling edges of the hole and climb through. "Hodor, " he panted happily, grinning at all of them. They found themselves in a maze of small cells, dark and empty, but Meera explored until she found the way back to the steps. The higher they climbed, the better the light; on the third story the thick outer wall was pierced by arrow slits, the fourth had actual windows, and the fifth and highest was one big round chamber with arched doors on three sides opening onto small stone balconies. On the fourth side was a privy chamber perched above a sewer chute that dropped straight down into the lake. By the time they reached the roof the sky was completely overcast, and the clouds to the west were black. The wind was blowing so strong it lifted up Bran's cloak and made it flap and snap. "Hodor," Hodor said at the noise. Meera spun in a circle. "I feel almost a giant, standing high above the world." "There are trees in the Neck that stand twice as tall as this," her brother reminded her. "Aye, but they have other trees around them just as high," said Meera. "The world presses close in the Neck, and the sky is so much smaller. Here ... feel that wind, Brother? And look how large the world has grown." It was true, you could see a long ways from up here. To the south the foothills rose, with the mountains grey and green beyond them. The rolling plains of the New Gift stretched away to all the other directions, as far as the eye could see. "I was hoping we could see the Wall from here," said Bran, disappointed. "That was stupid, we must still be fifty leagues away." just speaking of it made him feel tired, and cold as well. "Jojen, what will we do when we reach the Wall? My uncle always said how big it was. Seven hundred feet high, and so thick at the base that the gates are more like tunnels through the ice. How are we going to get past to find the three-eyed crow?" "There are abandoned castles along the Wall, I've heard," Jojen answered. "Fortresses built by the Night's Watch but now left empty. One of them may give us our way through." The ghost castles, Old Nan had called them. Maester Luwin had once made Bran learn the names of every one of the forts along the Wall. That had been hard; there were nineteen of them all told, though no more than seventeen had ever been manned at any one time. At the feast in honor of King Robert's visit to Winterfell, Bran had recited the names for his uncle Benjen, east to west and then west to east. Benjen Stark had laughed and said, "You know them better than I do, Bran. Perhaps you should be First Ranger. I'll stay here in your place." That was before Bran fell, though. Before he was broken. By the time he'd woken crippled from his sleep, his uncle had gone back to Castle Black. "My uncle said the gates were sealed with ice and stone whenever a castle had to be abandoned," said Bran. "Then we'll have to open them again," said Meera. That made him uneasy. "We shouldn't do that. Bad things might come through from the other side. We should just go to Castle Black and tell the Lord Commander to let us pass." "Your Grace," said Jojen, "we must avoid Castle Black, just as we avoided the kingsroad. There are hundreds of men there." "Men of the Night's Watch," said Bran. "They say vows, to take no part in wars and stuff." "Aye," said Jojen, "but one man willing to forswear himself would be enough to sell your secret to the ironmen or the Bastard of Bolton. And we cannot be certain that the Watch would agree to let us pass. They might decide to hold us or send us back." "But my father was a friend of the Night's Watch, and my uncle is First Ranger. He might know where the three-eyed crow lives. And Jon's at Castle Black too." Bran had been hoping to see Jon again, and their uncle too. The last black brothers to visit Winterfell said that Benjen Stark had vanished on a ranging, but surely he would have made his way back by now. "I bet the Watch would even give us horses," he went on. "Quiet." Jojen shaded his eyes with a hand and gazed off toward the setting sun. "Look. There's something ... a rider, I think. Do you see him?" Bran shaded his eyes as well, and even so he had to squint. He saw nothing at first, till some movement made him turn. At first he thought it might be Summer, but no. A man on a horse. He was too far away to see much else. "Hodor?" Hodor had put a hand over his eyes as well, only he was looking the wrong way. "Hodor?" "He is in no haste," said Meera, "but he's making for this village, it seems to me." "We had best go inside, before we're seen," said Jojen. "Summer's near the village," Bran objected. "Summer will be fine," Meera promised. "It's only one man on a tired horse." A few fat wet drops began to patter against the stone as they retreated to the floor below. That was well timed; the rain began to fall in earnest a short time later. Even through the thick walls they could hear it lashing against the surface of the lake. They sat on the floor in the round empty room, amidst gathering gloom. The north-facing balcony looked out toward the abandoned village. Meera crept out on her belly to peer across the lake and see what had become of the horseman. "He's