#can’t believe I’m having my to remind everyone that colonialism = bad in the year of our lord 2025 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

malikmata · 4 years ago

Text

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries

7 notes · View notes

kiragecko · 4 years ago

Text

Reviews of Christian Allegorical FANTASY

Note: Christianity is a broad, varied thing. I can only write from my perspective, and it’s hard to describe that perspective to an international audience. Words have different meanings in different countries. But this is what I think about the various Christian allegorical fiction I’ve read, measured by writing quality, allegorical quality, and ability to make me happy. Your perspective may vary.

Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Y’all know this guy is good.

Allegory: Shockingly strong for something with such mass appeal. And deeper than you thought as a kid. Never sidelines the story, because he’s integrated the two so well.

Problems: So, you don’t notice the colonialism, racism, classism, sexism, and mild ableism as a kid. Dude was a white British man during the early and mid 1900s. He does not entirely rise above his culture. Some of the dehumanization of species/cultures that are obvious stand-ins for real world cultures horrified me during my latest reread. And it’s subtle enough that it’s hard to point out to kids.

Story: The story is great. I’ve read ‘The Horse And His Boy’ so many times that my papa’s copy is held together with tape. He wouldn’t let me take them when I moved out. Had to buy my own. It was tragic.

The Archives of Anthropos, by John White –

Writing: Reminds me of Terry Brooks, a little. In that the writing is servicable, and some of the fantasy is pretty derivative, but it’s definitely not bad. The roots are strong, but he didn’t have enough experience to cut all the weaker bits and ruthlessly rewrite.

Allegory: Solid. Not tacked on, not super deep. Really good for a Narnia imitation.

Problems: Not sure, haven’t reread in a while. Pika didn’t like a battle near the beginning, so we had to stop.

Story: It’s set in Winnipeg!!! Unashamed about being heavily inspired by Narnia, this series is a delight. Not as good as it’s inspiration, of course, but it feels like a heartfelt fan letter. Some of the ideas are REALLY cool. This series is worth reading, you guys! Especially the first 2 books.

The Circle (Black, Red, and White), by Ted Dekker –

Writing: Readable. Slick. Masculine.

Allegory: Lacked both the desired subtly and the necessary depth. Felt like it was written for fantasy fans that felt guilty about reading secular books, rather than to say something important.

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults. Allegories shouldn’t be trying to be cool. Not a fan. (But please note that these opinions were formed 15-20 years ago. I may have been missing something.)

The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Again, this is C.S. Lewis. He’s good at writing.

Allegory: A little weird, for me. But I struggle with allegory for adults. One of the books is Adam and Eve on Venus, with original sin working slightly differently? I don’t get it.

Problems: My problem is that I don’t like it! Sometimes it reads like Douglas Adams, but not funny. That makes no sense!

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults, even if they’re written by the authour of Narnia. This is Sci-Fi. There is romance. Really not for me.

The Story of the Other Wise Man, by Henry Van Dyke –

Writing: Good, if I remember correctly. Feels dated and classic, like it should be from Victorian times. (I just checked, it’s from 1895.)

Allegory: Like most morality from more than a century ago, it reads a bit weird. Just, life was a lot harsher then. Nice clear simple message, just taught from a mindset I don’t totally understand.

Story: As a kid, this one made me SAD! He loses everything and feels like a failure! Does have a good message, teaching is sound, good storytelling, but it wasn’t fun enough to make the lesson stick.

Left Behind, by Tim Lahaye and Jerry B. Jenkins -

Writing: I remember the writing being fine. They read like thrillers, which isn’t a bad thing. I’ve enjoyed some thrillers.

Allegory: Revelations is ALREADY an allegory. This is just an uninspired expansion.

Problems: Everything.

Story: I hate apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic stories. This series wasn’t written by someone who was bothered by the suffering of everyone who made ‘wrong’ choices, and that makes it hollow and awful. ‘We’re so good and smart and better than other people!’ NO. That is not Christianity.

A Wrinkle In Time, by Madeleine L’Engle –

I still don’t get how this series is Christian?? Really freaked me out as a kid. Had quite a few nightmares.

After a little research, it turns out that she has a very different understanding of Christianity then me. You’ll have to get a review from someone who can see from that perspective.

Duncton Wood, by William Horwood –

Writing: Extremely good. Heavy and beautiful. Kept me reading as I got more and more weirded out.

Allegory: Not a Christian allegory. And yet Christian enough, in a weird Anglican(??) way, to make it difficult to interpret as non-Christian. There’s a Jesus figure who gets martyred. There are schisms. It’s weird.

Problems: Almost certainly shouldn’t be on this list, yet I spent half an hour searching for it because I was so sure it was supposed to be on this list.

Story: Moles and their experiences with religion. There are similarities to Watership Down and Redwall, Narnia and Lord of the Rings. (The last mostly in language/writing style). If it wasn’t so close to Christian allegory as to be in the uncanny valley, I would have loved it! As it is, I would have prefered LESS Christ.

Christian ALLEGORICAL Fantasy

The Pilgrim’s Progress, by Paul Bunyan –

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read versions rewritten for kids. At least one was heavily abridged.) This was written in 1678. That is a LONG time ago. The worldview is really different from ours. Also, the versions I read were not inspired updates.

Allegory: This was written only 100 years after the Protestant Reformation. Punishments are incredibly disproportionate. Rich people have completely different rules than the poor, and this is seen as Godly. It’s been over 20 years since I read this book, and I don’t remember much, but it’s a weird read if you’re expecting modern concepts of right and wrong.

Story: Fascinating! Did not enjoy. Might as an adult. Reading an allegory that you can’t relate to at all is a weird experience.

Hind’s Feet On High Places, by Hannah Hunnard -

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read the version rewritten for kids.) Writing is really good.

Allegory: Names that are just English words have always annoyed me. Other than that pet peeve, this is extremely good. Straight-forward enough to be read to a 7 year old, complex enough for me to reference when I’m trying to describe my experiences to my husband. Solid Christianity, with enough hard stuff to challenge you, while still managing to be fun.

Problems: We’ve got some nasty ableism baked into the setting (disability as metaphor for sin and bondage), and the images are painfully white.

Story: I love this book! This is a Pilgrim’s Progress that actually matches with Christianity as I understand it. If you’re looking for a fun fantasy with a good message, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for a distillation of Christianity, told as a story because that makes it more accessible – this is a good one.

The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri –

Haven’t read it.

Tales of the Kingdom, by David and Karen Mains -

Writing: The first collection of stories is really strong. The next 2 get weaker. Short stories read differently than novels, and the writing style works well for that format.

Allegory: TOO strong. Some of the stories still make me mad to think about, because the messages are HARD. (Also, names that are just English words still annoy me, no matter now much I love the series.)

Problems: Ableism – true selves don’t have disabilities and are always beautiful. Art is not 100% white, but all the most beautiful people seem to be. And I love lizards far too much to handle the dragon story.

Story: These stories mean a lot to me. They are very much not something a non-believer is going to enjoy. They tend to focus on the parts of Christianity that are hard, uncomfortable, and/or different from mainstream culture. They also stick with you for decades. Narnia is my favourite series on this list to read, but Tales of the Kingdom might be the best for exploring your faith. Highly, highly recommend.

#religion #christianity #gecko recs stuff #people write things #these were the ones I could think of #anyone else know good allegories #(preferably aimed at kids but not tiny kids)#?

15 notes · View notes

triviareads · 4 years ago

Note

Hi there, 👋

I stumbled on your blog by accident (via the Bridgerton tag 😎), and I thought I’d chip into the popularity discussion.

I think it might have to do with the “Whistledown effect”. In books 1-4, Whistledown is still in business. That creates an extra dimension of excitement but also a sort of broader context of events. Whistledown’s Society Papers represent the information everyone in the Bridgerton universe knows. And the novels themselves sort of become a race against the clock to get to your happy ending before that crucial piece of information gets leaked. The latter four novels aren’t as bad per se, but there lack that form of suspense.

And yeah, the plots are somewhat repetitive. The Gregory-Hermione-Lucy triangle bears strong resemblance to the Anthony-Edwina-Kate situation. (I hereby declare I hope they cast Hermione as black, and while doing so get rid of the name…sorry it’s really not my thing. 🤫) And the Gareth-Hyacinth dynamic (“we’re partners in crime but really we’re not in love!!”) reminds me a little bit of Simon-Daphne. Eloise’s and Frannie’s plots are quite unique, but somewhat like each other but reversed. (Except Francesca was really fond of John and Phillip…not so much of Mariana 😬).

Plus…I feel you need to invest a lot as a reader to familiarise yourself with the main characters. Especially Francesca. I understand people love Franchael’s dynamic. But before reading the book I felt I barely knew Francesca. Which made rooting for her a bit difficult for me. (And I’m not even touching the topics themselves here…) As for the dynamic itself. I think especially with WHWW, it would serve the showrunners well to show how the dust settles once Francesca and Michael get together and married. Call me a prude, but I still believe in good old conversation. And especially after such a tumultuous start, it would be nice to see how they get used to living together as man and wife. And pay a little more attention to Francesca’s trouble conceiving. (I know it isn’t a sexy subject but it’s very important to talk about – both for the story and for the viewers). I thought all of that was somewhat brushed over whereas imho, they were much more interesting than that endless “will-they-won’t-they” and that slightly toxic game of attraction and rejection. That reminded me a lot of Wuthering Heights…but we all know how that one ended. 😔

Oh and finally an important change I would make: include the Bridgertons much more in WHWW! I know the whole point of the book was the seclusion in Scotland. (Yeah, I’m still manifesting Michael is a true Scot -> preferably with a beard and a kilt!) But in all the other books family was able to help or just speed things along. And I should hate to think Frannie can’t rely on the same close-knit relationships. Even if she seemingly wanted to. 😉

Well, apologies for this lengthy dissertation of my views on Bridgerton. I hope you could reflect ideas.

Kind regards,

— Thel.

P.S. Because I couldn’t sleep I came up with a (“commonwealth inspired”) idea for the background of all the love interests. Would you like to hear why it? 😊

Answer below the fold!

Hi Thel! Wow, I love this- the "Whistledown effect". That totally makes sense! I never realized how tantamount Whistledown is in leaking something near the end of every story the first 4 books, like a pattern. You're right- I guess the tension does die away with the last 4 books since there's no public reveal, or threat of public reveal, at least.

I do agree I'd like to see all the couples, if possible, after their plot conflict has been resolved, and they're living their lives, just to see how they're doing. If Bridgerton ever gets to Francesca and Michael, seeing their fertility struggles is something I'd definitely like to see portrayed, because you're right, it is an important topic. I wouldn't go as far as to compare Michael and Francesca to Cathy and Heathcliff, mostly because the genres are very different and I got the impression when I read the novel (years ago, and forcibly- thanks Honors English) that Cathy and Heathcliff's relationship is both unnaturally intense in its intensity (in keeping with the gothic genre, I guess) and there is never any happiness for them. Francesca and Michael, on the other hand, are in a very different genre (one far more known for its happy endings), and they're both people inclined towards happiness, I think. They don't luxuriate in misery the way Cathy and Heathcliff seemingly do.

I would be interested in hearing about a "commonwealth inspired" background for each of the love interests! Although, at that point in history, I do have to point out it would not be the "commonwealth" (that status only came later), but the various lands and colonies that are under the subjugation of the British Empire. But I would still love to hear what backgrounds you have in mind for the remaining love interests, and under what circumstances they (or their ancestors) came (or were brought) to England!

#bridgerton #michael stirling #francesca bridgerton #wuthering heights #ask

6 notes · View notes

kinetic-elaboration · 4 years ago

Text

September 17: 3x07 Day of the Dove

I am incredibly discombobulated today—usual weekend nocturnal shenanigans I guess! Anyway it’s somehow midnight. Gonna try to write up these note on the Classic episode The Day of the Dove in as efficient a manner as possible.

Hmm, a planet with wavy pink Fraggle plants. I like it already.

But where is Spock? Very suspicious.

I really appreciate Kirk giving a little speech to set up the overall question/issue for us. (I know he does this all the time with the Captain’s logs but this is out loud and so… more obviously expository.)

Oh no, it’s our old friends…the Klingons.

I will admit that this ONE TIME, the Klingon is being reasonable. Like, it is reasonable to think that Kirk and the Enterprise attacked his ship, given that his hip WAS attacked, and who else would it be?

Three years of peace between the Klingons and the Federation? That is inclusive of the show so all this tension must technically be “peace” and also implies there was something more like a direct war going on, like, right before Kirk got the captaincy.

Zoolander voice: What is this, a colony of the INVISIBLE?

“We have no devil. But we understand the habits of yours.”

No takers? No takers on the torture? No volunteers to be mercilessly tortured by the Klingons?

Star Trek Beyond could have had Kirk and Chekov bond over being brothers! I mean, to other people.

They’ll kill 100 hostages at the first sign of treachery. He does know there are only 400-some people on the ship right? Maybe you should pace yourself, Kang.

Kirk’s so badass he needs MULTIPLE guns trained on him just to use the phone.

Oh-ho secret message to Spock. Which version of the iPhone will be capable of doing THAT?

The Klingons are “suspended in transit” is an awfully nice way of saying they’re just dematerialized atoms in space. Philosophy major and/or Bones nightmare fuel.

How did Kang not see this coming, by the way? Like, he just says “I’m taking your ship now, me and my 6 men versus your 400-some men, and I’ll do this by simply declaring it to be so. Now let’s beam up to your ship, where I’ll be greatly outnumbered, and there are armed security guards all around me.” Guess he’s been reading The Secret!

WIFE AND SCIENCE OFFICER

Aka the most important part of this whole episode.

Kirk’s face is very ?????? You can have both????

It’s legitimately not even important for her to be the science officer tbqh. Like that is so gratuitous. That’s just in there to drive me insane.

"We're prisoners, somehow, after I demanded to come on the ship, assuming they'd just give it to me without any kind of fight. How DID this happen?”

Federation death camps lol—someone’s been watching Fox News.

I do kind of wonder… is this an actual rumor that goes around the Klingon homeworld or is it something that the alien entity put in her head specifically to make her angrier right now? I mean it really could be either.

I also appreciate this episode for being pretty much the only one to actually attempt to give the Klingons a reason for being as they are. The Romulans… maybe aren’t well-described, but they do have a sort of regalness to them, appropriate for being related to Vulcans, and you can kind of imagine that they are the way they are because they’re Vulcans without the intense self-control. Plus they’re literally only in 2 TOS eps and in the second, the Federation are the aggressors. But the Klingons show up a half-dozen times only to be depicted each time as just like Cartoonishly Bad, aggressive, violent, and selfish for basically no reason. And I mean, some people really are!! But TOS has so much nuance in other places, that it always seemed a little disappointing to me that the Klingons are really just like ‘well we’re just bad and we hate everyone and we really like killing I guess.” At least in this ep there’s a little more added to that: that there is poverty on their world, that they feel aggrieved, that they feel unprotected, that taking and conquering is how they look after themselves…

I think that’s later in the episode though.

He’s detaining them in the LOUNGE lol. With their favorite dishes available to them to eat. Absolutely barbarous conditions.

I can’t believe Chekov is hanging in the elevator with the cool kids. Like, one of these things really isn’t like the others.

Kang is officially sure of himself for someone currently imprisoned in the lounge, that most fearsome of Federation death camps.

Hmm, could the glittery light alien have taken over??

You know what, that's a lot of tasks for Johnson to do all by himself: search the whole ship, fix the engines, and free 400 people.

Sulu would love this: everyone gets a sword!!

“Bridge. I gotta show this to Sulu immediately.”

Klingons have maintained a dueling tradition. That’s interesting. Finally some characterization going on.

Spock is really living up to his logical nature today. Everyone else has gone off the emotional deep end and he’s like “have you considered this completely rational explanation that accounts for the actual, observed facts??”

Whoops Chekov is actually an only child. Scratch that previous Beyond headcanon. (Interesting that his dead brother does really resemble Sam though—killed on a research colony??)

Love that Sulu knows that about him though.

Oh, that’s a pretty schematic picture of the Enterprise. I want that on a t-shirt.

Lol the pan out to the armory, now filled with… swords!!

Do ALL of these men have a fetish for swords? Sulu and fencing, Spock displaying swords in his quarters, and Kirk in his San Francisco apartment, and Scotty salivating over this Scottish blade.

“Klingon units.”

Finally Sulu gets his sword! It’s what he deserves.

Love that the shiny light alien also has a fetish for swords.

Oh no, it’s our old adversary, an alien life force.

What is the alien’s purpose? Um, I’m pretty sure its purpose is to start shit.

“An appropriate choice of terms, Captain.” I don’t even remember what this is referring to but I think it’s pretty clear that Spock is enjoying himself during a crisis again.

Bones, being so dramatic. Were there atrocities? He’s talking about the Klingons as if they were literally hacking off limbs—it’s a few stab wounds here and there, chill.

Oooh, time to behave like military men—strong words. (But I thought it wasn’t the military?? @ S**** P****) (This might not even be my best argument, given the context of this episode, but I’m sticking with it.)

This is like a giant game of capture the flag.

AU that’s just about the Enterprise crew playing capture the flag with the Klingons.

Sulu in the background standing guard with his sword

Damn, turning on Spock with the slurs now!!

Spock was absolutely ready to kill him. Like he would 100% have taken him out with a blow to the head. And he’d been doing such a good job of not feeling the alien’s effects so far! Admittedly, that was a strong provocation though.

Honestly, I really like this scene. It’s uncomfortable and tense and you can really see how the alien is bringing out the worst possible influences of their respective races. And I liked how Spock was definitely full on pre-Reform Vulcan for a minute there. It was a more effective portrayal of what that might have looked like than All Our Yesterdays tbqh.

A result of… stress?

Kirk got himself out of it first. He’s so strong. He knows himself so well, he cannot be outsmarted by any alien.

“We’ve been taught to think in terms other than war.”

“The alien brings out the worst of us—patriotic drumbeating…even race hatred.”

He’s so sad; he can’t imagine thinking like that about Spock :(

Sulu in a Jeffries tube! A man of many talents. It’s okay bb, take credit for turning on the lights.

The alien must have been getting bored. The Klingons must have been doing too well, and the playing field needs to be leveled for maximum shit-stirring.

“Let’s find that alien.” That’s how I ALWAYS feel.

Oh, Kang, you’re so close—“What power supports our battle but thwarts our victory.” So, so close to getting it.

ALIEN DETECTED.

Spock takes his sword, of course.

“Jim.” Obligatory Jim moments hit differently when they’re not so obligatory.

“Jim—stop hitting my protégé. And put that sword down.”

Kirk looks so sad, picking Chekov up to carry him bridal style.

Also in addition to ‘race hatred’ I think we need to add ‘rape-y tendances’ to the bad stuff that the alien is inspiring here.

