#do you think Arthur remembered that phrase?

[arthur-lesters-right-arm]

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Once more, with feeling.

Part 34 The Butcher // Part 38 The Tear

[insomniac4000]

If you Loved Me- A ChrisMD Fic

From my Wattpad

Sometimes if you love someone you have to let them go, you never understood that phrase until it came a point in your relationship with Chris that it was obvious it was no longer going to work. His channel was keeping him busier and busier and flights to the mainland were happening more frequently, it was only a matter of time until the question came up but you knew you couldn't go with him.

"But I've found a great flat, it's on the ground floor it has two bedrooms your mum can stay," Chris pleaded as he looked into your eyes, they were brimming with tears, this wasn't a journey you could go on. Your mother had been ill for as long as you could remember and she was only getting worse, degenerative diseases did that but she could live for another twenty years with round the clock care or she could die tomorrow, you couldn't leave her and couldn't ask her to leave her home. All the specialist equipment was set up for her here, she had a sister who would help, she had the carers she knew and recognised.

"You say it like it's easy. She can't get on a flight you know that." Your mum's muscle disease had now rendered her bed bound, she had been for six months now. There was no way to get her to the main island even she wanted to. 

"We can find a way, boat? I'll pay for a private ambulance and then..." You cut him off, with your eyes flooded with tears you hugged Chris tightly before painstakingly pulling away, your heart ached, more than it had ever done before, more than when your dad left when you were ten. He couldn't hack it anymore, it had only been you and your mum since and it had to stay that way she needed you. 

"Chris. This is your dream, not mine. I need to stay here I'm sorry," you whispered. Chris gasped sharply knowing what you were doing but wanted to fight it every step of the way. You had been together since you were fifteen, you were twenty four now these kind of romances were so few and far between. 

"My dream is being with you."

"Don't. You've let me hold you back for this long, you need to go and I need to stay here. I love you but we're at a crossroads now and we've got different paths." You had always felt guilty every time Chris ended a shoot early or came back from the mainland early because there was an emergency with your mum. You couldn't do that to him anymore. 

"Please don't do this," Chris whispered his eyed now spilling with tears, he grabbed your arms tightly but not to hurt you as he went to kiss you. You turned your head away and shook it, knowing if you kissed him you wouldn't be able to let him go and you had to. Instead you placed a kiss on his cheek and told him you loved him and you were proud of him for following his dreams. You turn turned on his heel and left his house, leaving a very heartbroken man standing in the doorway to his room. 

Of course Chris did go, him being able to collaborate more only made his channel grew. In fact he ended up moving in with a couple of other content creators George Clarke and Arthur Hill with yours and Chris's old school friend Arthur Frederick not far away. The four collaborated a lot, along with some other people and whenever you got time you watched some of their videos. You tried to make a point not to watch him a lot, you still loved him and as much as this is what he needed to do it was hard to hear jokes about all the dates he went on. 

The truth was Chris went on so many dates because he was desperately trying to find someone but no one matched up to you, every single woman was measured to you and none of them made the cut, he told himself he just had to keep looking. 

He was currently making a video with Arthur, George, Harry and Theo when Arthur who was on his phone like usual gasped. 

"Chris, Chris I think you need to come and see this," Arthur bellowed as loud as he could in his usually soft voice. 

"Arthur I don't care about chess," Chris moaned as he dropped the football by his feet.

"Chris please." Arthur looked so serious that Chris couldn't help but run over, he looked at the screen and his face dropped when he saw a message from Arthur's mum saying that your mum had passed away. Chris got his phone out of his pocket and saw a similar message from his mum, with the additional info that the funeral would be Friday. 

"What do I do?" Chris asked.

"What's happened?" Harry enquired, walking over to the Jersey pair. 

"Y/N's mum's died." Arthur announced sadly, he then turned his attention back to the small man who was running his hands through his hair. "I think you need to go."