taken shelter in the ruins of the inn," she told them when she came back. "it looks as though he's making a fire in the hearth." "I wish we could have a fire," Bran said. "I'm cold. There's broken furniture down the stairs, I saw it. We could have Hodor chop it up and get warm." Hodor liked that idea. "Hodor," he said hopefully. Jojen shook his head. "Fire means smoke. Smoke from this tower could be seen a long way off." "If there were anyone to see," his sister argued. "There's a man in the village." "One man." "One man would be enough to betray Bran to his enemies, if he's the wrong man. We still have half a duck from yesterday. We should eat and rest. Come morning the man will go on his way, and we will do the same." Jojen had his way; he always did. Meera divided the duck between the four of them. She'd caught it in her net the day before, as it tried to rise from the marsh where she'd surprised it. It wasn't as tasty cold as it had been hot and crisp from the spit, but at least they did not go hungry. Bran and Meera shared the breast while Jojen ate the thigh. Hodor devoured the wing and leg, muttering "Hodor" and licking the grease off his fingers after every bite. It was Bran's turn to tell a story, so he told them about another Brandon Stark, the one called Brandon the Shipwright, who had sailed off beyond the Sunset Sea. Dusk was settling by the time duck and tale were done, and the rain still fell. Bran wondered how far Summer had roamed and whether he had caught one of the deer. Grey gloom filled the tower, and slowly changed to darkness. Hodor grew restless and walked awhile, striding round and round the walls and stopping to peer into the privy on every circuit, as if he had forgotten what was in there. Jojen stood by the north balcony, hidden by the shadows, looking out at the night and the rain. Somewhere to the north a lightning bolt crackled across the sky, brightening the inside of the tower for an instant. Hodor jumped and made a frightened noise. Bran counted to eight, waiting for the thunder. When it came, Hodor shouted, "Hodor!" I hope Summer isn't scared too, Bran thought. The dogs in Winterfell's kennels had always been spooked by thunderstorms, just like Hodor. I should go see, to calm him ... The lightning flashed again, and this time the thunder came at six. "Hodor!" Hodor yelled again. "HODOR! HODOR!" He snatched up his sword, as if to fight the storm. Jojen said, "Be quiet, Hodor. Bran, tell him not to shout. Can you get the sword away from him, Meera?" "I can try." "Hodor, hush," said Bran. "Be quiet now. No more stupid hodoring. Sit down." "Hodor?" He gave the longsword to Meera meekly enough, but his face was a mask of confusion. Jojen turned back to the darkness, and they all heard him suck in his breath. "What is it?" Meera asked. "Men in the village." "The man we saw before?" "Other men. Armed. I saw an axe, and spears as well." Joien had never sounded so much like the boy he was. "I saw them when the lightning flashed, moving under the trees." "How many?" "Many and more. Too many to count." "Mounted? "No." "Hodor." Hodor sounded frightened. "Hodor. Hodor." Bran felt a little scared himself, though he didn't want to say so in front of Meera. "What if they come out here?" "They won't." She sat down beside him. "Why should they?" "For shelter." Jojen's voice was grim. "Unless the storm lets up. Meera, could you go down and bar the door?" "I couldn't even close it. The wood's too warped. They won't get past those iron gates, though." "They might. They could break the lock, or the hinges. Or climb up through the murder hole as we did." Lightning slashed the sky, and Hodor whimpered. Then a clap of thunder rolled across the lake. "HODOR!" he roared, clapping his hands over his ears and stumbling in a circle through the darkness. "HODOR! HODOR! HODOR!" "NO!" Bran shouted back. "NO HODORING!" It did no good. "HOOOODOR!" moaned Hodor. Meera tried to catch him and calm him, but he was too strong. He flung her aside with no more than a shrug. "HOOOOOODOOOOOOOR!" the stableboy screamed as lightning filled the sky again, and even Jojen was shouting now, shouting at Bran and Meera to shut him up. "Be quiet!" Bran said in a shrill scared voice, reaching up uselessly for Hodor's leg as he crashed past, reaching, reaching. Hodor staggered, and closed his mouth. He shook his head slowly from side to side, sank back to the floor, and sat crosslegged. When the thunder boomed, he scarcely seemed to hear it. The four of them sat in the dark tower, scarce daring to breathe. "Bran, what did you do?" Meera whispered. "Nothing." Bran shook his head. "I don't know." But he did. I reached for him, the way I reach for Summer. He had been Hodor for half a heartbeat. It scared him. "Something is happening across the lake," said Jojen. "I thought I saw a man pointing at the tower." I won't be afraid. He was the Prince of Winterfell, Eddard Stark's son, almost a man grown and a warg too, not some little baby boy like Rickon. Summer would not be afraid. "Most like they're just some Umbers," he said. "Or they could be Knotts or Norreys or Flints come down from the mountains, or even brothers