“A brief surge of racial bigotry. Most distasteful.” Spock winning for understatement of the year.

They're assuming the alien is trying to test out their relative powers but I think it just wants entertainment. I mean, doesn’t it look like a naughty little thing?

Mara’s outfit is… little shorts? Interesting. Usually not my style but she makes it work.

Spock doesn’t even look at Johnson as he falls lol. Another one bites the dust.

“It exists on the hate of others.”

What does this remind me of? Oh, the Vast of Night and the whole “aliens made us do every bad thing ever” conspiracy theory. At least this one makes more sense, in part because it is not quite so overwhelmingly broad!

All hostile attitudes must be eliminated, he says, and there's Mara right behind Kirk giving him a death stare lol.

Kang is so obviously posing. Google Earth, always taking pictures.

Only a few minutes before drifting forever in space becomes inevitable? Good thing Kirk works well under pressure.

“Well… do whatever you can, Scotty. You know the drill.” Doesn’t even bother giving real directions anymore. We’ve been in this scenario before.

“So we drift in space, with only hatred and bloodshed aboard.”

And the 392 people below just get to…live in Enterprise prison, I guess.

Star date: Armageddon. So dramatic!

I’m not even making that up; that’s an actual quote. Can you imagine being an Admiral listening to this?

“Stop the war now.” An actual line, really aired on television.

Spock wants to threaten the wife lol. That's the old pre-Reform Vulcan seeping through. Surak who?

Damn, Kang is cold. “Eh, she gets the concept of being killed in battle.” They’re gonna need marriage counseling after this.

“There is another way. Mutual trust and help.” Yes that’s my hero!!

“No one can guarantee the actions of another.” Can’t remember the context of this entirely anymore, but great line.

The entity is loving this—multi-person choreographed sword fight!!

"Those who hate and fight must stop themselves. otherwise it is not stopped.” Another baller line. Spock has a lot of deep thoughts today. And so does Kirk. And Kang.

Kirk tries to reason with the alien. Nice try.

“Shoo. Shoo, alien. Off the ship, go away.”

Omg that last moment—Kang slapping Kirk’s back way too hard, Spock’s completely ridiculous wide-eyed expression when he does, like some sort of combo of amusement and confusion, and then Sulu just passing on by in the background….

Then the alien just yeets itself into space. And that’s the end!

Always feels weird when there’s no wrap up on the bridge.

Also, what are they going to do with the Klingons? They have no ship. They really did come out of this a lot worse than Kirk and co. No ship, huge casualties—and no one to blame even, but the alien.

I feel like the alien messed up a little in killing so many Klingons. Like, it could have accomplished its purpose, angering the Klingons and turning them on Kirk, by attacking the ship a little less violently—you know they’d react to 5 deaths pretty much the same as 400, and then there would be many more people to fight forever and produce that sweet sweet anger!

Maybe the alien’s powers aren’t strong enough to influence 800 people though. Also it wants equal forces and 800 people wouldn’t fit on the Enterprise, one assumes. So it still makes sense.

That was, of course, an excellent episode. 100% agree with is classic status, even though the main things I remembered going in were the wife + science officer bit, and everyone laughing at the end in a really forced, fake way, in order to make the alien go away.

I thought the Klingons were a lot better/more interesting today than usual. First, I think Kang is a better character, or a better actor maybe, than the others; he has a certain way about him that is… more watchable, more sympathetic. And he’s always saying these really dramatic things that make it seem likely he writes patriotic Klingon war poetry in his off time. Also, including his wife made them seem more… not human obviously, but normal. Not just cardboard cut-out villains. And of course the actual lightly specific motivations I earlier mentioned helped too.

Also, the plotting was very good: it built up slowly but surely over time, so at first the alien’s influence wasn’t that obvious, and then it became more so, and then it became horrifically obvious and extreme. And then you had to re-evaluate earlier moments: was that the alien changing facts in their heads, or a real part of the animosity between humans and Klingons? And it wasn’t always clear, which I appreciated. The tension when the people were at their worst wasn’t overdone, like in that moment with Scotty, Spock, and Kirk—or even in Chekov’s assault on Mara, tbh. The various strategies of the different sides were very entertaining too; there was never a dull moment, and they fit in a lot of straight-up actions and twists into 50 minutes.

The possible threat was truly terrifying, also: stuck in a space ship, forever, unable to die, feeling the worst possible emotions all the time, besieged, angered, despairing, fighting a war that can’t be won, being injured and suffering only to recover and fight again, and it never stops… A perfect nightmare mixture of insanity and violence and pain. And the alien, in encouraging hatred and anger, doesn’t discriminate between sides: they turn on each other just as much as on the Klingons, breeding paranoia and infighting. For eternity.

The episode also felt much more strongly anti-war than I remember tbh. Like it was not subtle. Kirk literally says “stop the war” in so many words. He has a part in his speech where he talks about the possibility of other aliens out there, encouraging other wars. And while I do think “maybe the aliens are making us do it” is a cop out explanation, or would be if it were real, the scenario gave the show a lot of room to say, like, pretty ballsy things: to include “patriotic drum beating” along with “race hatred” in a list of corrupting feelings they were experiencing; to show how the same instincts that lead to warring also lead to sexual assault and the aforementioned ‘race hatred;” to reveal the true horror of an endless war by making the participants unkillable and sticking them in a singular space ship in the middle of nowhere; to imply that the combatants of war gain nothing from it, but outside or third-party entities will pull strings of their own design to profit from the conflict as long as possible; even to make an impassioned plea to camera to stop the endlessness of the conflict. Like I can’t even totally unpack this but it is a lot!

Finally, it was also a great Kirk episode, which of course is my most important factor. He’s smart; he’s strong; he’s so sure of himself and his values that he cannot be manipulated to mindless hatred, he represents the values of the Federation, and the show itself; he treats even his enemies with basic respect and humanity; and ultimately, he saves the day.

Okay I was not efficient in writing this up at all! It is very late!!

#the year 2021 #2021: star trek #2021: fandom thoughts #star trek tos

5 notes · View notes

wiseabsol · 4 years ago

Text

WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 14: Two Birds

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/14/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula’s defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister’s plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 14!

CHAPTER 14: TWO BIRDS

Hello everyone! We are now on chapter fourteen, “Two Birds.”

So first, the A/N. It mentions a fic called “In the Madhouse,” which I should look up at some point, since Aurelia liked it and we have similar tastes in Azula fic. ultranos’ “Salt and Ashes” series is one that we’ve been enjoying lately. There is also a discussion in the A/N about the challenge of addressing and stopping Ozai’s abuse of Azula. One thing that isn’t mentioned there, but that I want to note, is that intervening in a parent-to-child abuse situation is difficult even without the challenge posed by the parent being a powerful political figure. Best case scenario, you get the kid away from their abuser before the abuser realizes what’s happening—because if you don’t manage that, that kid will probably be the one who the abuser takes their anger out on. After all, how could anyone else have known what was happening unless the child told them (which isn’t necessarily true, but it’s what the abuser will think)? This isn’t to suggest that it’s better to leave the child in that situation, but just to point out that you can’t afford to misstep or take half-measures when extracting the child from that environment.

I think I may have mentioned this before, but Iroh being able to live in Ba Sing Se and run his teashop, even under a pseudonym, feels like a backhand to the Earth Kingdom. Yes, he helped the Order of the White Lotus liberate the city, but does that make up for the 600 Day Siege that came only a few years before? Surely someone must recognize him and want revenge for the lives lost during it?

Granted, an assassination attempt would cause a diplomatic incident, but I somewhat doubt that the mourners would care? Maybe there were some attempts already, which Iroh thwarted? I could see him thinking of this as a type of penance, to face the loved ones of those his siege killed. I suppose I’m also wondering how much him being an intelligence asset for the OWL would make up for his past colonialism (now cultural imperialism?) in the eyes of the world? Him settling in Omashu or another Earth Kingdom settlement, sure, but BA SING SE? Why was that allowed? I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that some of the Earth Kingdom nobles knew and were hoping that someone would take a crack at him. They’d hand-wring and launch a half-assed investigation afterwards, and when Zuko would inevitably become impatient and send in his own forces to get to the bottom of things (who the EK would then ask to leave, but of course Zuko wouldn’t back down)—well, isn’t that another route to a war of revenge for the Earth Kingdom, which they could hide under the guise of self-defense?

In short, no matter how Iroh justified this decision to himself, it’s hard not to see this as him mooning the Earth Kingdom and asking them to bite him.

On to the chapter itself! June and Nyla have arrived with a passenger and have paralyzed poor Ty Lee. Zuko “almost forgot [Ty Lee] was there,” so yeah, putting this in the “they’re not really that good of friends” evidence bin. If my friend faceplanted in the ground after getting whipped, I’d definitely be hurrying over and checking on them. Mind you, this is the Avatar world, so your friend getting knocked to the ground might not be as much cause for concern.

June calls Ty Lee a twit for not knowing how shirsu venom works, but I’m like, “Chi blocking is way more impressive, you jerk, don’t call her that!” But I’m biased because I adore this Ty Lee to pieces.

June’s passenger is an Earthbender, given his bare feet, and seems to have fallen onto hard times, given his frayed and faded robe. This man, we soon learn, is a member of the Dai Li, and…I can’t remember what happened in canon, but I believe Azula recruited them for a while after her coop in Ba Sing Se? I wonder if the Earth Kingdom didn’t take that well (that and they were keeping the king in the dark about the war, if I remember correctly). So possibly this one is trying to earn some good favor back by catching Azula.

Since Nyla was tracking Azula’s scent, the Dai Li agent quickly puts two and two together that Azula’s scent being on Zuko means that they did the naughty. A part of me is like, “Well, it could also be suggested by Nyla targeting Ty Lee that a hug is enough to leave Azula’s scent behind, which is more recent, and…Zuko, did you not take 100 showers after boinking your sister? For real, my dude?” My point being that it seems like a big leap for the Dai Li agent to put together that the siblings had sex…except that this Dai Li agent also saw the beach house, according to Zuko. So yeah, that probably had some more, uh, pieces to add to that puzzle.

The Dai Li agent is thrilled because he can use this information to take down Zuko. It also turns out that the Dai Li are blackmailing June, rather than paying her. They must be really hard up if they have to resort to that. June was amoral in the show, so she would have leapt at the chance to pursue the bounty on Azula. Though if she had, then the Dai Li couldn’t take the credit for capturing Azula…(sigh).

Anyway, the Dai Li agent tries to pressure Zuko into calling off his search or he’ll tell everyone his secret (Ty Lee is very confused by this in the background). I can’t help but think, “This is a no-win situation, Zuko. He’s going to tell regardless, and if he does, you, Azula, and probably Mai and Lu Ten are doomed. This is a case where you need to take him out if you want to keep your family safe.” I don’t relish saying that—I’m not a fan of murder—but unless you have the help of certain spirits, there’s no wiping this man’s memory in this setting, and imprisoning and/or executing him would show that Zuko has something to hide. Best to leave him in a ditch somewhere.

Zuko doesn’t connect these dots yet. He has a bit of a rage-out instead. The Dai Li agent nearly kills Ty Lee in response, but Zuko manages to drag her out of the way of the fight. When the Dai Li agent disappears, June shouts at Zuko, because the Dai Li agent might think that they’re working together, which means that they might execute the hostage they’ve taken—her father. Zuko argues that they should work together to track down the Dai Li agent, who Zuko realizes knows way too much. June is initially reluctant, because the Dai Li agent is sending regular reports to his bosses, so if he vanishes, they’ll know that something is up…but Zuko argues that he can help her find her father (a lot of searching for family in this story) and then he’ll hire her to find Azula instead. June pivots and agrees to this new deal. I wonder if she knows that Zuko was a scarily competent tracker at one point.

Zuko carries Ty Lee to the steps of the Kyoshi Shrine, and Ty Lee pleads with him not to search for Azula, since she doesn’t want to see him. Zuko, predictably, doubts Ty Lee’s word and then says, “I can’t respect her wishes, Ty. Not with her life at stake.” On the one hand, he does have a point—Azula needs help—but on the other hand, she really doesn’t need help from ZUKO. Chances are that seeing him would be rather…uh…triggering for her, and a mental breakdown isn’t something that Azula can afford right now.

Zuko tells Ty Lee to go update Mai on what’s going on. That’ll be fun. Ty Lee seems to be considering telling Zuko that Azula is pregnant, but equivocates instead, and we learn that Azula might not know about the death sentence hanging over her. I feel like the Kyoshi Warriors let that slip, and that Azula is smart enough to know that the EK would take her out if they caught her anyway, regardless of the legality of them doing so. Then Zuko and June are off, leaving Ty Lee alone and paralyzed at the shrine. And you didn’t even give her a blanket, you jerks! Also, is there really not a shirsu venom antidote? Seems like something someone should invest in!

We shift over to Azula, who sailed from Kyoshi Island to the Earth Kingdom mainland during a storm. The good news is that the storm prevented her pursuers from catching her. The bad news is that the storm destroyed her ship, nearly drowned her, and snatched away her supplies, including Rai’s gold. So Azula is not feeling great after that—possibly she was triggered by nearly drowning, being reminded of Katara’s ice prison during the Agni Kai, and she hasn’t eaten in a while either. Her situation reminds me a bit of “Zuko Alone”—he also didn’t have much more than the clothes on his back—but she’s worse off, given the effects of her pregnancy. She’s much more fatigued than she wants to be, sometimes napping for hours in a bush. Azula thinks about the baby being a product of incest—“She would be lucky if it wasn’t born with gills or extra limbs or some crippling deformity.” Which…is something to be concerned about. There is a lot of shared DNA between the two parents, which makes the risk of a genetic deformity or disease more likely to arise. I doubt that it would be something as extreme as the kid having gills, BUT Azula and Zuko have both shown signs of mental illness, so I think there is a high chance that the kid would inherit that. A supportive environment and other resources can do a lot to address how hard mental illness hits someone, though (in Azula and Zuko’s cases, their environment aggravated theirs), so I’m not going to be too worried for this kid just yet.

Azula considers that she might lose the baby. “This early, and it might not even hurt, she told herself. It might die. Wasn’t that what happened to mistakes?”—Woof to all of that, but also, no wonder Azula is such a perfectionist. When the result of imperfection is dying….

Azula considers starving the fetus out, since she’s barely getting enough food as it is. This is a terrible idea for two reasons: 1.) Azula has nearly died once already from starving herself, and damaged her organs in the process, and 2.) She’s in enemy territory. She can’t afford to make herself weak, even if she thinks there might be long-term benefits from it.

At this point, she starts hallucinating Ursa, who unfortunately believes that a fetus and a baby are the same thing, which is very pro-life of her. Boo, hallucination!Ursa! Boo! I’m not sure this actually reflects what real Ursa thinks, though (I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ursa was hypocritical about this point), given that a later chapter will reveal that Ursa knows what plants to use to induce an abortion, and used them as birth control at one point. Azula alludes to this: “You would have done the same to me, if Father let you. He told me the truth you were too craven to admit. You never wanted me.”—Ouch!

Okay, this is bad, but I couldn’t help but snort at the line, “You only think [that this is a precious baby] because it’s Zuko’s.” It’s so awful that it wraps around to being darkly funny.

“Something clenched painfully in her chest at the words [I love you, Azula. I do] she had heard too many times to count from this twisted mockery. Azula couldn’t remember anymore if her real mother ever said that to her.”—Yeah, if the child ever doubts that their parent loves them, then the parent has failed, full stop.

“It wouldn’t matter if she had. It would just be one more lie. Didn’t her abandonment prove that? Didn’t Ursa prove it every time she looked on her daughter with fear or disgust or indifference? Didn’t she prove it with the things she said, the letters she never sent to school, the sparring matches she couldn’t be bothered to attend? The goodbye she said to Zuko and not to her… She had every day of eight years to prove it was a lie, and she proved it.”—This passage is brutal. And Azula is 100% right about it. Even though Ozai undermined Azula’s faith in her mother, Ozai would have had a much, much harder time doing so if Ursa had put some effort in and demonstrated her love for her daughter. Ursa’s neglect made his job so much easier than it should have been, and Ursa is going to have to reckon with that one day.

Also, as someone who recently escaped some toxic friendships (and grew up with a toxic parent), there is probably nothing more psychologically damaging than people saying that they care about you, but then not demonstrating that with their actions. People who don’t like you being cruel to you is much easier to handle than the lying is. In short, I think this is part of why Ursa’s betrayal, and at one point, Mai’s and Ty Lee’s betrayal, shattered Azula. While Zuko’s betrayal has also affected Azula severely, you get the sense that Ursa’s and Mai’s choices carved deeper scars in her. Ty Lee, fortunately, broke from that pattern and proved how much she loved Azula with her actions.

Azula tells the hallucination, “I’ll give you your life back [ . . . ] A life for a life, isn’t that how it works? [ . . . ] I’ll get the closure I need to end this, and never have to see you again.” We, the readers, can already tells that it’s not going to be that simple. Yes, Azula needs to confront Ursa, but one confrontation isn’t going to give her closure. It will address the wounds that Ursa caused, but it won’t give Azula the love and support she would need to heal them. That love and support, incidentally, doesn’t have to come from Ursa herself—adoptive family could provide it—but there isn’t anyone except maybe Rai who would be willing to fill that role in this story. Also, given the way this story is structured, that healing will probably come in the form of mother and daughter reconciling instead.

“Sometimes [the hallucination] left at her command, other times it ignored her. Azula had long since stopped wondering why.”—Because your conscious and subconscious minds don’t agree on whether they want hallucination!Ursa gone, Azula.

“It was her own business if she wanted it gone. It had no more right to her body than Zuko did.”—Damn right, Azula!

Azula again entertains the notion of starving herself to induce a miscarriage (a note from the future: we later learn that there was a period where she was starved as a child, so I have to wonder if that stunted her growth and contributed to the eventual damage to her organs). She is understandably anxious about this. “Tears burned her eyes when she hugged herself around the middle in unconscious imitation of the night she lay bleeding in the hall.”—Ouch.

“Everyone knew that, exceptions like Taku aside”—I forget who Taku was?—“most Earth Kingdom doctors fell somewhere between butchers and medicine men. She would be a fool to trust her health to them, even without the added vulnerability of being a fugitive.”—I wonder if this is true or if this is some racist colonialist bullshit? Given that it’s mentioned that the Fire Nation has been sharing resources with the other countries, I feel like if there WAS a gap in medical knowledge, it’s been closing since the end of the war. But Azula’s concern about being a fugitive still stands, even if I’m skeptical of their doctors being that bad.

Then we get this gross recollection: “That first time, she was hardly sick until she began drinking the tea. She had only put on a little weight—most of it in the swell of her hips and budding breasts, it seemed then—” So something that most of the adults around her would have overlooked, since she was the right age for that. “—and sought out their court physician for a flu remedy when mild aches and a fatigue one fraction of what she felt now began to impair her training.” Of course she only cared about how it impacted her training, rather than just wanting to not feel sick!