from the Night's Watch. Were they wearing black cloaks, Jojen?" "By night all cloaks are black, Your Grace. And the flash came and went too fast for me to tell what they were wearing." Meera was wary. "If they were black brothers, they'd be mounted, wouldn't they?" Bran had thought of something else. "It doesn't matter," he said confidently. "They couldn't get out to us even if they wanted. Not unless they had a boat, or knew about the causeway." "The causeway!" Meera mussed Bran's hair and kissed him on the forehead. "Our sweet prince! He's right, Jojen, they won't know about the causeway. Even if they did they could never find the way across at night in the rain." "The night will end, though. If they stay till morning..." Jojen left the rest unsaid. After a few moments he said, "They are feeding the fire the first man started." Lightning crashed through the sky, and light filled the tower and etched them all in shadow. Hodor rocked back and forth, humming. Bran could feel Summer's fear in that bright instant. He closed two eyes and opened a third, and his boy's skin slipped off him like a cloak as he left the tower behind ... ... and found himself out in the rain, his belly full of deer, cringing in the brush as the sky broke and boomed above him. The smell of rotten apples and wet leaves almost drowned the scent of man, but it was there. He heard the clink and slither of hardskin, saw men moving under the trees. A man with a stick blundered by, a skin pulled up over his head to make him blind and deaf. The wolf went wide around him, behind a dripping thornbush and beneath the bare branches of an apple tree. He could hear them talking, and there beneath the scents of rain and leaves and horse came the sharp red stench of fear ...

§ § §

DAVOS

Lord Alester looked up sharply. "Voices," he said. "Do you hear, Davos? Someone is coming for us." "Lamprey," said Davos. "It's time for our supper, or near enough." Last night Lamprey had brought them half a beef-and-bacon pie, and a flagon of mead as well. Just the thought of it made his belly start to rumble. "No, there's more than one." He's right. Davos heard two voices at least, and footsteps, growing louder. He got to his feet and moved to the bars. Lord Alester brushed the straw from his clothes. "The king has sent for me. Or the queen, yes, Selyse would never let me rot here, her own blood." Outside the cell, Lamprey appeared with a ring of keys in hand. Ser Axell Florent and four guardsmen followed close behind him. They waited beneath the torch while Lamprey searched for the correct key. "Axell," Lord Alester said. "Gods be good. Is it the king who sends for me, or the queen?" "No one has sent for you, traitor," Ser Axell said. Lord Alester recoiled as if he'd been slapped. "No, I swear to you, I committed no treason. Why won't you listen? If His Grace would only let me explain-" Lamprey thrust a great iron key into the lock, turned it, and pulled open the cell. The rusted hinges screamed in protest. "You," he said to Davos. "Come." "Where?" Davos looked to Ser Axell. "Tell me true, ser, do you mean to burn me?" "You are sent for. Can you walk?" "I can walk." Davos stepped from the cell. Lord Alester gave a cry of dismay as Lamprey slammed the door shut once more. "Take the torch," Ser Axell commanded the gaoler. "Leave the traitor to the darkness." "No," his brother said. "Axell, please, don't take the light . . . gods have mercy . . . " "Gods? There is only R'hllor, and the Other." Ser Axell gestured sharply, and one of his guardsmen pulled the torch from its sconce and led the way to the stair. "Are you taking me to Melisandre?" Davos asked. "She will be there," Ser Axell said. "She is never far from the king. But it is His Grace himself who asked for you." Davos lifted his hand to his chest, where once his luck had hung in a leather bag on a thong. Gone now, he remembered, and the ends of four fingers as well. But his hands were still long enough to wrap about a woman's throat, he thought, especially a slender throat like hers. Up they went, climbing the turnpike stair in single file. The walls were rough dark stone, cool to the touch. The light of the torches went before them, and their shadows marched beside them on the walls. At the third turn they passed an iron gate that opened on blackness, and another at the fifth turn. Davos guessed that they were near the surface by then, perhaps even above it. The next door they came to was made of wood, but still they climbed. Now the walls were broken by arrow slits, but no shafts of sunlight pried their way through the thickness of the stone. It was night outside. His legs were aching by the time Ser Axell thrust open a heavy door and gestured him through. Beyond, a high stone bridge arched over emptiness to the massive central tower called the Stone Drum. A sea wind blew restlessly through the arches that supported the roof, and Davos could smell the salt water as they crossed. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean cold air. Wind and water, give me strength, he prayed. A huge nightfire burned in the yard below, to keep the terrors of the dark at bay, and the queen's men were gathered around it, singing praises to their new red god. They were in the center of the bridge when Ser Axell stopped suddenly. He made a brusque gesture with his hand, and his men moved out of earshot. "Were it my choice, I would burn you with my brother Alester," he told Davos. "You are both traitors." "Say what you will. I would never betray King Stannis." "You would. You will. I see it in your face. And I have seen it in the flames as well. R'hllor has blessed me with that gift. Like Lady Melisandre, he shows me the future in the fire. Stannis Baratheon will sit the Iron Throne. I have seen it. And I know what must be done. His Grace must make me his Hand, in place of my traitor brother. And you will tell him so." Will I? Davos said nothing. "The queen has urged my appointment," Ser Axell went on. "Even your old friend from Lys, the pirate Saan, he says the same. We have made a plan together, him and me. Yet His Grace does not act. The defeat gnaws inside him, a black worm in his soul. It is up to us who love him to show him what to do. If you are as devoted to his cause as you claim, smuggler, you will join your voice to ours. Tell him that I am the only Hand he needs. Tell him, and when we sail I shall see that you have a new ship." A ship. Davos studied the other man's face. Ser Axell had big Florent ears, much like the queen's. Coarse hair grew from them, as from his nostrils; more sprouted in tufts and patches beneath his double chin. His nose was broad, his brow beetled, his eyes close-set and hostile. He would sooner give me a pyre than a ship, he said as much, but if I do him this favor . . . "if you think to betray me," Ser Axell said, "pray remember that I have been castellan of Dragonstone a good long time. The garrison is mine. Perhaps I cannot burn you without the king's consent, but who is to say you might not suffer a fall." He laid a meaty hand on the back of Davos's neck and shoved him bodily against the waist-high side of the bridge, then shoved a little harder to force his face out over the yard. "Do you hear me?" "I hear," said Davos. And you dare name me traitor? Ser Axell released him. "Good." He smiled. "His Grace awaits. Best we do not keep him." At the very top of Stone Drum, within the great round room called the Chamber of the Painted Table, they found Stannis Baratheon standing behind the artifact that gave the hall its name, a massive slab of wood carved and painted in the shape of Westeros as it had been in the time of Aegon the Conqueror. An iron brazier stood beside the king, its coals glowing a ruddy orange. Four tall pointed windows looked out to north, south, east, and west. Beyond was the night and the starry sky. Davos could hear the wind moving, and fainter, the sounds of the sea. "Your Grace," Ser Axell said, "as it please you, I have brought the onion knight." "So I see." Stannis wore a grey wool tunic, a dark red mantle, and a plain black leather belt from which his sword and dagger hung. A red-gold crown with flame-shaped points encircled his brows. The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm's End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king's close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face. Yet when he saw Davos, a faint smile brushed his lips. "So the sea has returned me my knight of the fish and onions." "It did, Your Grace." Does he know that he had me in his dungeon? Davos went to one knee. "Rise, Ser Davos," Stannis commanded. "I have missed you, ser. I have need of good counsel, and you never gave me less. So tell me true-what is the penalty for treason?" The word hung in the air. A frightful word, thought Davos. Was he being asked to condemn his cellmate? Or himself, perchance? Kings know the penalty for treason better than any man. "Treason?" he finally managed, weakly. "What else would you call it, to deny your king and seek to steal his rightful throne. I ask you again-what is the penalty for treason under the law?" Davos had no choice but to answer. "Death," he said. "The penalty is death, Your Grace." "It has always been so. I am not . . . I am not a cruel man, Ser Davos. You know me. Have known me long. This is not my decree. It has always been so, since Aegon's day and before. Daemon Blackfyre, the brothers Toyne, the Vulture King, Grand Maester Hareth . . . traitors have always paid with their lives . . . even Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was daughter to one king and mother to two more, yet she died a traitor's death for trying to usurp her brother's crown. It is law. Law, Davos. Not cruelty." "Yes, Your Grace." He does not speak of me. Davos felt a moment's pity for his cellmate down in the dark. He knew he should keep silent, but he was tired and sick of heart, and he heard himself say, "Sire, Lord Florent meant no treason." "Do smugglers have another name for it? I made him Hand, and he would have sold my rights for a bowl of pease porridge. He would even have given them Shireen. Mine only child, he would have wed to a bastard born of incest." The king's voice was thick with anger. "My brother had a gift for inspiring loyalty. Even in his foes. At Summerhall he won three battles in a single day, and brought Lords Grandison and Cafferen back to Storm's End as prisoners. He hung their banners in the hall as trophies. Cafferen's white fawns were spotted with blood and Grandison's sleeping lion was torn near in two. Yet they would sit beneath those banners of a night, drinking and feasting with Robert. He even took them hunting. 