“And in reply, he told her something incomprehensible. She hadn’t even had her first blood.” I AM SCREAMING! “She didn’t know what to look for then, but she knew now. She was almost four months gone when—” This is so deeply horrifying!

“No one would ever talk about it afterward—and anyway, who would she talk to?—but Azula suspected this might have been why she hemorrhaged so badly. But she didn’t know. She didn’t know enough to fix this, if it could even be fixed. She didn’t know what to do….”—Boy, it sure would have been helpful if she’d had a midwife to consult, wouldn’t it? I’m sure her actual doctor could have told her this info, too, but unfortunately, Ozai had him killed. Idiot. Seriously, Azula absolutely needs to know this information about her own reproductive health. Especially if she was going to be Ozai’s heir and was expected to have children of her own someday (which, god, I doubt she would have survived long enough for that, given Ozai’s choices, but STILL, SHE NEEDS TO KNOW THIS STUFF).

“She seemed to vaguely recall her doctors saying, after she starved herself, that she couldn’t have children. Since obviously she was capable of conceiving, she could only guess they meant that she shouldn’t have children. Well, they wouldn’t be the first to hold that opinion. Azula could practically hear Ursa thinking it, when she said things like ‘What is wrong with that child?’ in full hearing of her daughter.”—Listen, Azula, even if it was somehow true that you’d be a bad parent, a lot of people who shouldn’t be parents end up being parents, like your dad and grandad. As it is, if this is something that you’re worrying about, I think you’ll be okay, since you’ll be much more careful with your kid than they were with theirs.

Azula considers the medical reasons why a full-term pregnancy might be a bad idea, and notes that “her endurance had taken a hit, even three years into her recovery. And she healed slower and less effectively than she used to, as evidenced by the persistence of her injuries from the fight with Zuko.”—Yeah, starving yourself or being starved as a kid can result in some nasty effects, with not reaching your full height being one of the most outwardly obvious ones. It also can trigger a survival mode in your body where your body desperately holds onto fat later, even when you’re getting enough to eat, in preparation for the next lean time. This can have a generational effect as well, with your kids being more likely to hold onto fat, because their parents or grandparents went through that experience. If Azula wasn’t on the run and didn’t go through such strenuous training routines, she’d probably incline towards being pudgy. Which honestly wouldn’t be a bad thing for her, since a fat reserve can be beneficial if you’re someone with a uterus. Buuuut knowing Azula, she would view a little roll as a sign of laziness, which…

(sigh)…isn’t true, but you do you, Azula.

She considers that she might lose the baby anyway, given the past harm done to her body, and that, “she might die herself. Azula was mildly surprised to realize that after a month of living with the knowledge of her death sentence, and even longer spent knowing she was a fugitive from her own nation, the prospect held little dread for her.”—This is worrying. She should care about whether she dies or not, but I can’t imagine that she’s really recovered from…well, her flirtation with suicide. You don’t get the sense that Azula values her own life very much. Rather, she values what she can provide to others, namely to her father and her nation. She’s been taught that she herself has no value—only what she does is worthwhile.

“More frightening in some ways was the possibility that this might actually happen. Beyond the violation of her body being given over to another life, her life might be given over to another person. Azula didn’t know how to be a mother, any more than she knew how to be an aunt or a sibling.”—To be fair, I don’t think anyone really knows how to be a parent until it happens. Also, she never got the opportunity to be an aunt to Lu Ten, which is a shame, because her pretending to kidnap him and taking him somewhere fun sounds like good, wholesome mischief. Alas, this is not a soft world where that can happen.

“She had never had anything like a healthy example.”—Very true. Someday, Azula, you’ll have an aunt figure to look up to in an AU.

“And if she was honest with herself—something she strived for, even if she lied to everyone else—”—Kiddo, are you sipping Zuko’s Kool-Aid?

“she knew. It would only grow to hate her. How could it not? She was a monster.”—This is very sad and makes my heart break for her, but…Azula. Babe. You love Ozai. And I’m damned sure that you would be a better parent than he was, so I can’t imagine why your kid wouldn’t love you? Kids also just don’t work that way. It takes a hell of a lot to make a kid stop loving their parent. I’m…honestly not sure if anyone ever really does STOP loving them, even when they know that their parent is an abusive and morally bankrupt person? Love isn’t rational, and even if you hate them, like Zuko does with Ozai, that hatred is still an intense feeling for them. Plus, just because Azula doesn’t love HERSELF doesn’t mean that other people, like Ty Lee and her kid, couldn’t love her. All that Azula’s self-hatred does is make her more inclined to push that love away, because being loved can sometimes be scarier and hurt more than being alone does.

Azula then has a cry under the moonlight—hi Yue, by the way, I always forget that the moon in the Avatar universe actually has a spirit attached to it—and then decides that she needs to go to town to get some food. Good plan, girl. Get all of the noodles. Also, Azula has this mean thought about the Earth Kingdom: “that meant a return to civilization. Or what passed for it, in the Earth Kingdom.” I hope by the end of this adventure that she learns that the EK isn’t inferior to the Fire Nation. It’s great to love your home, but don’t tear down other people’s (unless they’re unhappy with it, in which case, ask them if they want some help with the tear down and rebuilding).

Then we move on to Toph, Sokka, and Suki. Toph likes her pillows “rock-hard.” Never change, Toph. Sokka and Suki are arguing about whether Suki should have stayed with the Kyoshi Warriors and enlisted them in the search for Azula. When Toph complains about this, she makes a “think of the children” joke, to which Sokka replies that she’s sixteen, which suggests that age of majority in the ATLA world includes sixteen (though that might depend on the culture). Toph is also super bored because they haven’t had much luck on their manhunt for Azula, so she hasn’t gotten to fight Azula yet. Suki mentions that she should consider herself lucky, because she might have a broken nose or back spasms from chi-blocking and I’m like…Suki. Buddy. Isn’t it telling that the only damage your girls went through is something they might have walked away from a bar fight with? Or a particularly enthusiastic night above the bar?

Gosh, is Toph calling Azula a “crazy ass” ableist or overly blunt? Because Azula is mentally ill, and it’s not like this is a world where mental illness is well-understood. Let’s call this insensitive of Toph at the very least.

“She didn’t start when [Sokka] laid a solid hand on her arm. It was hardly the first time he’d done that over the past few days, and Toph was torn between appreciating the gesture—and that it meant he remembered she was cut off from her earthsense up here—and resenting him for babying her.”—I wouldn’t call touching your friend’s arm in support babying, Toph. I do like that Sokka isn’t such a manly man that he would hesitate to give comforting platonic touches.

“[ . . . ] Toph half-tempted to tear her own hair out by the roots just to relish the sweet, sweet pain”—I feel like someone should give Toph a really obnoxious instrument to pass the time on trips like these. I don’t know if Toph would be inclined to learn it and play it well, buuuuut I also don’t think that she would mind just using it to annoy the hell out of the other passengers. Mind you, terrible music might make the manhunt more difficult, but it’s not like Appa is a sneaky stealth plane anyway.

It turns out that Zuko sent them a letter, telling them to search the southern part of the continent, since he would wrap up things on Kyoshi Island. That was tone deaf of him, because of course Suki would want to see how her girls are doing and resents being ordered around. Sokka insisted that they press on with the search, though, because it’s “bigger than any one of us,” and for all they know, Azula might be trying to draw them to one location. Which…I get why this is a concern, but since we’ve seen Azula’s POV, we know that her endeavor has barely anything to do with the Gaang. This is a nuclear family drama, full stop.

We do learn here that Sokka and Suki have only been married for a few months. I wonder if there was any tongue-waggling about that back at the South Pole? In any case, Toph and Sokka are both worried about how sketchy Zuko has been lately and what he might have lied about. Toph points out that, “He might have left something out or told a half-truth. He might have been embarrassed, or nervous or afraid. The physical reaction is basically the same.” I hope that this ambiguity comes up later.

“And [Toph] was of the decided opinion that when her head hurt, everyone else’s should too.”—Oh Toph. I love you, but you’re a jerk sometimes.

“She jabbed a finger in what she thought was his general direction, and scowled when Sokka had to reposition her hand to keep the effect.”—That’s so freaking cute? Like damn these two are adorable! They continue to discuss how weird it is that Zuko told them to not believe anything that Azula says, because why would he think they would?

“[You’re] like Twinkletoes on a moral tangent”—More cuteness from these two, since Sokka cannot let Zuko’s weirdness go.

“this speculation is pointless until we find her anyway, and hear what she has to say. If she even /has/ anything to say, ‘cause by all reports”—meaning Zuko’s—“she’s been muter than a hermit these past four years!”—I’m glad that they seem eager to hear what Azula has to say, but knowing Azula, there is no way that she will tell them what happened. Not only is she ashamed about it, but she doesn’t think that they would believe her anyway. And she’d be right…if Zuko hadn’t undermined himself by tipping them off to something being up.

They continue on their flight, and we shift back to Azula. Ooooh, I remember what this section is! I love this section! So Azula has arrived in an Earth Kingdom town, after a night of trying to get her clothes clean and scavenging for more food. I wonder if the cabin she found was a reference to something in canon? Anyway, Azula probably draws some attention to herself by scowling at everyone, and then she steals some clothes so she doesn’t look completely out of place. She sets a building on fire and crashes a public bath to accomplish this. I feel like “Smooth Criminal” should be playing in the background.

Azula goes to look for food next and stops by a restaurant next to a courtyard labeled, “Master Yu’s Earthbending Academy.” Aaand she realizes that there’s a noblewoman staring at her—specifically, Poppy Beifong, Toph’s mom! Woot! Hey Poppy! Good to see you! I love that the flowers in her hair are present here as they were in canon.

Azula does note that Poppy has “slanted” eyes, which I’m not sure what to do with. This might be an innocent description and might not have the same racist connotation in the ATLA world as it does in ours, since everyone in the ATLA world could be considered of to be of Asian descent, given the cultures the four nations are based on. Or we could be meant to clock this as racist on Azula’s part, which, given how she was raised, wouldn’t be surprising. Or it’s a blink-and-you-miss-it writing fumble. It’s hard for me to make a call here, but I wanted to make a note of it in case it is the latter.

Moving on, Poppy thinks that Azula reminds her of someone—maybe Zuko? Azula has a cover story ready: she’s from the colonies and has heard of the Beifong’s involvement in trade. Poppy, bless her, invites Azula to have lunch with her, because her friend didn’t show up. I wonder if she really was meeting a friend there, or if the Earthbending Academy is a real academy space and students practice earthbending there? If so, maybe Poppy watches them earthbend to feel closer to Toph. That’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it!

“and I am quite alone,’ she explained, properly not counting the manservant and two maids who stood behind her as company.”—Properly? That classism! (Pats the nobles on their finely-combed heads.)

Poppy’s laugh sounds like glass breaking. Love that description. “Poppy Beifong would hardly be her first choice of dining companion. But then neither had King Bumi, who proved surprisingly amenable to letting her go, with only a little convincing.”—I still want that side story. Azula decides to take Poppy up on the meal, since she needs to eat when she can and she doesn’t think this is likely to be a trap.

Poppy immediately clocks that Azula is a noble and just…oh man, “we must forgive [my manservant’s] ignorance.” Bet you he has more common sense than Poppy! Poppy tells Azula to order whatever she likes, even though Poppy already has a ridiculous amount of food on the table. Reading about delicious food in a story at midnight is the worst, by the way. It’s making me want all of it, but there’s no place to get garnished fish and stuffed prawns from at this hour.

“when one has been born to privilege, it’s easy to recognize in others”—I feel like I need a side-story in which a grifter hits up the Beifong household while Toph is visiting, and Toph totally knows that the grifter is bullshitting and fleecing her parents, but is too entertained by the con to out them. In fact, maybe that grifter could by Lin’s dad, because that kind of irony would be delicious.

“The etiquette came easily to her when [Azula] bothered to recall it”—See, it’s not like Azula didn’t bother to learn this stuff. It’s just one tool in her arsenal, rather than a set of rules that she feels like she needs to follow.

Poppy recognizes Azula’s eyes as being a mark of Fire Nation nobility, though she adds that, “They are not the gold of Fire Nation royalty,” which…lol, actually, they are, since Azula is a royal. Poppy asks if Azula is trueborn or a bastard, and Azula tells the truth, knowing that the Earth Kingdom puts even more stock in lineage than the Fire Nation does.

Then we get this painful bit of questioning from Poppy: “But you must forgive me for observing that you are far from home, and seem to be without your attendants. [ . . . ] What has caused you to forsake the protection of your family?”—Oh Poppy, what if your family is the problem?

Azula pulls out a story that mixes in some lies to entice Poppy—that she’s fleeing an arranged marriage (since Poppy is a romantic)—with a good dose of truth. Poppy grabs Azula’s hand during this, which Azula is not a fan of. Azula says that her “betrothed” is a “fool and a brute” which…yeah, from her perspective, Zuko qualifies as both.

“If she was going to fabricate a life story, it would be better not to do it on an empty stomach.”—I love the forethought here. Also, if she needs to bolt, best to bolt down as much food as possible beforehand.

Poppy wonders if Azula is fleeing into the arms of a secret lover, a “governor’s son or lieutenant in the army.” I guess stableboys aren’t romantic enough for someone with Poppy’s classism.

“Having no experience of lovers, she didn’t trust herself to lie about an elopement”—This is so depressing. Too bad Chan didn’t work out, though I do think that Azula needs someone much smarter than him.

Azula admits that she’s looking for her mother, and explains that Ursa had to flee into exile or face execution for a crime that she was “falsely” accused of. We know that Ursa actually did it, but I doubt that Poppy would take that well. Azula says that her dad died of grief shortly afterwards. If only! She adds that her brother lost their fortune by being terrible at business and falling prey to duplicitous advisors, which foreshadows what’s the come with Zuko in the Fire Nation. Zuko really needs remedial lessons on how to run a country and manage the noble court. Azula adds that her “marriage” was supposed to help her family, something the dutiful Poppy would appreciate, but it didn’t work out because her supposed betrothed was violent.

Which triggers a flashback for Azula. She’s been getting hit with these at unexpected times, and while I’m not qualified to diagnose anyone, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a sign of Azula grappling with PTSD. We get this gross description during it: “Of his hands grasping, bruising, his weight heavy on her, suffocating. Of his arm around her waist, fingers clenched in her hand. The ridges of his scar rubbed against her cheek when he thrusted and panted, filling her. He didn’t stop even when she forgot herself and screamed, when she started to bleed from the violence of his effort—”

That is not a description that indicates an act of passion or pleasure on Azula’s part. She views it as an assault, and no one should be questioning her on it.

Azula is so caught up in the memory that she loses her situational awareness, not noticing that Poppy has gotten up to go to her until Poppy touches her wrists (the sensation probably being what brings Azula back to the present, since it grounds her). Poppy almost strokes Azula’s hair to sooth her, which I’m sure Azula would not have known what to do with, since Ursa didn’t give her those maternal touches when she was around. Poppy says that her mother wouldn’t blame her for leaving a man like that, to which Azula bitterly laughs, because Ursa has never been understanding towards Azula before. I do think that Ursa would understand wanting to leave an abusive partner, considering Ozai…but whether she would have actually done it without any external pressure, or supported someone else doing it, is fuzzier. Duty in this case isn’t the death of love so much as self-preservation.

Poppy wonders if Azula’s rueful reaction means that she’s met Toph, and is judging Poppy based on what Toph has told her. “That was either amazing ignorance or amazing egotism.”—What a line! Poppy’s assumption is off the mark, but Azula confirms that she’s met Toph in passing. I do hope those two will be friends someday, but if not, there’s always “Salt and Ashes.”

Poppy starts to talk about Toph, while pushing food around her plate, “a nervous habit that spoke of weakness.” Ozai must have broken Azula of that habit, or at least scolded Zuko for it. Poppy and her husband tried to have more children after Toph, but from the sound of it, there were problems with miscarriages, stillbirths, and the babies dying soon after they were born. There’s nothing to indicate what might have been causing that, so we’re going to have to chalk it up to bad luck. Azula is sensitive to this turn in conversation, given her own pregnancy and her worries about the fetus dying or being deformed.

We get this touching line: “A smile broke over her tear-streaked face then, bittersweet and more genuine than any she had yet shown” as Poppy describes how instead of a daughter she could treat like a doll, she got a strong earthbender, who lived and thrived, unlike her late siblings. But since Toph was also born blind, her parents focused on that for too long, trying to shelter her and keep her safe, rather than respecting Toph’s agency and strength. Which, naturally, Toph didn’t respond well to. Toph and her parents are still estranged, due to a fight Toph and her dad had during her last visit, and Poppy is worried that they’ll never reconcile with their daughter.

Azula finds all of this hard to stomach, both figuratively and literally. She tells Poppy that she should be telling all of this to Toph instead, and then mentally berates herself for it, because this might backfire on her if Poppy mentions that she had lunch with someone matching Azula’s description. “This was like something Zuko would do,” she scolds herself, even though I’m not sure that Zuko would do this, since it’s Azula’s own estrangement from her mother that subconsciously prompts this. While Poppy makes an excuse that Toph is hard to track down, Azula bolts to the nearest pot and throws up in it. Darn that morning sickness! She also starts crying, due to hormones and to the unpleasantness of the situation. One of Poppy’s servants takes off her belt, which helps relieve some of the pressure on her stomach, and Poppy—who instantly realizes Azula’s condition—tells Azula that she should have run sooner. Again, if only!

Azula does think that she’ll kill her brother for this, but I don’t think that she really means it, any more than anyone pregnant says that about the one who impregnated them.

Poppy offers to do what she can to help Azula find her mother, and we shift over to a Zuko scene. Zuko’s crew caught the Dai Li agent, but the Dai Li agent escaped because he’s a metalbender. Bad luck, that. Apparently Zuko thought it was more honorable to let him live after he surrendered, which…(sigh) I do agree with. June points out that the rules of war don’t apply to a witch hunt, to which I also have to agree. While following the rules of war/the civil contract is what you SHOULD be doing, what do you do when your opponent refuses to play by those rules? Especially when the life of your loved one is on the line BECAUSE your opponent betrayed the rule of law to convict her and sentence her to death? The context here matters.

Zuko tells his crew and Ty Lee to proceed back to the Fire Nation. He and June are going to round up the Dai Li agent themselves. When that happens, June is almost certainly going to kill him. Which, as I’ve said earlier in this review, is the safest thing for Zuko to do, since letting the Dai Li agent contact his superiors would mean that his secret is out, and his family will be in serious danger once it leaks. June also suggests that Zuko needs to become a harder man to survive in their new, dangerous world, and I just have to roll my eyes, because it’s such edgelordy drivel that makes perfect sense coming from her. I don’t know that Zuko needs to be harder—in fact, I think the result of that would be a bunch of unnecessary violence and property damage—but he does need to start being smarter.