'These men meant to deliver you to Aerys to be burned' I told him after I saw them throwing axes in the yard. 'You should not be putting axes in their hands.' Robert only laughed. I would have thrown Grandison and Cafferen into a dungeon, but he turned them into friends. Lord Cafferen died at Ashford Castle, cut down by Randyll Tarly whilst fighting for Robert. Lord Grandison was wounded on the Trident and died of it a year after. My brother made them love him, but it would seem that I inspire only betrayal. Even in mine own blood and kin. Brother, grandfather, cousins, good uncle . . . " "Your Grace," said Ser Axell, "I beg you, give me the chance to prove to you that not all Florents are so feeble." "Ser Axell would have me resume the war," King Stannis told Davos. "The Lannisters think I am done and beaten, and my sworn lords have forsaken me, near every one. Even Lord Estermont, my own mother's father, has bent his knee to Joffrey. The few loyal men who remain to me are losing heart. They waste their days drinking and gambling, and lick their wounds like beaten curs." "Battle will set their hearts ablaze once more, Your Grace," Ser Axell said. "Defeat is a disease, and victory is the cure." "Victory." The king's mouth twisted. "There are victories and victories, ser. But tell your plan to Ser Davos. I would hear his views on what you propose." Ser Axell turned to Davos, with a look on his face much like the look that proud Lord Belgrave must have worn, the day King Baelor the Blessed had commanded him to wash the beggar's ulcerous feet. Nonetheless, he obeyed. The plan Ser Axell had devised with Salladhor Saan was simple. A few hours' sail from Dragonstone lay Claw Isle, ancient sea-girt seat of House Celtigar. Lord Ardrian Celtigar had fought beneath the flery heart on the Blackwater, but once taken, he had wasted no time in going over to Joffrey. He remained in King's Landing even now. "Too frightened of His Grace's wrath to come near Dragonstone, no doubt," Ser Axell declared. "And wisely so. The man has betrayed his rightful king." Ser Axell proposed to use Salladhor Saan's fleet and the men who had escaped the Blackwater-Stannis still had some fifteen hundred on Dragonstone, more than half of them Florents-to exact retribution for Lord Celtigar's defection. Claw Isle was but lightly garrisoned, its castle reputedly stuffed with Myrish carpets, Volantene glass, gold and silver plate, jeweled cups, magnificent hawks, an axe of Valyrian steel, a horn that could summon monsters from the deep, chests of rubies, and more wines than a man could drink in a hundred years. Though Celtigar had shown the world a niggardly face, he had never stinted on his own comforts. "Put his castle to the torch and his people to the sword, I say," Ser Axell concluded. "Leave Claw Isle a desolation of ash and bone, fit only for carrion crows, so the realm might see the fate of those who bed with Lannisters." Stannis listened to Ser Axell's recitation in silence, grinding his jaw slowly from side to side. When it was done, he said, "It could be done, I believe. The risk is small. Joffrey has no strength at sea until Lord Redwyne sets sail from the Arbor. The plunder might serve to keep that Lysene pirate Salladhor Saan loyal for a time. By itself Claw Isle is worthless, but its fall would serve notice to Lord Tywin that my cause is not yet done." The king turned back to Davos. "Speak truly, ser. What do you make of Ser Axell's proposal?" Speak truly, ser. Davos remembered the dark cell he had shared with Lord Alester, remembered Lamprey and Porridge. He thought of the promises that Ser Axell had made on the bridge above the yard. A ship or a shove, what shall it be? But this was Stannis asking. "Your Grace," he said slowly, "I make it folly . . . aye, and cowardice." "Cowardice?" Ser Axell all but shouted. "No man calls me craven before my king!" "Silence," Stannis commanded. "Ser Davos, speak on, I would hear your reasons." Davos turned to face Ser Axell. "You say we ought show the realm we are not done. Strike a blow. Make war, aye . . . but on what enemy? You will find no Lannisters on Claw Isle." "We will find traitors," said Ser Axell, "though it may be I could find some closer to home. Even in this very room." Davos ignored the jibe. "I don't doubt Lord Celtigar bent the knee to the boy Joffrey. He is an old done man, who wants no more than to end his days in his castle, drinking his fine wine out of his jeweled cups." He turned back to Stannis. "Yet he came when you called, sire. Came, with his ships and swords. He stood by you at Storm's End when Lord Renly came down on us, and his ships sailed up the Blackwater. His men fought for you, killed for you, burned for you. Claw Isle is weakly held, yes. Held by women and children and old men. And why is that? Because their husbands and sons and fathers died on the Blackwater, that's why. Died at their oars, or with swords in their hands, fighting beneath our banners. Yet Ser Axell proposes we swoop down on the homes they left behind, to rape their widows and put their children to the sword. These smallfolk are no traitors . . . " "They are," insisted Ser Axell. "Not all of Celtigar's men were slain on the Blackwater. Hundreds were taken with their lord, and bent the knee when he did." "When he did," Davos repeated. "They were his men. His sworn men. What choice were they given?" "Every man has choices. They might have refused to kneel. Some did, and died for it. Yet they died true men, and loyal." "Some men are stronger than others." It was a feeble answer, and Davos knew it. Stannis Baratheon was a man of iron will who neither understood nor forgave weakness in others . I am losing, he thought, despairing. "It is every man's duty to remain loyal to his rightful king, even if the lord he serves proves false," Stannis declared in a tone that brooked no argument. A desperate folly took hold of Davos, a recklessness akin to madness. "As you remained loyal to King Aerys when your brother raised his banners?" he blurted. Shocked silence followed, until Ser Axell cried, "Treason!" and snatched his dagger from its sheath. "Your Grace, he speaks his infamy to your face!" Davos could hear Stannis grinding his teeth. A vein bulged, blue and swollen, in the king's brow. Their eyes met. "Put up your knife, Ser Axell. And leave us." "As it please Your Grace-" "It would please me for you to leave," said Stannis. "Take yourself from my presence, and send me Melisandre." "As you command." Ser Axell slid the knife away, bowed, and hurried toward the door. His boots rang against the floor, angry. "You have always presumed on my forbearance," Stannis warned Davos when they were alone. "I can shorten your tongue as easy as I did your fingers, smuggler." "I am your man, Your Grace. So it is your tongue, to do with as you please." "It is," he said, calmer. "And I would have it speak the truth. Though the truth is a bitter draught at times. Aerys? If you only knew . . . that was a hard choosing. My blood or my liege. My brother or my king." He grimaced. "Have you ever seen the Iron Throne? The barbs along the back, the ribbons of twisted steel, the jagged ends of swords and knives all tangled up and melted? It is not a comfortable seat, ser. Aerys cut himself so often men took to calling him King Scab, and Maegor the Cruel was murdered in that chair. By that chair, to hear some tell it. It is not a seat where a man can rest at ease. Ofttimes I wonder why my brothers wanted it so desperately." "Why would you want it, then?" Davos asked him. "It is not a question of wanting. The throne is mine, as Robert's heir. That is law. After me, it must pass to my daughter, unless Selyse should finally give me a son." He ran three fingers lightly down the table, over the layers of smooth hard varnish, dark with age. "I am king. Wants do not enter into it. I have a duty to my daughter. To the realm. Even to Robert. He loved me but little, I know, yet he was my brother. The Lannister woman gave him horns and made a motley fool of him. She may have murdered him as well, as she murdered Jon Arryn and Ned Stark. For such crimes there must be justice. Starting with Cersei and her abominations. But only starting. I mean to scour that court clean. As Robert should have done, after the Trident. Ser Barristan once told me that the rot in King Aerys's reign began with Varys. The eunuch should never have been pardoned. No more than the Kingslayer. At the least, Robert should have stripped the white cloak from Jaime and sent him to the Wall, as Lord Stark urged. He listened to Jon Arryn instead. I was still at Storm's End, under siege and unconsulted." He turned abruptly, to give Davos a hard shrewd look. "The truth, now. Why did you wish to murder Lady Melisandre?" So he does know. Davos could not lie to him. "Four of my sons burned on the Blackwater. She gave them to the flames." "You wrong her. Those fires were no work of hers. Curse the Imp, curse the pyromancers, curse that fool of Florent who sailed my fleet into the jaws of a trap. Or curse me for my stubborn pride, for sending her away when I needed her most. But not Melisandre. She remains my faithful servant." "Maester Cressen was your faithful servant. She slew him, as she killed Ser Cortnay Penrose and your brother Renly." "Now you sound a fool," the king complained. "She saw Renly's end in the flames, yes, but she had no more part in it than I did. The priestess was with me. Your Devan would tell you so. Ask him, if you doubt me. She would have spared Renly if she could. It was Melisandre who urged me to meet with him, and give him one last chance to amend his treason. And it was Melisandre who told me to send for you when Ser Axell wished to give you to R'hllor." He smiled thinly. "Does that surprise you?" "Yes. She knows I am no friend to her or her red god." "But you are a friend to me. She knows that as well." He beckoned Davos closer. "The boy is sick. Maester