Back to Azula! Azula might not be fond of Poppy on a personal level, but she does appreciate Poppy honoring her word and making sure that Azula is supplied for her journey. We’ve got practical clothes for all temperatures (with an adjustable waistline!), rations, and what amounts to an adventurer’s pack. Azula notes that there’s a scented product in her supplies that smells similar to the abortifacient tea she used when she was…11 or 12, pretty sure…so it makes her feel sick when she smells it. Mint tea has the same effect on her. I called it—she has an aversion response now. I’d say darn you evolution, but it is useful for not ingesting substances that have made you sick in the past and could be poisonous.

Azula notes that, given how the townspeople behave when confronted with Poppy and her retinue, the Beifongs are practically royalty in this area. I do have to wonder just how many monarchs are on the continent, since we know of at least two, but presumably there could be more, given the size of the Earth Kingdom.

We also get this: “Azula had to wonder how such a wealthy and influential family had produced someone so loud and coarse as Toph Beifong. But then she would remember the looks Ursa gave her when she insisted on wearing pants instead of dresses, gentle remonstrations spoken from behind pinched brows and wrinkled nose, when Azula would rather practice katas than heat tea with her firebending. And she didn’t have to wonder anymore. Rejection could take many forms, after all. She should know that better than anyone.”—This is really sad and makes me wish that Toph and Azula could become friends and discuss this. Both of them have rejected gender norms and the expectations of their mothers, and while they have found fulfillment in doing so, that disappointment from Ursa and Poppy is still painful for them.

Poppy also gives Azula an expensive ostrich horse bred for racing, which will draw attention to her. Azula tries to make it look scruffier by getting it dirty and messing with its feathers, but she’s not satisfied that she’s done a good enough job of it, and thinks that she wants to trade it for something practical like an eel hound.

“The desert dwellers were known to traffic in exotic beasts”—I don’t remember if we actually see any of the sandbenders in this story—I’m thinking not—but I know that at one point, Aurelia was considering an encounter between them and Azula.

Azula requested a map that led in a different direction than where she’s interested in, in case someone asks after her purchases. She also, when she decides to rest for the night, takes out the passport Poppy gave her and Poppy’s scroll to Toph. Poppy sent a couple more copies out, so if anything happens to this one, Toph will still get her mother’s message eventually.

“The princess had nodded curtly, half-tempted to reduce Toph’s mother to ashes for the possibility that this peace offering might sic Zuko on her.”—Again, Azula is all bark and no bite, unlike Ozai, who probably would have burnt Poppy for “imposing” on him.

Azula decides to read the scroll to see if it mentions her. She discovers that it does not, but it is—we can imply—full of Poppy’s love for Toph and remorse for how she treated her. It’s exactly what Azula desperately wants from Ursa. Azula, upset by this, burns the letter and curls up to try to sleep, even though the sun is rising and there’s “an ache in a part of her body she didn’t give a thought to otherwise.” In other words, she’s heartbroken by being confronted with something she doesn’t believe that she’ll ever have.

And with that, we close out chapter fourteen! Thank you again for the read, Aurelia! And thank you to everyone who has been expressing interest in these reviews. Hopefully I’ll have another one to you within the next week.

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol

#Dominion by Aurelia le #Azula #Fanfiction #avatar: the last airbender #Review #WiseAbsol

8 notes · View notes

jokerfan99 · 4 years ago

Photo

Slideshows (RWBY/RVB) by Necroceph

*RVB Opening Theme*

Inside the Blue base, Mess Hall

Gary: It wasn't my fault. I only help, Wyoming kidnapped the alien. Tucker: Junior! His name is Junior, asshole! Church: Not your fault, huh? What about that time when you tried to blow me into pieces, you lying jackass! Gary: Knock knock. Caboose: Who's there? Gary: You are all dirty dirty Shisnos. Ha Ha Ha. Caboose: You're mean!

The atmosphere in the mess hall is filled with insults and anger, both from the Blues and Gary. They traded words like ' Dirty Shisno' and 'Backstabbbing AI' at one another. Church said this is supposed to be an interrogation but look at the results on the reunion of two enemies. Weiss and Blake can see the whole situation and think that: "Yep they know each other." They turned away and continued to where their conversation had left off.

Blake: So, Ruby and Yang, are here in this canyon? Weiss: Yes. Blake: And they're still not happy to see you. Weiss: Sigh. Yes and... Blake: Wait don't tell me. They attacked when they saw you. Weiss: Well, Ruby didn't attack me and I was the first to punched her. But Yang, she almost tried to tear my head off if it wasn't for, Caboose! None of this wouldn't have happened, we would... Blake: Weiss, you don't have to remind me about it. Look you can't just keep hating each other forever. The past is the past. How about just give yourselves a chance to talk with each other and settle aside your differences. Weiss: Except that won't work like how you did with, Sun. The last time we met was when Ruby tried to hit me with a drip stand. Anyways, why are you doing here exactly? Another Xenotarian aid assignment? Blake: Before that, yeah. The ship I was in was flying was running out so I had to stop by here to fuel up. I found a base but the inhabitants there are... Weiss: Let me guess, they're all dead. Well we're in a war, after all. What did you expect? Blake: War? Weiss: Oh right, you may not have heard about this. We're currently at war with the Red army. Not sure why they're called that but I've been told they're a bunch of arrogant Insurgents that needed some discipline. Atlas sent me to aid the Blue Army as a support. Blake: And the Blue army are? Weiss: They're an independent military force from a neighboring colony. According to Atlas intelligence, they got a huge disagreement with the Reds to decide which property they own. Blake: That seems understandable. But I taught you can't enter the Atlesian Army after you... Weiss:... Blake: Sorry to bring that up. Weiss: None taken. Nah I still couldn't. But out of the blue, they decided to give me another chance by performing an assignment. If I transfer myself to another army, live through it and won the war, I can finally get into the Atlesian army like I wanted to! Plain and simple. Blake: Really? Wow, that's something I've never heard, Atlas would do. It's a very good second chance for you. Though I've never of any war in this sector. Weiss: Hmm, maybe the White Paw forgot to update about it. Church: Ahem!

Blake and Weiss turned to Church.

Church: Will you two shut up? We're interrogating here. Blake: Is he always like that? Weiss: Oh don't mind him. He's always a jerk. He's name Church. "Leader" of the Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha. If you ask me, he's the most incompetent team leader in this base with a hair trigger temper. Still waiting for Command to accept my request to becoming leader. The dark blue one's, Caboose or Michael if the name's too weird for you. He's lacking some brain cells. Probably from a bullet to the head, but he's alright when he gets the job done. The bright yellow is Kaikaina. Now keep your distance from her, she's a disgrace to women everywhere. The only thing she talks about is having sex. But not as worst as the aqua guy named... Tucker: 'Sup. Weiss: Sigh, Tucker.

Tucker approached the two, with his eyes fixated to Blake since the time she arrived here. She looks like the type whom he can hooked up her with her easily. He delivers his signature one-liner.

Tucker: Hey, baby. Never met one with cat-ears before. Maybe you can hear the cry of nature through them asking you to... Blake: I'm married and have two children back at home, thank you very much. Tucker: Fuck... do you still wanna hang out? Church: Alright, Gary, enough with the insults. Let's cut to the chase. First off, how did you survive the blast and more importantly, where's Tex? Gary: I would tell you, once Caboose stops attempting to punch me. Caboose: Take that! And that! And that!

Caboose's fists passed through, Gary's holographic body to no effect at all.

Church: Stop it, dumbass. Caboose: Okay. Church: Now will you explain? Starting from the time when Andy blew up. Gary: As you wish. Luckily I've prepared a small presentation designed to easily explain my creators to what had transpired from the base I was in. Caboose: Oh give me three minutes, I'll get the popcorn. Kaikaina: Wait, we have popcorn? Tucker: Of course we do. It's popcorn, not a strip club. Kaikaina: Sigh. Someday.

Three minutes later and Caboose returns with the bowl of popcorn.

Blake: I only got here and met these people an hour ago, and I don't understand what's going on. Weiss: Me too. Hey Church. Would you mind telling us the whole story here? Church: It worked with a guy named, Wyoming and tried to kidnapped Junior. That's all. Weiss: Gee, you're helpful. Caboose: Don't worry, I'll tell you the story. Weiss: Thank you, Caboose. Gary: As you all already know, I am the one who tricked you all into thinking that I'm a computer intelligence made a dead alien race which never existed and in reality worked with Wyoming to use the alien to manipulate his race as a savior and win the war. Church: Duh, who else doesn't remember that? Blake: Uhm... Weiss: Ahem. Church: Oh except for these two.

Gary creates a holographic screen big enough for the Blues to see. There's a title at the left upper corner which reads: "My Story: A PowerPoint Journey". The first slide he showed is a crudely drawn scene as if it was made by a three year old kid in his first attempt on Microsoft Paint. This made some of the Blues to laugh, Caboose makes better art than this! It depicts what looks like the pelican flying toward a base with an unknown trifoil logo on it. The Blues have never seen it, but Blake has. It was the same design she saw from the base she landed at.

Gary: Moments after, Andy exploded. The ship veered off course and coincidently crash landed on the Project Freelancer Operational Command Center. Kaikaina: Project Freelancer? Tucker: Aw crap... there's a base full of those fuckers?! Gary: Yes. Church: What about, Tex is she alright? Gary: She was dead when it crashed. Church: Sigh... crap.

The second slide shows Tex lying on the ground with a black box written with the words... well... "Black Box" on it.

Gary: The staff managed to recover Tex's corpse and the black box containing Sheila, Omega and me. They stored us inside containment before the Director decides what to do with us. Church: Director? Who's that? Gary: He is in charged with Project Freelancer.

The third slide shows, white armored soldiers running for their live as something, what looks like a generator, behind them gets blown up or catches fire. Drawing's aren't so detail don't blame me.

Gary: Few days after the crash, one of the base's generators overheated, causing a chain reaction that freed me and Omega. No one knows how it happened but it is suggested that this wasn't a coincidence.

The fourth shows one of the soldiers laughing evilly over his dead comrade as the base behind him was on fire.

Gary: After we were freed, Omega started possessing the staff and killed them off, one by one, until Utah was left alive. I hid within one of the computers to hide from the chaos. For days I've waited for rescue until I met Blake. Does that answer your question?

Everyone are silent by Gary's story. Some don't believe him since his a liar, others were wondering whether he's really telling the truth. But the one thing that they all agree, is that Omega is back and is now somewhere on this planet wrecking havoc. Weiss and Blake, on the other hand, was not getting any sense of this.

Weiss:... Caboose: I like the last part. Kaikaina: O'Malley's back. That's bad right? Church: OF COURSE IT'S BAD! Weiss: O'Malley? Caboose: Oh that's what we call, Omega. The angry AI that tried to kill all of us. Blake: Wait a minute, you lied about being the base's computer system? Gary: Surprise, dirty shisno. Ha Ha Ha. Tucker: We told you he's a liar. So, where's O'Malley now and don't try lying this time! I'll tear of that AI chip from that armor and smash it with a hammer! Gary: Okay okay. I do not know where he is. I haven't seen him after the killing subsided. Church: Shit. Then he could be anywhere and inside any person on this planet. Tucker: But what of that 'Project Freelancer' stuff? Sounds like a military experiment. Church: I think he's referring to that classified military experiment, Tex took part in. The one where they implanted O'Malley into her armor. Weiss: AI implantation? I heard about that back at the Academy but it's very risky. What's a research like that doing on this war torn planet? Unless... this war is perfect place to run a military experiment. Church: That sounds like a plausible theory. But let's get to that later. For all we know, O'Malley's loose out there and his probably planning to take revenge on us. And the worst part, we don't know where he is. Caboose: Maybe we can ask the white guy the cat lady brought. Tucker: Hey good idea! He was from the base and probably the last person to saw O'Malley. . So where is he now? Blake: I had to lock him up in your base's janitor's closet. Tucker: The janitor's closet? Uhh... did you notice anything... off? Blake: No, just dirty mops. Tucker: Phew! Church: You disgust me, man. Well at least we got a lead. Blake: I'd advice you guys to be cautious. He's not mentally stable right now. Church: Thanks for the advice, lady. Tucker, Kai. Come with me. Kaikaina: I'll be the bad cop. Church: And NO strip teasing! Kaikaina: Pfft, asshole. Church: Caboose, Weiss. Take good care of our guest and keep an eye on, Gary, will ya? Caboose: Can I burrow your eye? Church: No.

Church, Tucker and Kai leaves the room.

Blake: I can't believe you just lied to me. Why would you do that after I found you? Gary: Well I didn't want to stay there forever so I had to use you. Blake: And that part of you going offline was a lie too? Gary: What? No. That was not originally part of the plan. I almost died if you hadn't removed me. Weiss: This is what I hate about military AIs. They're too human like to be controlled. Blake: I taught at one point you were interested in Dr. Catherine Halsey's theory of AI flash cloning? Weiss: Heh, true. But that's because Cortana was modeled after a human brain. So, Caboose. Now can you tell us what exactly transpired here before we both came? Just tell us the whole story. Caboose: Yay, storytime! This is going to fun. So you see, it started with me arriving at Blood Gulch and this tank lady named, Sheila...

Thirty minutes of the Blood Gulch Chronicles

Caboose:... and I said, "I meant why are we up here in the sun, when we could be standing down there in the shade". And then we stand under shade. The End! Weiss:... Blake:... Weiss:... This might take some time for me to process. Blake: Definitely. Though I kinda like this Doc. He's a very nice guy despite being possessed by a raging computer program.

Clearer Version: https://www.deviantart.com/necroceph/art/Slideshows-RWBY-RVB-860686887

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/necroceph

#weiss schnee #blake belladonna #michael j caboose #rwby #monty oum #Rooster Teeth #Red vs Blue

16 notes · View notes

letsmellowjello · 5 years ago

Text

Long Time No See

Part 1, Part 2

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: abandonment

Summary: You thought you would never see Poe again until he shows up on Kijimi years after he left.

Notes: I tried to find stuff out about Poe before he joined the Resistance and about how old he was when he left Kijimi, but I couldn’t find exactly what I wanted so I just made everything up. I also did the same thing with some of the pre existing dialogue since I don’t have the movie right in front of me.

Masterlist ~ Prompt/Request

It had been a long time since you had seen Poe Dameron. Twelve years to be exact. When Poe left he was eighteen and your were seven. He had been like a big brother to you when you were both spice runners on Kijimi. When he left you were absolutely devastated.

~ Twelve Years Earlier ~

The cold wind stung your tear stained face as it whipped through the streets and across the rooftops of Kijimi. You sat on the roof with silent tears rolling down your cheeks. Why did he have to go? Why did he have to leave you here all alone?

“Y/n?” A voice spoke from the side of the roof.

“Go away! I don’t want to talk to you!” You huffed angrily and shuffled around so that you back was facing the newcomer. But your tone didn’t put him off. Poe carefully moved across the roof to sit next to you.

“Y/n... I-” He started.

“Why are you leaving?” You cut him off and turned to face him abruptly with tears in your eyes. “Why are you just abandoning us? Abandoning me?”

“You know why, I have to go join the New Republic. I don’t want to live the life of a spice runner anymore.”

“But- but you said, you said you would never leave me! Y- you said that you’d always be here for me!” You hiccuped as new tears rolled down you cheeks. Poe looked down guiltily.

“I know y/n... and I’m sorry. If I could bring you with me I would, but the transport only has room for one and the New Republic isn’t taking seven year olds. Please y/n, forgive me. It kills me to leave you behind. I would give anything to not have to leave you. But you won’t be alone, you’ll have Zorii and the other spice runners to look after you.” He pulled you close to him and you couldn’t help but be absorbed in his arms. You knew that he had to leave. As much as you wanted him to stay, you knew he wasn’t happy here and it was his time to move on.

“I’m really going to miss you Poe. Make sure to come back and visit some day.” You sniffled.

“You got it Ladybug,” he smiled at the affectionate nick name and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you too.”

You knew why he had left and you weren’t mad at him for it. Of course you were absolutely heart broken, but you were happy that he had the chance to reach his full potential. After he left, Zorii Bliss took you in and basically became your older sister figure. She had also gotten you a suit similar to her own just green and silver, your favorite colours. She was tough on you but in an encouraging, ‘I want a better life for you’ sort of way. She was the one that pushed you to work with Babu Frik as a droidsmith.

~ Present ~

“I know a droidsmith who can do it, but he’s on Kijimi,” Poe told Finn and Rey with a groan after deciding that they would have to break C3PO open to get him to translate the Sith text that was on the dagger about where to find the wayfinder to Exegol.

“Why? What’s on Kijimi?” Finn asked suspiciously.

“I had a little bad luck on Kijimi, and there’s just some people there who might not be too happy with seeing me.” Poe ran a hand down his face in frustration, he knew they would have to go back to his old home whether he liked it or not, everything depended on getting the translation and Babu Frik was the only person Poe knew who would be able to do it properly.

The air was thick with the smell of oil and dust in Babu Frik’s workshop. You had been working for him and learning the droidsmith trade for ten years now and were getting really good at it.

All of your work for the day was finished so you just sat on a stool tinkering around with a random droid part when the door opened. You heard Zorii’s voice talking to someone as she came in.

“Hey Zorii-” You looked up to greet her but your throat dried up when you saw who was with her. There were three people and one droid all wearing coats, but you only cared about one. The droid part in your hand clattered to the ground as you stared. “Poe?” Your hopeful voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” He asked with polite confusion. It hurt you that he didn’t remember, but then you reminded yourself that the last time he saw you you were seven and he also couldn’t see your face.

“Are you serious, Poe? You don’t remember her?” Zorii scoffed. You didn’t wait for him to answer, you ripped off your helmet and let it fall to the ground. As soon as he saw your face, he recognized you right away. You ran towards him and he caught you in his arms.

“Ladybug!” Poe exclaimed and swung you around.

“Ladybug?” Finn whispered to Rey who shrugged as they watched this peculiar reunion with nothing but confusion.

“Oh Maker, y/n! I can’t believe it’s you! You’ve grown up so much. Let me take a look at you.” Poe held you at arms length and scanned over your face to see the person that you had become. “You’re not... Are you still angry with me?”

“I’ll have to admit, I am a little bit hurt that you never came back to visit. But I understand why you couldn’t. The Resistance is too important.” You shrugged and visibly saw the relief wash over him.

“I’m really sorry y/n, if I had been allowed to visit I would have.”

“I know. Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” Finn, Rey, C3PO, and BB8 had just been standing there awkwardly for the last couple of minutes but now stood a little straighter.

“Oh right. Y/n this is Rey and Finn,” you smiled at each of them and shook their hands. “And this is BB8, he’s my droid.” BB8 whirred a greeting.

“Hey there buddy! It’s so nice to me you,” you smiled. Poe looked up in surprise at you understanding of his beeps.