Pylos has been leeching him." "The boy?" His thoughts went to his Devan, the king's squire. "My son, sire?" "Devan? A good boy. He has much of you in him. It is Robert's bastard who is sick, the boy we took at Storm's End." Edric Storm. "I spoke with him in Aegon's Garden." "As she wished. As she saw." Stannis sighed. "Did the boy charm you? He has that gift. He got it from his father, with the blood. He knows he is a king's son, but chooses to forget that he is bastard-born. And he worships Robert, as Renly did when he was young. My royal brother played the fond father on his visits to Storm's End, and there were gifts . . . swords and ponies and fur-trimmed cloaks. The eunuch's work, every one. The boy would write the Red Keep full of thanks, and Robert would laugh and ask Varys what he'd sent this year. Renly was no better. He left the boy's upbringing to castellans and maesters, and every one fell victim to his charm. Penrose chose to die rather than give him up." The king ground his teeth together. "It still angers me. How could he think I would hurt the boy? I chose Robert, did I not? When that hard day came. I chose blood over honor." He does not use the boy's name. That made Davos very uneasy. "I hope young Edric will recover soon." Stannis waved a hand, dismissing his concern. "It is a chill, no more. He coughs, he shivers, he has a fever. Maester Pylos will soon set him right. By himself the boy is nought, you understand, but in his veins flows my brother's blood. There is power in a king's blood, she says." Davos did not have to ask who she was. Stannis touched the Painted Table. "Look at it, onion knight. My realm, by rights. My Westeros." He swept a hand across it. "This talk of Seven Kingdoms is a folly. Aegon saw that three hundred years ago when he stood where we are standing. They painted this table at his command. Rivers and bays they painted, hills and mountains, castles and cities and market towns, lakes and swamps and forests . . . but no borders. It is all one. One realm, for one king to rule alone." "One king," agreed Davos. "One king means peace." "I shall bring justice to Westeros. A thing Ser Axell understands as little as he does war. Claw Isle would gain me naught . . . and it was evil, just as you said. Celtigar must pay the traitor's price himself, in his own person. And when I come into my kingdom, he shall. Every man shall reap what he has sown, from the highest lord to the lowest gutter rat. And some will lose more than the tips off their fingers, I promise you. They have made my kingdom bleed, and I do not forget that." King Stannis turned from the table. "On your knees, Onion Knight." "Your Grace?" "For your onions and fish, I made you a knight once. For this, I am of a mind to raise you to lord." This? Davos was lost. "I am content to be your knight, Your Grace. I would not know how to begin being lordly." "Good. To be lordly is to be false. I have learned that lesson hard. Now, kneel. Your king commands." Davos knelt, and Stannis drew his longsword. Lightbringer, Melisandre had named it; the red sword of heroes, drawn from the fires where the seven gods were consumed. The room seemed to grow brighter as the blade slid from its scabbard. The steel had a glow to it; now orange, now yellow, now red. The air shimmered around it, and no jewel had ever sparkled so brilliantly. But when Stannis touched it to Davos's shoulder, it felt no different than any other longsword. "Ser Davos of House Seaworth," the king said, "are you my true and honest liege man, now and forever?" "I am, Your Grace." "And do you swear to serve me loyally all your days, to give me honest counsel and swift obedience, to defend my rights and my realm against all foes in battles great and small, to protect my people and punish my enemies?" "I do, Your Grace." "Then rise again, Davos Seaworth, and rise as Lord of the Rainwood, Admiral of the Narrow Sea, and Hand of the King." For a moment Davos was too stunned to move. I woke this morning in his dungeon. "Your Grace, you cannot . . . I am no fit man to be a King's Hand." "There is no man fitter." Stannis sheathed Lightbringer, gave Davos his hand, and pulled him to his feet. "I am lowborn," Davos reminded him. "An upjumped smuggler. Your lords will never obey me." "Then we will make new lords." "But . . . I cannot read . . . nor write . . . " "Maester Pylos can read for you. As to writing, my last Hand wrote the head off his shoulders. All I ask of you are the things you've always given me. Honesty. Loyalty. Service." "Surely there is someone better . . . some great lord . . . " Stannis snorted. "Bar Emmon, that boy? My faithless grandfather? Celtigar has abandoned me, the new Velaryon is six years old, and the new Sunglass sailed for Volantis after I burned his brother." He made an angry gesture. "A few good men remain, it's true. Ser Gilbert Farring holds Storm's End for me still, with two hundred loyal men. Lord Morrigen, the Bastard of Nightsong, young Chyttering, my cousin Andrew . . . but I trust none of them as I trust you, my lord of Rainwood. You will be my Hand. It is you I want beside me for the battle." Another battle will be the end of all of us, thought Davos. Lord Alester saw that much true enough. "Your Grace asked for honest counsel. In honesty then . . . we lack the strength for another battle against the Lannisters." "It is the great battle His Grace is speaking of," said a woman's voice, rich with the accents of the east. Melisandre stood at the door in her red silks and shimmering satins, holding a covered silver dish in her hands. "These little wars are no more than a scuffle of children before what is to come. The one whose name may not be spoken is marshaling his power, Davos Seaworth, a power fell and evil and strong beyond measure. Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends." She placed the silver dish on the Painted Table. "Unless true men find the courage to fight it. Men whose hearts are fire." Stannis stared at the silver dish. "She has shown it to me, Lord Davos. In the flames." "You saw it, sire?" It was not like Stannis Baratheon to lie about such a thing. "With mine own eyes. After the battle, when I was lost to despair, the Lady Melisandre bid me gaze into the hearthfire. The chimney was drawing strongly, and bits of ash were rising from the fire. I stared at them, feeling half a fool, but she bid me look deeper, and . . . the ashes were white, rising in the updraft, yet all at once it seemed as if they were falling. Snow, I thought. Then the sparks in the air seemed to circle, to become a ring of torches, and I was looking through the fire down on some high hill in a forest. The cinders had become men in black behind the torches, and there were shapes moving through the snow. For all the heat of the fire, I felt a cold so terrible I shivered, and when I did the sight was gone, the fire but a fire once again. But what I saw was real, I'd stake my kingdom on it." "And have," said Melisandre. The conviction in the king's voice frightened Davos to the core. "A hill in a forest . . . shapes in the snow . . . I don't . . . " "It means that the battle is begun," said Melisandre. "The sand is running through the glass more quickly now, and man's hour on earth is almost done. We must act boldly, or all hope is lost. Westeros must unite beneath her one true king, the prince that was promised, Lord of Dragonstone and chosen of R'hllor." "R'hllor chooses queerly, then." The king grimaced, as if he'd tasted something foul. "Why me, and not my brothers? Renly and his peach. In my dreams I see the juice running from his mouth, the blood from his throat. If he had done his duty by his brother, we would have smashed Lord Tywin. A victory even Robert could be proud of. Robert . . . " His teeth ground side to side. "He is in my dreams as well. Laughing. Drinking. Boasting. Those were the things he was best at. Those, and fighting. I never bested him at anything. The Lord of Light should have made Robert his champion. Why me?" "Because you are a righteous man," said Melisandre. "A righteous man." Stannis touched the covered silver platter with a finger. "With leeches." "Yes," said Melisandre, "but I must tell you once more, this is not the way." "You swore it would work." The king looked angry. "It will . . . and it will not." "Which?" "Both." "Speak sense to me, woman." "When the fires speak more plainly, so shall I. There is truth in the flames, but it is not always easy to see." The great ruby at her throat drank fire from the glow of the brazier. "Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon." "I have told you, no." "He is only one baseborn boy, against all the boys of Westeros, and all the girls as well. Against all the children that might ever be born, in all the kingdoms of the world." "The boy is innocent." "The boy defiled your marriage bed, else you would surely have sons of your own. He shamed you." "Robert did that. Not the boy. My daughter has grown fond of him. And he is mine own blood." "Your brother's blood," Melisandre said. "A king's blood. Only a king's blood can wake the stone dragon." Stannis ground his teeth. "I'll hear no more of this. The dragons are done. The Targaryens tried to bring them back half a dozen times. And made fools of themselves, or corpses. Patchface is the only fool we need on this godsforsaken rock. You have the leeches. Do your work." Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, "As my king commands." Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy's blood, Davos knew. A king's blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches. "Say the name," Melisandre commanded. The leech was twisting in the king's grip, trying to attach itself to one of his fingers. "The usurper," he said. "Joffrey Baratheon." When he tossed the leech into the fire, it curled up like an autumn leaf amidst the coals, and burned. Stannis grasped the second. "The usurper," he declared, louder this time. "Balon Greyjoy." He flipped it lightly onto the brazier, and its flesh split and cracked. The blood burst from it, hissing and smoking. The last was in the king's hand. This one he studied a moment as it writhed between his fingers. "The usurper," he said at last. "Robb Stark." And he threw it on the flames.

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