“Since when do you know droid? When I left you always needed a translator.”

“A lot has changed.” You smiled sadly and patted his shoulder. “Who’s this?” You gestured to C3PO.

“This is-” Poe started.

“Hello, I am C3PO. Human cyborg relations, it is a pleasure to meet you y/n.” The droid spoke up over Poe who was trying to shut him up.

“3PO she doesn’t need to hear the whole spiel. Sorry-” Poe began to apologize but you just ignored him.

“Hello C3PO, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” You smiled and turned back to Poe. “Where did you get these droids? They’re in amazing condition. Anyways, as much as I’d like to believe that you’re here to see me, I know you’re not. What do you need?”

“We need to access 3PO’s forbidden memory drive. He’s got some stuff we need. Can Babu do it?” He asked. Babu responded in his own garbled language from the bench.

“He says of course he can do it.” You translated. “Don’t worry Poe, you’ll get what you need.”

While Babu Frik worked on the back of 3PO’s head to access the forbidden memory drive, you stood to the side with your arms crossed.

“So,” Finn asked as he and Rey walked up beside you, “how do you know Poe?”

“Hm? Oh we go way back. He took care of me when I was really young and when we were both spice runners, he was like my big brother. When he left Zorii took me in and raised me the rest of the way.” You told them.

“So he just got up and left?” Rey asked, she sounded somewhat skeptical and disbelieving. You understood it though, she and Finn probably saw Poe as a ‘so righteous he can do no wrong’ sort of man, but we all have our moments.

“He just wasn’t happy here, I guess,” You shrugged. “He needed to move on.”

While on watch outside, Zorii and Poe were having a similar conversation. They sat side by side in the same place that you had sat with Poe when you had last spoken all those years ago.

“Why did you leave her Poe?” Zorii asked after a moment of silence between the two. “You knew that she needed you but you just left her.”

“I know... I’m sorry Zorii. I just needed to leave.” Poe couldn’t meet her gaze so instead he looked out over Kijimi.

“You know, she cried for days after you left. You abandoned her Poe, you abandoned me, you abandoned the crew.” He didn’t say anything, he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry Zorii, I’m sorry I left you, y/n, and everyone so suddenly. I’m sorry I left you to take care of her before even talking with you about it.” Zorii gave a small nod of appreciation for the apology. They stayed silent for a couple minutes more just watching the destruction that had become Kijimi before Poe broke the silence.

“How long has it been like this?”

“The First Order took most of the kids a long time ago. I can’t stand the cries anymore. I’ve saved up enough to get out, I’m going to the colonies and I’m taking y/n with me.”

“How? All those hyper lanes are blocked.” Poe reminded her. She reached down into her boot to pull out a small silver disk with different sized slots cut into it. “That’s First Order captains medallion!” He looked at it with nothing but awe and wonder. “I’ve never seen a real one!”

“Free passage through any blockade. Landing privileges, any vessel.” After a brief moment of hesitation, Zorii lifted up the visor that covered her eyes. “Do you want to come with us?” She had a little bit of hope that he would say yes and then you, her, and Poe could all be back together once again. Poe looked at the ground and though for a moment but then looked back up at her.

“I can’t walk out of this war, not until it’s over.” He told her truthfully. It hurt him to say it, he wanted more than anything to be able to run away with them but he had a duty to the Resistance and he didn’t want to make the same choice that he had made twelve years ago when he left you and Zorii in the dust. It was then that Zorii knew that he was a different man from when she knew him before. He was more mature, he had a sense of duty and responsibility. “Maybe it is. We sent out a call for help at the Battle of Krait, nobody came. People are afraid, they’ve lost hope.”

“No, I don’t believe you believe that. They win by making you think that you’re alone. There’s more of us.” She told him with absolute confidence in her voice.

You ran through the streets with Rey, Finn, Poe, Zorii, BB8, and C3PO to get them on a transport out of Kimiji. As you ran you whispered something to Zorii and she nodded.

“Poe! It might get you on a capital ship.” Zorii held up the medallion for him to take. He looked at it with wide eyes and then back up at you and Zorii.

“Go help your friend Poe.” You urged him.

“I don’t think I can take this-!” He tried to refuse it but she pressed it into his gloved palm.

“I don’t care what you think!” Zorii cut him off.

“What about you and y/n? How will you get out?”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage, we always have.” She assured him.

“We have to go!” Rey called from the ship.

“Come with us!” He suggested. But Zorii shook her head.

“You need to go.” He began to turn around but you stopped him one last time.

“Poe! I’m going to miss you so much.” You attacked him with a bear hug just as he was about to get on the ship. “It was so good to see you again. Promise me that you’ll come back to visit, for real this time.”

“Yeah, you too y/n. I promise, as soon as all of this is over we’ll tour the galaxy. I love you so much Ladybug.” And with that, he turned back and got onto the ship. You waved at him as the doors closed and then followed Zorii back through the streets. You really hoped that you would see him again, your big brother, your hero. Seeing him had brought out the little seven year old kid in you waiting for him to come back just to say hi. You didn’t hate him, you never did. But some part of you knew that you might never see him again.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagine #star wars #imagine #mellow jello imagine

49 notes · View notes

mithrilwren · 5 years ago

Note

22 for beau/yasha/jester or fjorclay, or 15 for fjorclay

I chose 15! I’m not sure this is really a soulmate!au, so much as I took the prompt and ran slightly adjacent to it :) But hopefully still enjoyable! This isn’t quite a full fic - I still have a bunch of other prompts to fill - but more like a teaser. Maybe in the future I’ll come back and finish it properly!

soulmate au prompts (15) - the one where every lie your soulmate tells you appears on your skin.

Many living things communicate, but fungi have a peculiar language all their own. What one individual of the colony learns, it passes along to the next - stem to stem, cap to cap - until the whole organism is consumed by the same thought, the same consciousness: the same reality.

All living things, but fungi most of all, prefer to bend towards the truth.

—

Fjord doesn’t think much about the lichen growing from his chest; at least, not for the first few days.

The night before the peace talks begin, they’ve all settled back into their insular sleeping arrangement: tucked tight into Caleb’s bubble, curled beside each other on the cold wooden floor of the gun deck.

It stands to figure that the first night he was alone - the first he’d slept without a shirt in a year and a half - would be the one he’d be attacked. Fjord still finds himself the most modest of the group, despite everything they’ve gone through together. No bare chests in sight now: they’re all wearing armor to bed, or at least the ones that have it. He’s happy for the excuse not to hide his blush.

And besides, even if he could sleep naked without fear of a saltwater burial to follow, he knows that Jester would stare, and it wouldn’t be out of lust or admiration. She would look at the ragged scar and its flowered dressing and her eyes would fill with sorrow, or fear, or guilt. Beau would flick the wound with her nail and ask if it hurt, and both of them would pretend that she wasn’t watching for a real wince behind his offhand reply. Caleb would delicately avert his eyes, and they’d add it to the list of things they can’t put to words, no matter how much progress they’ve made.

And Caduceus…

Shit. He still needs to talk to Caduceus.

Fjord finds him on the quarterdeck, tucked against the side of the stern mast. His long legs are tangled up in spooled rope that Fjord is almost certain a more experienced sailor neatly arranged in its proper place, before it was dragged up here and made into a makeship seat. On any other ship Fjord has served on, it would be the boatswain’s job to ensure nothing was out of order on the deck. They would certainly not be the cause of the mess, but their crew is nothing if not irregular.

The sun is just beginning to dip as Fjord drops to his haunches at Caduceus’s side. He looks up - or rather, slightly down - and smiles.

“Is it time for bed?”

“Just about,” Fjord says. There’s a cup of long-cooled tea by Caduceus’s feet, the chipped crocker mug far less elegant than the kind Fjord’s used to seeing balanced between those bony fingers. When did Caduceus finally give in and start using the ship’s complement? “Might stay up for a while. Watch the sunset, while we’re still out on the water.”

“Mm,” Caduceus hums. “It is a nice sky.” He takes a long, deep breath. “We’re close to land. I can smell it.”

Fjord sniffs the air. He can see what Caduceus means - there’s a heavy scent drifting off the bow, like rotting wood, or fruit gone too long to seed. He knows it well. It’s what you expect to smell before rain comes. He shivers, doused in the memory of slick skin and searing pain, and turns back to Caduceus before his eyes can flick to the base of the main mast. Not a single stain survived the original torrent of that fateful night, but he knows the crew avoids the spot, and he’s tried to do the same. Like passing over a grave - bad luck, and worse to come.

Fjord doesn’t mention the promised rain. Instead, he says, “You might be right,” and drops the rest of the way down, until he’s tucked into the side of the coil of rope. A moment later, Caduceus slithers down off the pile, until their hips are inches apart, and their eyes are a little closer to level.

“Something on your mind, Fjord?”

“Not really,” Fjord says. Caduceus shifts, and his smile dips into that familiar little frown, the one that reminds him nothing can stay hidden from their resident empath for too long. Fjord sighs. “No more than usual.”

Caduceus gestures at the cold tea. “I’d offer you a cup, but I only made the one.” Fjord glances down at the mug. That’s right - no offers had been made after dinner, no promise of a calming drink to alleviate the crew’s woes. That had been part of Fjord’s concern, and one of the reasons he ventured out here, to scour the deck for mint silk in the coming dark.

“That’s ok. I’m not thirsty.”

It’s been a few days since the night, since the morning after, since Caduceus pulled the breath from his lips and the poison from his chest, and they still haven’t talked about any of it. A ship’s price in diamonds, crushed between Caduceus’s palms and poured into his body, and it’s already a passing blip on the horizon of their relationship. If he lets it go, it’ll be like it never happened at all.

If they let it go.

“Thank you, again,” Fjord says at last. “That’s twice you’ve brought me back to life now.” Caduceus immediately goes to his fingers, and Fjord smiles affectionately at the bemusement in his expression.

“Unless I’m missing something - and that’s very possible - I think this is the first time you’ve died.”

Fjord chuckles. “True. But that doesn’t mean I was living, before we met.” Caduceus’s confusion deepens. “Somebody was, in my body, but it wasn’t me. I… regret that it took me so long to realize it, but I don’t regret anything that came after. You showed me that there was another way to be. You showed me there was a life I didn’t know I could have.”

It’s more honesty than he ever expected to spout tonight. Fjord swallows back the anxiety as he waits for Caduceus’s response, reminding himself that if it’s with anyone, with anyone, he’s allowed to say what he really feels, it’s to Caduceus. This is the person he ran to in his most vulnerable moment, the one who’s given him so much, and maybe all he has to give in return is his gratitude, but as long as it’s received, he’ll keep on giving it. He’s never had much to call his own, but gratitude, he has plenty to spare.

“I’m glad I could help,” Caduceus says finally, and Fjord watches the fading light shift across his face, catching in the wiry wisps of his beard as the sun finally sinks below the water’s surface. “I’m just… very glad I could be there when you needed me.” He can’t tell if it’s the change in illumination, but the circles beneath Caduceus’s eyes seem more pronounced than they were a minute before.

Caduceus usually makes them tea before bed, and he’s never slept better in his life than after sipping a mug of some heirloom strain whose namesake he won’t remember in the morning.

Has he ever offered to do the same? To be the one to soothe a troubled sleep?

“How are you doing? Got anything on your mind?” Fjord hesitates. “You seem a little down.”

“I’m fine, Fjord. A little tired, but just fine. Happy we’ll be back on land soon.”

Fjord’s chest begins to prickle as Caduceus speaks, and he scratches at his leather breastplate absentmindedly as he stares at Caduceus, not quite sure how much he believes the casual tone. “You sure?”

“Fine,” Caduceus says again, and the prickle turns into an itch, persistent and creeping enough that Fjord’s mind immediately fills with the notion that a beetle or spider might have gotten inside his shirt. It’s happened before, especially after spending the night on a forest floor, and all thoughts of comfort are lost in the panicked compulsion to check under his shirt, preferably without stripping down in full view of everyone on the deck.

“Good,” says Fjord, more and more strained as the sensation crawls - crawls - from his chest to his sternum, and he stands as quickly as his legs are able to get him up. “Good, I’m- I just need to check on something in the captain’s quarters. I’ll be down in a while.”

And with that, he hurries off, leaving a little less bemused, but a little more forlorn Caduceus to his solitary perch. He’s already pulling at the bottom of his chestplate before the door is fully closed. His hands fish up into his long tunic, searching with nausea trepidation for the telltale smoothness of a shell or the crunch of spindly legs, but all he finds is a ragged scar, and soft fuzz, less coarse than the dark hair that covers the rest of his chest. He probes around, worried now that a creature might have found a nest in the newly grown bed of lichen, and…

Fjord yanks his hand out from beneath the tunic, breathing heavy. Maybe he’s gone crazy with the night air, but he could have sworn… the lichen was probing back. Moving beneath his fingertips, independent of his own touch.

He tears the tunic over his head and looks down. Everything looks the same as it did the night before, except… was that a little tendril of pink, slipping back into the brush between his ribs? Just a small movement, it could definitely have been a trick of the light too.

It must have been. The alternative is… far more unsettling than he cares to contemplate at this hour.

By the time he gathers himself enough to step back onto the deck, Caduceus is nowhere to be seen. Fjord reluctantly makes his way towards the steps below, but as he grabs ahold of the railing, he pauses again. There’s something smudged into his skin, just above the knuckles on his right hand. Rubbing at the mark with his left palm does nothing to remove the stain, so he summons the Star Razor and holds the sword aloft, until the dim blue light illuminates the back of his hand.

He only gets a moment to absorb what he’s seen before the letters fade, their dusky rose hue fading back into his skin until only an afterimage remains. The moment is so brief he can’t help but wonder if this, too, is another dream, his mind attempting to make sense of the incomprehensible, or god of one word messages, playing tricks on him again.

He mouths the word aloud, and it tastes… sour. Like the promise of rain on a clear, starlit night.

“Fine.”

#critical role #fjorclay #cr fic #my writing #fjord #caduceus clay

77 notes · View notes

kopykunoichi · 5 years ago

Text

The Legacy of Star Wars: An Open Letter to the Writers and Creators of A Galaxy Far, Far Away

“Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you. Some of us live it. I’ve been in this fight since I was six years old!” ~ Cassian Andor

I saw a great meme once that played off that quote, meant to depict an older fan describing to a newer fan how they had been invested in the story of Star Wars from childhood. I could relate. Though I am not old enough to have seen the original Star Wars movies in theater, they were a significant part of my childhood. I remember renting the original theatrical VHS from our local video store all the time when I was little. Then we bought the digitally remastered Special Edition VHS Box Set and I spent the next decade wearing them out! We would have popcorn and Star Wars marathons all the time. My friends and I would always pretend we were in the story. My swingset was the Millennium Falcon. I was that 11-year-old girl who would argue with my friends over who was hotter - Luke or Han. (The correct answer is Han, of course!) My mother would read the Expanded Universe novels to me in the afternoons and we would talk about the characters. All my spending money went to Jedi Apprentice books and 6 inch action figures. In short, I loved Star Wars.

I was 13 when The Phantom Menace hit theaters, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to get to see new stories from my favorite fictional universe play out on the big screen. Though I struggled a bit with some of the acting, the story was absolutely amazing to me. Star Wars felt all the more real to me with the amazing graphics and intense action sequences - not to mention the layers of politics and the complexity of the story. I watched Revenge of the Sith several times in theaters, and though it broke my heart to see Anakin’s fall, I never considered it to be a sad ending overall, when taken as a whole with the original trilogy.

When the Clone Wars aired in 2008, I was ecstatic. Here was an Anakin I could actually get into (sorry, Hayden). I loved him. I adored Ahsoka. I wanted to marry Rex. The character development and the plot deepened my attachment to that era, and made me question everything I had previously taken for granted as good and bad. The whole system was flawed - the Republic and the Jedi. It wasn’t just a matter of mistakes being made and the wool being pulled over their eyes, there was deep rooted corruption in the side that I once felt was “good”. The light side and the dark side were not as black and white as I thought. I found myself strongly disliking some of the “good guys” and deeply sympathizing with some downright detestable people (I don’t know how you got me to care for Maul, Filoni - but well done). While the series had not yet ended, we knew where it was going. But still, we had already lived through the pain of Order 66, and we knew that the story would eventually culminate in a victory at the end of Return of the Jedi.

I couldn’t believe our luck when the first installment of the sequel trilogy hit the theaters in 2015. It had some of the feelings of a reboot, but I was beyond thrilled to have a series of Star Wars movies that I could now share with my children, as my parents had shared them with me. Though it was hard to say goodbye to the first love of my life, Han Solo - I just knew that Ben would be redeemed and Han’s sacrifice would be worth it...

2016 brought us Rogue One. We knew how that one was going to end too, but we still ate it up. I fell in love with a whole new set of characters, only to see each and every one of them die in the end. Talk about tragedy. But Leia’s line about hope reminded us that five minutes later, a whiny little farm boy was about to have his whole life upended in the best sort of way...so it was okay. Sort of.

Four years of Rebels ended in 2018, and it was so, so lovely - but it hurt so, so much. My perfect, beautiful space family had been torn apart with Kanan’s death. Ezra was missing. Rex was a 29-year-old man who should have been in his prime, but was instead struggling with the wear and tear of a 60-year-old body. Ahsoka was separated from him - AGAIN - and then she left with Sabine to look for Ezra. The ending still held the promise of the fight to come with the Empire, but the majority of our characters were left in a place of grief and brokenness.

2019 brought an end to the sequel trilogy. Once again, we had characters who pulled at our heartstrings, and an interesting struggle between “light” and ��dark” that reminded me of the complexities introduced in The Clone Wars. It became more apparent than ever that balance in the Force did not mean the light triumphing over the dark, but instead a harmony between the two. At least, that’s what I thought. Until I watched every person I loved from the original trilogy die, Palpatine come back (and die) again, and the same exact ending of Return of the Jedi played out before me - except not as happy. Why? Because Anakin’s legacy had been reduced to ashes - his rise, fall, redemption, and sacrifice rendered null and void. The last Skywalker was redeemed and promptly killed, just like his grandfather. But because Rey Palpatine decided that she identified as Rey Skywalker, it was supposed to be okay. She then went to go hang out (or live?) alone on Tatooine because that’s where it all started. I was dumbfounded. This was the satisfying, hopeful, ending we were promised? How?

Believe it or not, I’m not here to trash the sequels - I enjoyed them very much - right up until the last 20 minutes. But in that space of time, the entire legacy of the Skywalker family went up in smoke, and the legacy of Star Wars along with it. Since Return of the Jedi, there have been no happy endings to a Star Wars movie trilogy or TV show. And with the ending of The Rise of Skywalker, that one happy ending we did have was ripped from us as well. Star Wars is now a never ending series of tragic endings. The lessons we are left with: Don’t fall in love in Star Wars, it will end badly. Your actions ultimately result in failure. As soon as you turn good, you die. There is no balance in the Force, just a pendulum swinging back and forth for all time.

Then The Clone Wars finally got her last season. I didn’t think Order 66 could have hurt worse, but Filoni set out to prove us all wrong...and succeeded. I’m still not over it. And once more, the bitterness I felt over the ending to the sequels (which had begun to subside) flared up all over again. What was it all for? All that pain. All that sacrifice. No happy endings.

I still love Star Wars. Nothing can take that away from me. No amount of bad writing can change that. And there are still plenty of good writers and creators working on Star Wars content. But good writers spinning tales of tragedy and endless pain negates the power of good writing. The Star Wars of my childhood is not the Star Wars of today. We wore out those VHS tapes because we loved the stories and the people. But my kids are not going to wear out DVDs where everyone they love dies or ends up alone. They aren’t going to queue up those digital movies and series over and over - because who wants to subject themselves to that kind of torture?

Just about the only safe space for Star Wars fans right now is fanfiction archives where the people who love the characters are busy writing fix-it fics to squeeze some sort of satisfying ending out of the canon content. The Mandalorian is literally our last hope for a Star Wars story that has the potential to end well. I swear, if Din Djarin ends up dead or alone at the end of this series, I’m going to lose it. The overwhelming sentiment of the Star Wars fanbase - from original trilogy fanboys to Tumblr blogging Reylos, and everyone in between - is that of dissatisfaction with canon content (with the exception of The Mandalorian). So much so, that many fans are just saying “screw it” and churning out a myriad of fanfiction AUs because there is no way to salvage what has been written. Half of Tumblr is in therapy after The Rise of Skywalker ending and the last episode of Clone Wars - but they weren’t exactly stable to begin with. The other forums and social media platforms are not much better, though.

It’s not just about the quality of writing - because Filoni and co. have done exceptional work with The Clone Wars, Rebels, and The Mandalorian. It’s the tragedy, guys. We can’t take it anymore. Is this really what we want the Star Wars legacy to be? Sadness? Despair? It’s a story about war - people are going to die. I get that. Victory comes at a price, but the cost can’t be worse than the victory. I want to sit down with my kids and watch Star Wars over and over again. The Mandalorian has given us a taste of that - but I’m almost afraid of where it will go. We’ve been burned so many times, I’m beginning to know what Anakin felt like on Mustafar - writhing in agony and screaming “I hate you” to someone he once loved.

I remember happier days when Luke and Leia and Han were laughing and smiling with their friends while Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Anakin looked on. I want that back. Filoni. Favreau. Creators. Writers. Producers. Directors. You are our only hope for canon content. Use The Mandalorian wisely. Use Din’s story to bless other characters. Here’s some ideas:

Let Din have a happy ending! Preferably with someone he loves and respects at his side (like Cara).

Let Cara become a Mandalorian - and put Paz Vizsla in charge of her training (we need to see them spar).

Let what’s left of the Tribe establish a new Mandalorian colony - and let Sabine Wren lead it. And give her that Darksaber back - she earned it.

Let Ezra come back from regions unknown with a deeper understanding of the Force, and have him train the child in the new colony.

Forget the Jedi and Sith, let’s start a medical training center/hospital run by Force users who can help heal people when modern medicine fails!

Ahsoka can use her talents for that too.

Find the rest of the child’s race and bring any of their Force sensitives onboard.

Let Boba Fett and Din have their epic showdown, but then use a sample of Boba’s unaltered DNA and some mystical Force healing to restore Rex’s body to what a 43-year-old should be (and then he can marry Ahsoka so we can have the Clone/Jedi couple we always wanted...thanks to you, Filoni).

Let the Mandalorians partner with the New Republic in the Outer Rim as law enforcement instead of bounty hunters, so they can get their reputation back.

They can train new recruits and pilots, just like Fenn Rau trained clones.

Let them keep their autonomy and traditions, while helping keep the New Republic honest.

Let them be a force for good in the galaxy, for once.

The Mandalorian could serve as the vessel to give a lot of characters with unresolved or tragic storylines some closure and better endings. If not The Mandalorian, then other new shows. My 6-year-old daughter wants nothing more than to be Ahsoka Tano. My 3-year-old son asks me to watch The Mandalorian every day. My 18-month-old daughter walks around in her brother’s Mandalorian helmet babbling “Way”. Please let me share the Star Wars legacy that I grew up loving with them. Let me show them the happy endings I enjoyed. Let me show them that even in the midst of conflict, not every life has to be ruined. Let me show them a Star Wars story with a satisfying ending. Hope. Redemption. Love. That’s what Star Wars means to me.

May the Force be With You (and your pens),

Rebekah, A Star Wars Fan

3 notes · View notes

otakween · 5 years ago

Photo

Cyborg 009 Manga - Hepatica Symphony, Pharaoh Virus, Modern Narcissus, The Seven Children, Invisible Strings, and Cosmo Child

Hepatica Symphony

-Well that was kinda beautiful and kinda stupid at the same time. It starts out having nothing to do with the cyborgs and then Albert just randomly shows up at the end, having a very thin tie to the main filler character. I feel like they already did this with 007 and his random old friend. Both happened on a snowy mountain too. Running out of plot lines here.

-So...004 saved a woman from an avalanche by...shooting at snow? Like...what? The art didn’t make it clear how that works at all but okay

-It was interesting seeing Albert do something gentle for once (playing the piano). The close up of his hand definitely got me in the feels

Pharaoh Virus

-This played very similarly to the anime episode but with less action. Again I appreciated the little tidbits of history, it kinda felt like reading an Ancient Egypt kids book you’d get from the library

-I don’t really get how they went from panicking about the spread of the virus to being fine just cuz they found a single flower. Pretty sure the world’s still in danger but okay...

-Pretty timely read with the coronavirus going on lol. I learned the word for “pandemic,” “contagious disease,” and “to spread germs.” Handy!

-Why the heck did that professor’s gravestone say he only lived like 4 years? Misprint?

-This chapter and the last one were flower centric. Either they published it that way to be clever or Ishinomori was a in a big flower mood lol

Modern Narcissus

-Honestly I didn’t really like this chapter. It didn’t have enough substance it was basically just Francoise telling a girl that it’s okay to have freckles lmao

-Not really sure how Francoise ended up at a fashion shoot in the first place...

-It’s mostly just cuz my Japanese isn’t up to snuff but I didn’t understand the comparison to the Narcissus myth. I thought that was supposed to be a morality fable about how vanity’s bad but the moral of this story was to love yourself?? Maybe they were trying to distinguish between obsessing over superficial beauty and accepting your true self? Let’s go with that...

-The cameraman telling them to go for a “lesbian” look was pretty gross...

The Seven Children

-WTF!? What is this random pro-life propaganda doing in my cyborg manga??? I am u n c o m f o r t a b l e...

-Seriously, this was so weird. The plot was basically 001 and 003 eavesdropping on a bunch of doctors saying that a multi-birth was dangerous and they’d have to kill the weaker babies. Francoise gives this speech about “life is a privilege! All lives are sacred under God” blah blah blah and then there’s a bunch of Christian imagery everywhere. Isn’t this a shounen manga...?

-I mean...freedom of speech and all that but just...wha??? This seriously felt like something they’d hand out to kids in church.

Invisible Strings

-Random Pinocchio reference! This was interesting to see because I know manga was originally very Disney-influenced. (I know Disney didn’t invent Pinocchio but it would be the most recognized depiction).

-Am I supposed to take the whole chapter as a daydream Gilmore had? I thought the metaphor was kind of clever but overall I’m not really sure what the message was. Does Gilmore see the cyborgs as his kids and he doesn’t want to lose them? If so, awwwwe <3

Cosmo Child

-Okay, strapping in for a long arc. The first chapter was really short tho. I liked that it wasn’t super dialogue heavy. The art seemed more detailed and snappy than usual.

-This was adapted into a two parter in the Cyborg Soldier series. I remember it feeling pretty rushed and awkward so hopefully it will be better in its original form.

-lol @ the panel of all of the Americans and Jet just pointing at the space colony. I’m just picturing some disaster happen in NYC and instead of running away everyone just points at it.

-006 calls their uniforms “costumes” which I found kind of funny. Is there a typical word to for superhero/sentai units’ clothes? Suits? Costumes just make it sound like they’re playing make believe lol

-Another hilarious panel in this arc is Geronimo being tractor beamed into the space ship. Mostly because of his stiff body/expression lol

-This really reminds me of the plot of the Cyborg 009 “Simple Series” game. Flying saucers and all of the cyborgs are separated at the beginning. Very similar vibes...

-So they randomly decided to make this a Jet-focused arc in the anime but it’s not like that at all in the manga, he barely shows up. 004 plays his role but really the focus is mostly just on the alien children, not on any specific cyborgs

-Francoise gets all deep at the end like “Ohhh the perils of humanity have been passed on to these innocent children.” Half of me thinks it was nice to add that extra layer to the story but the other half of me is rolling my eyes.

-I have mixed feelings about this arc. It was nice to have a more action-based story but it feels really out of place. Other than the 80s movie this series doesn’t have a lot of canon aliens and they’re just treated like they’re completely normal here. Then there’s the whole forced bit about why the children can’t kill...I dunno it’s kind of clunky. Also 004 pointing his ray gun at them seemed pretty un-hero-like...

#cyborg 009 #manga

4 notes · View notes

haltandcatchfiretothemax · 5 years ago

Text

Headcanon that the year they get engaged, Cameron and Donna celebrate Donna’s birthday with a vacation

[CN: eating, drinking/alcohol, allusions to sexual activity between two grown women in a long term relationship]

Rather than putting it off, Cameron brings it up in early September, while they tidying up the kitchen after dinner: “So, can I interest you in a potential birthday surprise?”

Donna grins from behind the refrigerator door, and says, “Well it’s certainly early enough for it to come as a surprise. Maybe too early?” “Yeah, but it’s the kind of ‘surprise’ that I need to run by you first.” Donna laughs, “Alright then, lay it on me,” and Cameron produces a navy blue folder seemingly out of nowhere.

“You know how you’ve been bugging me about a week in San Juan? Well, I looked into it, if you wanna go for your birthday week.” Donna slowly closes the refrigerator door, slightly shocked. “Sure, I’d be open to that.”

Cameron says, “I thought you might be, so, I took the liberty of preparing a sample itinerary.” Eyes wide, Donna takes the folder from her and opens it, to see a computer print out of a spread sheet. “Uh…this looks great? If this is some kind of prank, so help me God, Cameron Eugenia….”

Cameron frowns, “No, it’s not a prank, even if it’s a little optimistic, maybe.” She takes back the folder, and says, “I’ll get right to work on booking all of that, Boss.”

When Cameron returns the folder a month later, just as Donna is getting into the bed for the evening, it’s packed with brochures, receipts, and confirmation messages. “I can’t believe you did all of this!” Donna marvels. There’s a day for exploring and shopping, a day for hiking, spa and dinner reservations for Donna’s actual birthday, and most shockingly, a beach day — bookended by two days set aside just for travel. “We’re going for a whole business week?! You’re gonna relax for an entire five days with me?!” Donna yelps excitedly. Cameron is trying to get comfortable next to Donna, who drops the folder and climbs into Cameron’s lap. “Is it weird that I’m kind of turned on?” she kisses her.” “If by ‘weird’ you mean ‘unbelievably nerdy, sure,” Cameron nods. “I’m into that though,” Cameron kisses her back, “so that’s okay….”

For the next six weeks, Donna looks forward to visiting Puerto Rico, happily bragging to anyone who will listen about how her fiancee took care of every last detail, and of course, Cameron quietly increasingly dreads having to act normal and calm in an unfamiliar environment for an entire week. She reminds herself periodically that the hotel should at least be cool and comfortable, and reminds Donna to stock up on their anti-anxiety meds before they fly out.

The flight is stressful, as all flights are for Cameron, but the trip isn’t really so bad. Cameron is sweaty and worried and compulsively hydrates for those five days, but she’s happy to be with Donna, and most of their activities, the walking tours of Old San Juan, and the full day in El Yunque National Rainforest, are actually really interesting. All of the restaurants they try are comfortable, and all of the food they try is delicious and salty, and everyone they meet is kind and helpful.

The longest day for Cameron is, of course, the beach day. “It’s alright, you can stay inside if you want, there’s an indoor pool!” Donna offers. “Or you could go for a walk? You don’t have to bake outside in the sun with me….” Cameron is determined to be a good sport and future spouse though, so she goes down to the beach with Donna in her least alluring, boxiest long shorts and tank top, recent Le Guin short story collection in hand.

They find a pair of covered beach chairs, so it’s fortunately not too sunny, and Cameron tries to get comfortable, and focus on her book. Donna alternates between sunning and swimming, and while Donna is in the water, Cameron pretends to read while she watches Donna, and mentally practices how to call for help in Spanish, even though they haven’t had to use any Spanish all week.

Grateful for Cameron’s company, Donna orders a late beachside lunch for them. She asks Cameron about her book as they munch on overpriced burgers and plantain chips, and she finds herself so endeared by Cameron’s book-related chatter that she cuts their beach day a little short, and drags Cameron back up to their hotel room so they can make out for awhile, after which they throw on clothes and go out for pizza.

They stay up late that night so they can celebrate Donna’s birthday with a mini bottle of champagne at midnight. After dinner and another leisurely walk through Old San Juan, they go back to their room to relax, Cameron takes a long shower and then Donna takes a long bubble bath

When Donna comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white robe, she finds Cameron lying on the bed, for which her legs are just a few inches too long, hair slicked back, in nothing but her underwear. One knee on the edge of the bed, Donna asks, “Meeting someone?” Cameron grins, “I got a wild sometimes-redhead who should be here any minute.” Donna says, “She sounds enchanting. She’s a lucky woman.” Cameron blushes, and when Donna takes off the robe, Cameron gets up and moves to the edge of the bed, and hugs Donna close to her. “I hate the beach,” she looks up at Donna, “but I love you and I can’t wait to marry you, and to spend the rest of my life going to the beach with you and kind of hating it but also not really.”

They sleep in the following day, and order birthday breakfast room service. That afternoon they go down to the hotel spa, where Cameron tolerates a mud mask and no-polish manicure, while Donna gets a hot stone massage and seaweed body wrap, and then they get dressed up and just make their dinner reservation

Over espresso and slices of Tres Leches cake, Donna sighs, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to move here? Because I’m ready to retire, how do you think the tech scene is here? Maybe you can find a job and I can be your island trophy wife...?” Cameron shakes her head, “It’ll be all fun and games and eating bonbons by the pool until the next federal election, and you get all bent out of shape because we can’t vote here.” Eyes narrowed, Donna says, “No, you’re absolutely right. This island is a strange, beautiful, eldritch colonial horror, and we’re not meant to be here.” Face softening, she says, “It has been a really great week though. Thank you for everything, Cam.” Cameron smiles back at her, “My pleasure, birthday girl.”

#idk if i have any fellow boricua halt stans here but if so you are valid!#anyways i had a long emotionally trying week and i coped by writing TWO things abt my fave soft computer gfs pls enjoy #hbd to you donna emerson!#headcanon #better living through headcanons!#cameron howe #donna clark #donna emerson

15 notes · View notes

kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

Text

Smoke/Lesion oneshot in which Lesion meets someone important during his first mission and then realises he was horribly wrong over the course of a few years. (Rating T, culture clash + hurt/comfort, ~9k words) - written for @yovelie! I can’t thank you enough for this commission and all your encouragement 💞💞 You continue to be a delight! Find my commission info here!

This fic has been posted to AO3 as well!! Read it here :)

His presence alone demands respect: he has the aura of someone who turns heads unconsciously, who parts a crowd with no effort and without realising, of a man used to making himself heard. Tze Long inadvertently holds his breath as the broad-shouldered, imposing European paces the room, studying the papers handed to him upon entry and not yet having directed a single word at anyone. He oozes confidence and competence, a good mixture as far as Tze Long is concerned, and despite the circumstances, he’s calmed down considerably. With this fortress of a man on their side, he has nothing to fear.

The man’s companion is less impressive, reminds Tze Long more of an aged schoolkid, sitting the wrong way around on a chair and resting his chin on his arms, eyes lazily trailing after his superior. If anything, he’s an apprentice, for some reason deemed worthy enough to follow this legend around despite proving himself lacking in several aspects – physical appearance is just one of them. He merely scanned the report Tze Long neatly put together before switching to playing with a lighter instead, face bored and impassive.

Indonesian weather doesn’t agree with either of them and yet Tze Long can’t pretend he minds, not when it forces the two to expose their toned arms and causes sweat to bead up on their foreheads enticingly. This is a moment in which he stops wondering why he’s got it so bad for Westerners.

Paper rustles and restless footfalls stop. The tall man fixes Tze Long with a level gaze which shouldn’t cause his heart to skip a beat like this. “Your name is…?”

“Liu Tze Long, sir.”

Two pairs of eyes drill into him yet he returns the stare without blinking. “You know who I am?”

He nods. “I do, sir.” How could he not? Operation Nimrod gained international fame and besides, all special forces have their own celebrities, pass on gossip just as swiftly as the Hollywood scene. Vineyards work fast, especially concerning the British SAS, most acclaimed organisation worldwide. Tze Long has been following this man’s career for about a decade now, hungrily devouring every tasty piece of information he could find. This is his idol before him, in the flesh, and he still has trouble believing it.

“Good. This is James Porter.” The sidekick gives a half-hearted wave and a half-hearted smile. “You’re the one who interpreted the files on the laptop found in Macau?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Fucking bubonic plague”, Mike Baker mutters with a shake of his head, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair. “What do you reckon, Jamie?”

“Complete neutralisation asap”, comes the reply without hesitation, yet delivered like a disagreeable school report, “the files didn’t indicate the existence of more than one lab, so only one infiltration necessary. We’ll have the SDU assist us in gathering intel and coordinating the whole thing, go in, destroy the prototypes and samples as well as all data and leave.”

Tze Long nods mutely. They’ve identified the location of the extremist’s laboratory already which is why his superiors deemed it necessary to ask the Brits for help – their expertise in storming a building riddled with mercenaries and equipped with a worryingly potent biological weapon is limited. He doesn’t let his surprise over James’ astute observations show. He should’ve figured every member of the SAS has been recruited for a reason.

“Almost.” Mike leans against a table and Tze Long’s eyes drop lower all by themselves. “There’s no need to ask more people for help. We three are more than capable of taking down this megalomaniac – the fewer people can alert these terrorists to our plan of attack, the better. We don’t need the SDU’s fancy gadgets if we can help it. Right?”

The last word is directed at Tze Long who nods automatically. He indubitably knows best, seeing as how he’s not only still alive but also in active duty after all this time. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“See? Even he agrees with me.” James simply rolls his eyes, visibly exasperated, but doesn’t dare object. If he had, Tze Long would’ve been appalled with the blasphemy. “You’re both knowledgeable in toxicology, so you better figure out how to get rid of this nonsense while I do observation and planning. Also, if you call me ‘sir’ one more time, I’m gonna personally feed you my badge.”

Tze Long opens his mouth, throws a glance at an extremely amused-looking Porter and decides against speaking up.

“Alright, let’s brainstorm on how to neutralise this plague without causing a medium-sized epidemic”, Porter turns to him with a cheerful grin. “Or, as I’d like to call it: the fun part.”

~*~

Macau has never held any fascination for Tze Long for as long as he could think – the old Portuguese buildings, yes, but once he’d seen them, there was only glamour and glitz to discover, new ways of relieving encumbered tourists of their money and the vice-like grip of the Chinese government tightening on a city doomed to be a one-trick pony forever. He never bought into the explosive potential of the casinos, prioritised work over luck and ended up in a respectable place as a result. Things work out eventually, but always through hard work and not unnecessary risk-taking. He prefers necessary risk-taking.

This day, however, he’s come to experience it through someone else’s eyes and allowed the city to dazzle him as if he was a toddler experiencing the Lunar New Year fireworks consciously for the very first time. Everything is bright, loud, inviting and affordable, even for his wallet, and he takes great pride in explaining all the local delicacies, the colonial history and differences between Macau and Hong Kong, as well as Asian customs in general. Most Europeans he meets either already know their fair share about the region or are much more interested in an entirely different thing, so it’s with childlike wonder that he accompanies Mike and James traipsing through Asia’s Las Vegas.

They’ve washed up in a Din Tai Fung purely because Mike knows the restaurant chain and was thirsting for a little bit of familiarity after an entire day of concentrated culture shock – but not familiar enough to allow them to forget they’re in another continent, like one of the many American fast food chains might’ve done, even given their differing menu.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a gambler”, Tze Long chuckles in between dumplings and marvels not for the first time at the fact that conversing with one of the most renowned blades has become this easy over the course of a singular mission.

“Me neither, but results don’t lie.” Mike frowns at the cup of green tea before downing it in one go. He doesn’t look like a fan. “If you hadn’t dragged me off, I might be a few thousand quid richer.”

“If we hadn’t dragged you off you’d be on your fifth Singapore sling and probably hitting on a coat rack”, James states drily.

“A miracle – the man who bets on everything shies away from roulette.”

“Not everyone has your kind of pocket change. And besides, I only bet on meaningful things. Like the fact that I’m gonna eat more than either of you of these – what are they called again?”

“Xiao long bao.” Tze Long pokes at one of the steamed dumplings filled with pork and hot soup. “And don’t bother betting anything, my stomach becomes bottomless when it comes to them.”

“You look like you don’t have them very often, in that case”, Mike interjects with a grin and definitely did not expect Tze Long to mirror his expression and retort: “You look like you have them a little too often.” He’s come to learn that friendly banter is not only viewed favourably but also generally expected, and not for the first time he’s grateful for his extended interest in expats.

Once James is done laughing (which takes a while and is made worse by Mike’s glare), he suggests: “These things are bloody delicious, so I’m definitely not gonna lose. Let’s bet on a dessert.”

Tze Long agrees, and their banter continues. An outsider might not identify them as extremely recent acquaintances, not with how easily Tze Long laughs, not with how naturally James elbows him in the side, not with how nonchalantly Mike overlooks their antics. But near death experiences have a way of forming unbreakable bonds, invisible strings tying near strangers together and inspiring them to treat each other almost like family: an involuntary gathering of people who share a fundamental trust. It’s easier to ignore shortcomings or differing opinions when they’ve had each other’s blood on their hands, and never before has Tze Long felt this connection as strongly as with these two Englishmen. They will stay in contact after this, that much is obvious, and maybe he’s made friends for life.

Maybe he’s made more.

Mike was the first one to ask him for his number, and if he noticed Tze Long’s fingers shaking, he didn’t comment on it.

As expected, both of them end up too full to even think about trying the molten chocolate-filled dumplings nor the matcha cake, so they agree on a draw after probably having miscounted anyway. Tze Long shows his gratitude for Mike’s winnings paying for their meal by gifting him a charm for his phone, one that’s not too tacky and meant to bring good fortune, and because he doesn’t want James to be empty-handed, he buys one for him too. They walk off the food coma by one of the beaches; it’s cooled down a little over the course of the evening and so neither of them takes their shirt off. Shame.

They linger outside of the hotel.

“You’re going back to Hong Kong tonight?”, Mike inquires, stretching in the humid night air and displaying his long limbs like an unconcerned predator knowing it’s at the top of the food chain.

“Yes. I sleep better at home and the ferries go regularly even at this hour. It’s a shame about your flight, I would’ve liked to show you my home.”

“And I’d like to show you ours”, James replies, sounding surprisingly genuine. Usually, half of what he utters is sarcasm and the other half jokes – if he hadn’t displayed professionalism and competence during their mission on top of that, Tze Long might’ve refused to work with him outright. “If you’re ever in Europe, call.”

“And if you’re ever in Asia again, let me know.” He fidgets. His throat is swollen with all the half-sentences threatening to burst out, all the confessions he’s suppressing… but there’s a foreign body in the way and he’s not willing to lay himself bare before these attentive eyes which have been following his every move for days now. He’s long understood that laziness and disinterest are a cover to hide a sharp sense of observation as well as a keen mind. James prefers being underestimated. Mike, on the other hand, is as authentic as it gets – he never holds back, sees bluntness as a virtue and wastes no time in hiding. Enviable. Tze Long wishes he could do the same.

“I forgot to buy smokes, be right back”, James announces into the short silence and disappears as if he’d read Tze Long’s mind. The opportunity is perfect, made even better when Mike addresses him directly.

“I’m serious, it was a pleasure working with you.” His chest swells at the genuine compliment. “Even if you’re as suicidal as Jamie. You’ll get far. Do you have a lot of experience under your belt already?”

He omitted this fact as to not spark any doubts, but now he might as well admit it. “Actually, this was my first mission.”

Mike’s brows lift, just like the corners of his mouth. “And you waited this long to tell us? You son of a bitch, I don’t believe it. I have even less doubt about your future now. I hope to see you again soon.” He holds out his hand and Tze Long takes it, feels a warm palm against his own, a strong grip, melts under approving eyes. “You did well. I mean it. Take care of yourself, will you?”

Please, he thinks but doesn’t even dare finish the thought let alone allow his tongue to betray him, dumbly repeats the word in his head over and over like a mantra, like a spell he’s trying to weave. Please. Please. “Yes. You too. Have a safe flight.” And with those words, Mike Baker seemingly vanishes from his life. Silhouette starkly visible against the bright light of the hotel lobby, the embodiment of everything Tze Long wants and wants to be, he leaves, in his wake the hot night air clogging lungs and airways and hearts.

When Tze Long turns, James is silently offering him a lit cigarette. They share it without a word, just like Tze Long often enforced an awkward quiet between them through non-committal replies or flat out ignoring quips despite their wittiness. Looking back, he feels bad about it.

“Wanna join me upstairs?”, the Brit asks as he extinguishes the mutual vice and leads the way when Tze Long nods. Mind and expression carefully blank, they ride the elevator up and enter the luxurious room after James has unlocked it. It’s about the same size as Tze Long’s apartment in Hong Kong. “Shower? Your preference.”

He shakes his head and watches the other man approach him, closes his eyes only a second after their lips touch.

It’s always so obvious, with Europeans. They make no move to hide their interest or curiosity, seem to have no off switch whereas Tze Long has stumbled over vague acquaintances, locals whom he’d never have suspected in the past. James telegraphed clearly until he knew he was understood, and then continued unintentionally.

He’s a good kisser, at least. Considerate, adaptive, even playful – he manages to coax a few smiles out of Tze Long as they just stand there and kiss, despite him feeling like the entire last week didn’t even matter. He wouldn’t have felt like this even if they’d failed. But James is more and more successful in taking his mind off it, and for that he’s grateful. He does have a nice build, favouring the torso over legs but Tze Long doesn’t mind, not when he can run his hands over hard muscles and feel them dance below his fingertips.

They crawl onto the bed, James shirtless and unreasonably attractive-looking, dark mane fanning out on his pillow and ribs expanding prettily with every deep inhale over Tze Long toying with his tongue. He’s hard, both of them are, and it’s no surprise that the first piece of clothing James tries to undo are Tze Long’s trousers.

“I top”, he whispers against a swollen mouth and slides lower to capture an erect nipple with his lips.

James picks up on his phrasing. “Exclusively?” He doesn’t sound like he minds and lets out a beautiful little moan.

“Exclusively Westerners.” Tze Long doesn’t mention he rarely sleeps with locals as it is – many of them are a mirror to his own insecurities and remind him of the endless questions about his marital status. He’s met wonderful local men, yes, one wonderful woman too, an outlier who sadly didn’t stay by his side or else she could’ve made most of his life a lot easier, but when it comes down to it, he prefers the natural demeanour, the surprise over him having to hide, the cheerful forgetfulness concerning their cultural differences. It’s easier to not be reminded than to overcome.

“Had enough of white guy machos who come to the ‘land of the bottoms’ expecting everyone to fall at their feet?” He’s amused yet not mocking.

“Not far off”, Tze Long admits with a smile and leans up for another kiss which is eagerly accepted. He’s starting to get the impression James would be content with nothing but snogging the entire night and the thought makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s not a race thing”, James mutters, hands gently stroking over Tze Long’s body, “I just like pretty people.”

And I like people who take what I’m willing to give without much fuss, Tze Long thinks and marvels over how the body below his comes alive at his every touch. He’s a magnet and James made of metal, has no choice but to strain towards him, intense gaze fixed on his face. Somehow, it hurts looking at him. “What else do you like?” Tze Long parts legs with a soft push to an inner thigh and settles between them.

“Anything. I’m not picky.” Coming from anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it, but it rings true for James. “Live out your fantasies.” He smiles and means it, despite his next words. “I know I’m a substitute.”

Tze Long’s mouth goes dry. His cheeks burn, actually feel on fire. Restless digits roam over exposed skin but none of its warmth manages to penetrate his own. He feels cheapened, caught. He knows James noticed. He just thought he’d have the decency not to mention it.

He tries to save it with a kiss, but it’s sticky, sickly sweet like too much candy, the taste clinging to the roof of his mouth. Like Macau itself, a pretty façade and nothing more. James can tell he’s not feeling it anymore, he’s sure.

“You don’t have to”, James says, so full of understanding Tze Long’s stomach is in knots.

“I want to”, he lies. Kind eyes blink up at him. James really is handsome, at third glance. He imagines what it’s like to actually fuck him. He wonders what he’d feel like afterwards. The thought is sobering.

“How about we walk around the city some more instead? There were other places you mentioned we didn’t get to see. I’ll just skip sleeping.”

Tze Long doesn’t ask whether it’s really alright with James. He just nods and gets up.

~*~

Confrontation goes against his nature. He’s always cultivated a healthy mix of empathy and disillusionment with humanity as a whole, both to understand other people’s actions as well as not care too much – he’s self-sufficient, needs little to be content, is ambitious without being overzealous, and he believes that everyone eventually gets what they deserve. Picking fights, holding grudges, none of it appeals to him, instead seems clunky, awkward, unnecessary. He lives and lets live, expects others to show him similar courtesy but doesn’t cause a fuss when they don’t.

This, however, is different.

“I’ve been working on this for two months, as you’re well aware, and now you’re saying I won’t be permitted to bring this mission to its conclusion?” His tone is even but his fingers flex, betraying his anger, even resentment.

Mei Lin had to pull him aside so they don’t have this conversation in front of the rest of their team, for which he’s grateful, though he hopes it doesn’t appear as if he’s questioning her authority. She’s gotten enough shit as it is. “Yes”, she replies curtly. “This is non-negotiable. Leave.”

Tze Long catches his fury before it breaks out of him. He respects her like no other, and unlike his peers, doesn’t hold her to higher standards just because she’s a woman. She’s had to work twice as hard to receive half as many commendations. No, this isn’t about her. “You know my work is important to me”, he appeals to her sense of duty, but he’s got the impression he’s not talking to her in her function as his superior right now, despite all.

“This isn’t your call to make either way.” He believes it. If their roles were reversed, if he begged her to exclude him from the mission yet she deemed him irreplaceable, she wouldn’t allow it. “I will bear the consequences. I am aware of what I’m doing. And you need to go.”

He sincerely hopes she’s not committing career suicide, not after she’s fought her way into the SDU, clawed her way up with iron discipline and excellent results. She could have him officially rebuked for insubordination if he refused and stayed. So he doesn’t.

A few hours later, he feels his father’s pulse fade under his fingertips.

Tze Long feels like he’s underwater. Like he’s a singular grain of sand, mercilessly and relentlessly being tossed around by the tide, ground up against his brethren over and over again until they’ve all lost their edge, become smooth and round and compatible, until they make up a pretty picture as a whole, with their personal identities vanishing in favour of making up a greater good.

A metropolis like Hong Kong seems to have this effect on people – at least on most of the ones he’s met. They turn into exchangeable faces, rehashing the same conversations over and over, fulfilling their purpose and causing no ruckus. Oiling the machine. On bad days, this impression weighs him down amid the traffic noises, the daily rush to work and back, the desperate attempts to take the mind off everything. On good days, he manages to spot beauty wherever he goes, smiles and small gestures of kindness, the shocking diversity of the city representing unification and celebration of life in all forms. Hong Kong is colourful in more ways than one, if he dares to look.

Today is a bad day.

He’s frantically chewing on a toothpick while tonguing the sore spots in his mouth where he poked himself before. A friend suggested replacing cigarettes with something else to keep his mouth occupied and help suppress the addiction, and after dismissing chewing gum and carrots, he’s landed on this. So far, it does nothing to quell his anxiety.

When Mei Lin leaves the building, her expression is unreadable until she’s stopped right in front of him, blinking up into the painfully direct sunlight. They study each other, both looking for signs of weakness not to exploit but to encourage. Eventually, she nods. “We’re good”, she announces and both of them slump a little in relief.

What she really means to say is: I’m good. But Tze Long doesn’t correct her. “What did he say?”

“He was understandably upset I would force you off the mission after you’ve been the most involved op in the whole thing. He blamed me for being soft, for endangering the rest of the troop by replacing you. And he told me I shouldn’t have let you know about the call.”

Tze Long nods silently. It’s what he expected.

If she’d told him of the call afterwards, he wouldn’t have been there to witness his father’s last breath.

“But there was someone else there. SAS. Apparently a friend of yours.”

His stomach flips. Did he really come? He wouldn’t have thought – he messaged him that day, late at night, not expecting a reply as usual. Responses were scarce, have always been, so he figured he’d get a supportive text back in a week or two. Not this. His heartbeat quickens and he has to hold himself back to let Mei Lin finish instead of charging the building.

“He wanted to know what happened and then offered his own advice. I’ll spare you the details, they argued a bit, but he held the opinion that amid our discipline and rigorous training, we mustn’t forget we’re also human. Because this humanity is the entire reason we’re doing any of what we’re doing. And in his opinion, I acted according to this ideal and therefore shouldn’t be punished.”

“That does sound like something he’d say”, Tze Long agrees quietly.

Both of them turn to the busy street as if on signal, take a deep breath, compose themselves. He wants to embrace her, wonders whether she’ll take it the right way. Everything is impermanent, he recently received a sharp reminder of this, and his need to cherish everything he still has left throbs behind his temples. Instead, he settles for an earnest: “Thank you. I didn’t agree in the moment, but I do now. You made the correct call.”

“I know.” She fixes him with a gaze so full of sympathy that it paralyses him. “I’m sorry.”

He just nods again. Despite all, he wants to ask her about him, what he was like, whether she liked him, whether she understood who exactly he is. The realisation of how much he cares is frightening, even more so when he hears footsteps behind him, clearly approaching the two of them. He’ll never be ready to face him, never has been, and so he takes the plunge without hesitation and turns around, turns to -

“It’s just me”, James states almost apologetically the moment he must notice the disappointment in Tze Long’s expression.

Whatever it is, whether it’s the uncomfortable vacuum Tze Long has been carrying around with him for a few days already, hindering his ability to feel anything, whether it’s the relief of seeing a familiar, friendly face, whether it’s the fact that James just helped Mei Lin – it’s not nearly as big of a letdown as Tze Long would’ve expected. Yes, he’d hoped it’d be him. But after a second, he’s already come to terms with the fact that it isn’t, and if he’s completely honest, he doesn’t even mind that much. “Good to see you”, he says and means it.

James’ face lights up with a smile. “Good to be here.”

Their dynamic is different.

Tze Long fails to pinpoint why, whether it’s the long months – years, he realises – of constant communication, the fact that he’s not looking over James’ shoulder for most of the time, or the sad circumstances. He’s sociable enough, always enjoys making and keeping friends from all over the world which has come in handy not only at his job but also in his spare time, so he kept up the steady stream of messages between the younger Brit and himself. It wasn’t like they texted every day, yet he expected a message at least once a week and wasn’t ever disappointed. Usually, it was either a world event which occupied them, a remarkable injury on either side (like when Tze Long broke his toe by demonstrating his lack of skill on the tightrope, or when James dreamt bad, flailed around in his sleep and punched himself in the nuts), an entertaining story they came across or just a simple checking in. Casual, pleasant, inconsequential conversations.

Now that they’re face to face once more, James is much more tangible, with that singular dimple he actually pointed out at some point, the laid-back attitude which puts Tze Long at ease immediately, filled to the brim with terrible ideas and even worse jokes and never turning down a challenge. He’s a painting which has come alive, surprising in its actuality yet its core still intact. It’s not like meeting an entirely new person, more of… seeing a whole.

In the half-day they have available, Tze Long shows him Hong Kong. The flight leaves late at night and James bemoans the fact that he’s got trouble sleeping on planes as it is, so the jetlag will kill him, and Tze Long doesn’t ask whether he was in the area anyway, doesn’t ask when he arrived in the first place, why exactly he came.

He suggests Din Tai Fung once more but James shakes his head, inquires about other local specialties and trails after him until they reach the night market on Temple Street which isn’t as crowded as usual seeing as it’s only afternoon. Like in Macau, Tze Long revels in his position as tourist guide and points out miscellaneous facts, tells a few anecdotes and buys a chocolate-flavoured egg waffle as well as milk tea so James can munch and sip on something while marvelling at the colourful trinkets and embroidered clothes offered en masse. In order to get him to try as many stalls as possible, they share portions of dim sum, grilled squid and braised meat, and it delights him to see that James is willing to try basically everything – except for stinky tofu, which is understandable. Tze Long barely smells it at this point but he knows it’s quite off-putting to people not used to it.

Before they head to visit the nearby temples, he purchases fresh fruits to complete the culture shock: some lychee-like longans, a shockingly bright pink dragon fruit and a sweetsop, Tze Long’s personal favourite with its creamy, aromatic flesh. James’ curiosity knows no bounds and, very uncharacteristically, he doesn’t treat Hong Kong with his usual biting sarcasm. It’s not reverence he shows either, and Tze Long would be hard pressed to describe his attitude as anything more precise than simple enchantment.

They barely manage to get to Victoria Peak before sunset. Just like the rest of the city, the mountain is flooded with people, all trying to get the best selfie before moving on, whereas James leans against the railing on one of the viewing platforms and merely looks. Tze Long steps up next to him, close enough to touch, forcing the bustling activity behind them to the back of his mind and tries to see his home through James’ eyes. Below them, countless skyscrapers stretch upwards like fingers, reaching out for infinity.

“What about where you live?”, James wants to know after a long while. “I want to see where you used to work. Where you grew up.”

He shakes his head after some deliberation. “We don’t have time for that”, he lies when in reality he’s not ready to face this part of his life again, especially not show it to a stranger of sorts. His past feels deeply personal somehow, his struggle to end up where he is now like a secret he’d better keep. Part of it is simple vanity – he wouldn’t like to imagine James telling his colleagues, telling him. And of course, the one person who shared this history with him has now passed away.

James’ eyes are on him, attentive, almost waiting. “Next time?”, he asks, sounding hopeful. Tze Long wonders what kind of impression he’ll take away from this short visit.

“Yes. Next time.” He’s not sure if there will be one, but he hopes he’ll feel differently about himself by then.

“What was he like?”

A deep breath. How is he meant to answer this question? “Kind but firm”, he offers and puts a new toothpick in his mouth. “No time for nonsense but always willing to listen if something was on my mind. Distracted, at times. Whenever he found a gift for me, he’d present it so proudly. He was happiest when he could teach me things, show me the world. When he couldn’t work anymore, he -” His voice breaks, so he stops talking. Despite it not being his fault, guilt had plagued his father for decades. Having to rely on his only son, witnessing Tze Long’s struggle took its toll on him just like on Tze Long himself, though it changed into fierce pride later on, once he became a Flying Tiger. But he remembers the forlorn stare into their empty cupboards, the reassurances of being able to mend clothes, shoes, self-image.

James is going to get a sunburn and it’s not going to be pretty. He hasn’t tanned much this summer yet and Tze Long wants to reach out to protect his skin from the merciless rays. To maybe run fingers through his luscious hair. “He sounds like a good father.”

“He was.”

And despite the serenity of the moment, James actually goes there: “Your description of him reminds me of someone.”

Tze Long fights down the urge to simply leave. He’s better than that. “I bet you won’t drink a whole glass of durian milk”, he switches topics and earns a side-glance he’s incapable of deciphering.

“- you should’ve seen his face when I told him to shove it, pure comedy, this dude was not used to anyone saying no to him, not with him built like a bloody fridge and that stupid fuckin’ tattoo on his forehead, something daft like carnivorous or edgelord, I don’t even remember, I only remember thinking: this lad must’ve randomly picked a word from the dictionary that sounded cool.”

Tze Long moves his own drink out of the range of James’ flailing arms but makes no move to interrupt him.

“And me, a foot shorter and seemingly harmless, refusing to budge? Well, you can imagine what happened.”

“I do hope you wiped the floor with him.”

“First he punched me in the throat, but yes, afterwards I most definitely wiped the floor but only because he tripped over some barbed wire, nearly shredded his entire dick and bled all over the fucking linoleum. That was the last time he tried to sell some fake insurance, I’m sure.”

Drunk James is adorable. He’s become a waterfall, largely unaware of himself not in an inconsiderate way but an endearing one, speaking his mind openly and demanding Tze Long’s full attention. He fills silences with anything and everything, after two cocktails already, and he goes deaf when Tze Long tells him that going on a plane while intoxicated might not be the best idea. They’re perched by the bar, sipping bitter liquor because today is just one of those days and let the soft pop music relax their muscles.

While he prattles on, rants about the next odd encounter, Tze Long gets distracted by the curve of his eyebrows and the hard jaw and he wonders whether he’s still interested. What he’d say to the suggestion of dipping into a hotel real quick. It’s less than an hour until he has to be at the airport, however, hardly enough time, but idly toying with the idea is fun nonetheless.

“Thank you for coming”, he eventually manages to interject while James takes a breath.

“Aye. Mike relayed the message and it sounded like you might get in trouble, or your colleague might. He’s off gallivanting around the Middle East somewhere I think, claims he’s busy doing recon or whatnot but I bet he’s lazing in the sun and resting his bones. Soon he’s gonna be the oldest bloke in the SAS, did you know? Fucker’s immortal. Some of the lads who bet on his retirement are gone themselves by now.”

Tze Long did not know this. He doesn’t know a lot of things about Mike. “I appreciate your help, in any way.”

“Believe me, your boss didn’t.” James grins and it makes him look years younger. “I might get shit for it but my major has my back. And I got yours. If anything else is up, let me know and I’ll travel half the world again.”

He has no doubt James would, and he tries to identify whether it’s a snipe aimed at him for texting Mike only, not him, but isn’t sure. His brooding is interrupted when he spots a familiar figure at the other end of the counter, glancing over and flashing him a wide smile. “Oh no”, he mutters to himself.

“I swear though, that bloody rotten egg fruit, whatever it’s called, I’m never touching one of those again, I still wanna throw up every time I burp.” James interrupts himself to follow Tze Long’s gaze. “What, someone making bedroom eyes at you?”

“Yes. He’s very charming, to be honest.” He sighs, shaking his head. Should’ve known better than to drag James to his usual club. “And very married.”

“That happen often?”

It’s too complicated to go into detail, so he nods. Having grandchildren continues to be one of the highest priorities in the life of a parent, and Tze Long has met many, many guys living a double life – one for society and their family, one for themselves. He’d rather not get involved with these men even if it means limiting himself.

“Want me to take care of it?”

The seemingly innocent question makes him huff in amusement. “Please don’t start a bar fight, I’d hate to get banned.”

“More than one way to show you’re not interested”, James mutters and true, he’s right.

Tze Long doesn’t even mind. He puts his toothpick aside.

They meet halfway between their chairs and James’ corners of his mouth are turned upwards when they do. He tastes of rum and tobacco and the tendrils of addiction pull at him enticingly at the reminder of what he’s given up; the background noise fades in favour of his own heartbeat and James is still smiling, never once stops. His smile feels like a thinly-veiled accusation and a self-satisfied victory simultaneously and yet Tze Long can’t get enough. James switches to his chair, actually settles on his thighs without breaking the heady touch of lips on lips, clearly uncaring of the spectacle they’re putting on. Tze Long’s hands stray to his sides and for once, he’s not picturing a different body between his palms.

“I think we’re good”, he murmurs after a while, after all decency is long overthrown.

“Hmm, no, he’s still looking”, James hums back without even opening his eyes once, smile widening, but when Tze Long withdraws, he relents and instead pulls him into a hug.

And it just overwhelms him. The rare feel of a warm body makes him realise he hasn’t deliberately, consciously touched another human being in days, reminds him of the empty apartment he’ll return to, chock full of memories and shards which don’t cut deep by themselves yet make up a fearsome blade as a whole; reminds him of the desperate loneliness which creeps up on him now and then, whenever he’s weak, whenever he lets it. He thinks of the eternal double check mark, message received, thinks of his colleagues’ triumphant faces as they recounted the successful mission without him.

He clings, hard, and only notices the supportive arms wrapped around him once his fingers have stopped shaking. He’s breaking down in the middle of the bar, visible to everyone, to people he knows, and the shame burns almost worse than his grief.

Regardless, James is still there. Whispering nothings, stroking his back soothingly, acting as if none of this was out of line. His warmth is painful because he’s unsure how to repay it, but right now he has no choice but to accept.

“It’s okay”, James tells him like he really believes it. “You’ll be alright.”

~*~

He turns out to be correct, even if it takes some time for Tze Long to wholly believe it.

A piercing stare accompanies the realisation together with a suffocating amount of information he’s expected to digest and memorise, and yet he couldn’t be happier. The office is nondescript and icy for his standards and he can already tell it’ll take some time to get used to this part of the earth.

“I am very happy to know you in our team”, Six finishes with a seriousness Tze Long respects. “Welcome to Rainbow.”

“It is an honour.” He matches her tone. “I’m looking forward to working with you, ma’am.” He knows when he’s dismissed, gets up and ready to start this new chapter of his life, but curiosity gets the better of him: “May I ask – am I the only one of my unit you’ve recruited?”

Six’ expression softens. The formal part is over, she can rest assured all her points have come across and therefore she allows herself some friendliness. “No. One of your colleagues will join us as well – Mei Lin Siu.”

He finds himself smiling. “That is an excellent choice, ma’am.”

“Funny. She said the same thing about you.”

~*~

England is cold, empty, quiet and boring. And Tze Long is surprisingly fine with it.

He traded comfortable warmth for considerably less rain – even if the Spanish operators give him an odd look over this statement – and exercising outdoors is less suffocating, less of a chore. Admittedly, he could do without winter but after having been enlightened about layers, sealing gloves and sleeves and other tricks which Mira and Jackal divulge gladly, it’s not that bad. Even if summer has him a little homesick now and then. Sometimes he also misses the liveliness of his home, the many faces just like his, the natural way people accept each other as an inevitability. Here, it happens that existing in a space earns him disapproving glances.

But it’s quiet. He sleeps like the dead, hasn’t been this calm in decades and finally finds enough time to really pursue hobbies he had to neglect previously: he reads for days on end, dabbles (and generally fails) in a few crafty endeavours, follows the news from the silence of his apartment, feeling secure, comfy, safe. He picks up cooking, much to James’ delight, and together they spend a weekend on xiao long bao, having to re-do the dough several times and despairing over the soup gelatin only to give up and attempt it again a week later, nailing it first try. And whenever the muted quality of this country threatens to overwhelm him, he puts on some music, a film, or simply invites James over.

He doesn’t have many complaints, not when he spends most of his free mornings in bed with a steaming cup of coffee by his side and phone in hand, the world under his fingertips. Still, it required some getting used to the way people treat each other, the blunt and direct style of communication, the many gestures which would be deemed horribly rude in Asia.

Tze Long idly ponders cultural differences while Mike hands him a bowl of rice, chopsticks simply stabbed into it.

Next to him, he can sense James’ eyes widening before he quickly snatches the utensils and holds them out to Tze Long instead. They share a secret, slightly embarrassed smile, just like they did when Mike presented him with four sample bottles of whisky from his favourite distilleries – he can’t expect everyone to be aware of common superstitions, but he would’ve guessed the social stigma around the number four would’ve been widespread enough to have reached Mike’s ears. Even Mark pulled a face in the background, and James elbowed him, accepting one of the bottles gratefully.

Mike is trying, that’s the part which counts, and Tze Long is fiercely appreciative: he hasn’t celebrated his birthday properly in an eternity, certainly not with colleagues which have become more than that over time, and certainly not with gifts as thoughtful as the ones he’s received (like the high quality tea from Mei Lin, and an entire book series of English classics from James). Mike is trying, and as he’s come to realise over the years, this doesn’t always amount to much. But it doesn’t matter, provided he manages his expectations.

Somewhere along the way, he’s stopped drinking up literally every single word dripping from his lips, stopped blindly accepting, stopped the worship. Mike is a friend. Mike is even a bit of a shit friend a lot of the time, yet his heart remains in the right place – which is a little distant, a little distracted, and far, far away from Tze Long’s.

“This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked”, he informs his gracious host matter-of-factly, and can spot the flattered happiness through the ensuing modesty. It’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever eaten, but his statement remains true nonetheless. Aniseed in curry is courageous and the result a little odd yet edible, and so complaining is the furthest thing on his mind.

When Mike is back to bustling around in the kitchen, Mei Lin quietly asks the other guests: “He really went all out. Does he do this often?”

“Never”, replies Seamus, sounding amused. He looks a giant next to Tze Long’s comparatively dainty teammate, though they seem to get along well. “He’s forgotten Mark’s and Jamie’s before, and gave me out-of-date rum truffles for my birthday.”

“Aren’t you on a diet?”, she asks, prompting a meaningful nod.

“He really cares about Tze Long, even if he’s not sure how to show it”, James interjects, sounding bored. “They’ve been friends for a long while, after all.”

“We have been friends for a long while”, Tze Long feels the need to point out. James’ eyes slide over to him, bore into his skull, almost intense enough to cause him to lower his gaze – but he doesn’t. He knows what it’s for, all the dismissive replies in the beginning, him acting as if the clown (whose humour meshed surprisingly well with his own, who was willing to undertake the same risks as him, who watched his every move) was invisible. If he could go back, he’d act differently. If he could go back, he wouldn’t spend a significant amount of his life chasing after a castle in the sky.

But he did, and now it’s done.

“We have”, he affirms, and instead of agreeing, James gets distracted by Seamus addressing him, and this simple fact shouldn’t bother Tze Long as much as it does. He doesn’t have a monopoly on him, he has to regularly remind himself of this. He didn’t earn the right to have one.

Joining Mike in the kitchen feels less like a conscious decision and more of an escape. “I can’t thank you enough”, he begins and is immediately interrupted by a scoff.

“You could lie and tell me this blobby pudding isn’t the most sorry-looking excuse for custard you’ve ever seen.”

“This custard looks delicious”, Tze Long lies smoothly and Mike’s gruff laugh mends his brittle soul a bit. They’ve learnt to interact with each other without any of the awkwardness prevalent in the beginning of Tze Long’s time in Rainbow.

“Good lad. And you don’t need to thank me, it’s the least I can do. For once, you could shut up and accept people being nice to you.” It’s ingrained in Tze Long to fight for the bill, react modestly to and dismiss compliments rather than accept them, refuse gifts a few times when receiving them. He opens his mouth to object, but once more Mike is faster: “I’ve received complaints about you, you know. You’re being too bloody nice – people just need to mention a book and you’ve already promised to let them borrow it, you give lifts to unsuspecting whiners and generally are too friendly. We’re in fucking England, no one knows how to deal with that shite here.”

Tze Long grins, even if he’s aware Mike isn’t purely joking. “Are you suggesting I’m not already playing my part in making our work environment… more toxic?”

The eye roll he receives is inordinately satisfying, yet his triumph doesn’t last. “No, lad, I’m telling you to go out and bloody take something for yourself. Something which you’ve wanted for a long, long time. You’re allowed, you know? You’re allowed to demand things.”

And this strikes a chord. The smile on Tze Long’s lips fades the further the words sink, float down, down, down into the murky depths of his subconscious which reacts with instant, intense panic. Because they only become louder the deeper they reach, their echo reverberating and creating a cacophony making it impossible to think straight. Unhelpfully, his conscious mind provides a solution, the one suggestion which he’s carried on his tongue for years, wrote on his forehead, the one truth he thought irrevocable: “Are you telling me to ask you out?”

The awkwardly-shaped sentence lodges in his throat, causes the gears in his head to grind and shriek, and it’s wrong, so wrong, if Mike says yes he’s never setting foot in his flat again, fuck the idolising, fuck professional relationships, he’ll curl up in ball and shake and shiver and shudder because no, it’s not what he wants, maybe something he never wanted in the first place.

While he’s still reeling from what’s raging on inside him, Mike throws him an almost pitiful glance. “Not me I’m talking about”, he grumbles. “I mean the one bloke whose friendliness you’ve always accepted without any protest.”

And isn’t that the fucking point?

It’s the one person who consistently made him lose face, no matter what, humiliated him with his displays of adoration Tze Long could never hope to repay, proved him unworthy with every breath he takes, and his presence burns under his fingernails, a constant itch chipping away at his honour because he deserves none of it and yet he wants. Oh he wants. He’s humbled by every easy laugh following disrespect, and the more this shadowy figure was pushed away, the harder it tried to keep up, and keeping it hazy is so much easier than allowing its entire being to invade every nook and cranny of his life.

Only -

That already happened a while ago, didn’t it?

James is outside, an unopened beer in his hand and smoking by himself because Seamus doesn’t endorse his addiction and Mei Lin and Mark hate the smell. He’s glowing in the setting sun, illuminated almost from the inside and Tze Long viciously wishes his brilliancy was contagious. “What’s wrong?”, he asks, unaware of the storm raging behind Tze Long’s unchanged exterior.

“I’m cold”, he replies, earning furrowed brows.

“It’s July.”

“Yes.”

They look at each other. James’ lips purse around the cigarette and Tze Long wants to grab the bottle and smash it on the asphalt, just to expend some of the energy throbbing through him. “Did Mike say anything? Are you okay?”

“I bought two tickets to Hong Kong.” And it’s out. With this, he’s handed himself over and there’s no going back.

“You’re going with him?” Carefully neutral. James stubs out the cigarette and takes out his key ring with its bottle opener attached. There’s a piece of string, too, displaying some of the decorative beads Tze Long recognises easily. The charm must’ve fallen off or broken after extensive use over the years.

“I wouldn’t want him to come along.”

Busy hands pause. He still doesn’t understand. “Mei Lin is accompanying you?”

“No.” They don’t have leave at the same time anyway. But he and James do. Always had.

Fingers twitch. Then slowly set the beer down on the stone steps behind them. He’s looking everywhere but at Tze Long, long hair falling into his eyes. “So -”

“I’ve been buying two ever since I joined Rainbow.” They both know how conscious he is of spending money.

“Jesus”, says James.

Tze Long is dizzy. He expected this moment to taste half-fermented, almost rotten, like a fruit ignored for too long, but instead it’s an explosion of refreshing flavour and pleasant sweetness, horrifyingly addicting. His face hurts and he realises that he’s grinning from cheek to cheek, must look like a lunatic if James’ expression is anything to go by. “Come with me. Please.”

And James seems to understand what he means, even if a frown tugs on his mouth and the face he makes is one of sorrow and not happiness, yet when Tze Long steps closer, James latches onto him like a drowning man.

His turmoil is far from appeased, but one thought prevails above all, forces his emotions to simmer down: I might not deserve this, he thinks, but he certainly does. He holds James until he’s shaking only with laughter, nothing else, the half-suppressed bouts of relief convincing him more and more of having made the right decision. They’re each other’s anchors, unwilling to let go, and beam at each other so brightly it blots out the sun.

“I’d love to”, James tells him in that rare, genuine tone of voice Tze Long has never heard him use with anyone else. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.” His lack of hesitation only increases James’ luminosity. “I’ll show you everything, James. I’ll show you all.” This seems to convince him, no doubt due to the far-reaching implications.

This time, when they kiss, Tze Long knows for a fact he won’t feel his stomach drop afterwards. And it’s mostly because he knows it won’t be their last one.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #lesion #smoke/lesion #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #this gave me the worst case of wanderlust #if I didn't portray anything correctly please let me know!!

50 notes · View notes