"You're right." Chris nodded, that smart little nerd was always right. Harry then placed an arm round his friend, along with Arthur he was the other person who knew how much that girl meant to him through his time visiting Chris and doing videos in Jersey. 

Back in Jersey you were coping but only on the surface. The funeral arrangements were keeping you busy enough to stop yourself from losing it completely, to an observer you were doing very well getting your head down and organising everything. The truth was your mum had her wishes laid out years ago so you knew what to do. People who knew you a bit more noticed how quiet you were, Chris's mum came over with a cup of tea and a cake from your favourite bakery plus some home made pasta bake so you didn't have to worry about cooking. She was always sweet to you, even after the breakup if she saw you round the island she'd always stop for a quick chat, making a point to not mention her son as she knew you were hurting too. 

It was the day before the funeral and you sat there in your living room, it was yours now but you didn't want it you just wanted her back. The doorbell went and you sighed before getting up from the cream sofa walking to the door, assuming it was someone checking in on you, your aunt or some more flowers you opened it not caring you were still in your PJ's at two o clock in the afternoon. There on the other side of the door was the only other person you had wanted to see again apart from your mum. You hated yourself for thinking about how good he looked, his hair was now natural and curly and he had sprouted now facial hair, it suited him. Completely forgetting you two hadn't spoken in two years you broke down into tears and fell into his open arms. He wrapped them around you as tightly as he could without hurting placing his head on yours as you sobbed into his shoulder. 

"Shhh it's okay. I'm here now." Chris soothed, his voice sounded like angels singing it had been so long since you had heard it not being through a screen. Chris had arrived in Jersey that morning, he caught up with his mum who had told him the how and when's, suggesting that she could really do with a friend to speak to as her mum's health had worsened so much since Chris moved that you spent all of your time caring for her and most people your age had moved on with their own lives. He held you there for a few minutes until you calmed down and the cries turned to small sobs. 

"Did you want a cup of tea?" Chris asked, you nodded only realising you had barely drunk anything that day, you weren't taking proper care of yourself, it was too easy to forget to eat, or drink, or change you looked down at your attire. 

"Please. Sorry for the state of me."

"You never need to apologise for anything. Ever." Chris's words gave you some relief. Him letting you know that he wasn't mad at you for everything is all you ever wanted to know. 

"Place hasn't changed much," Chris mused when the pair of you were sipping on your tea, he even bought out a pack of biscuits from one of the cupboards. 

"Dunno what I'm going to do with it now, or with my life." The house belonged to your grandparents who, knowing their daughter was ill left it to her and she now in turn had left it to her daughter. All you have known for years is looking after your mum, you had a job in a book shop but it was part time, the owner knew you and your mother and was very understanding to your situation giving you time off and flexible hours. You would have gone to university but couldn't leave your mum, you put your life on hold for her which was why you wouldn't let Chris do the same for you. It took everything in Chris's power not to say to come back with him, now wasn't the time you needed him to be there and he was. 

He sat next to you at the funeral, held your hand he looked up at you encouraging you to go on as you read the eulogy. He had his arm around you as you watched the coffin get lowered for the final time. He stayed in your spare room for three nights, making you breakfast every morning and dinner every evening until he had to go back to film. 

"There is no pressure but it wanted a break you can come and see me," Chris offered before he left. You nodded and did think about it seriously, he called and messaged you every day to check in on you and after a month of you wallowing you decided to take him up on the offer messaging him back 'I think I'm ready for that little holiday.' 

"Chris, there's another girl at the door for you!" Arthur Hill bellowed from the front door, George smacked the back of his head. In his conversations with Chris the past few weeks he knew you were different. 

"I thought he was picking you up at the airport, he's just filming with..." George started to explain when Arthur and Chris came into view. 

"It's so nice to see you again," Arthur smiled before bringing you into a hug.

"I got an earlier flight," you smiled at Chris and almost fling yourself into his arms, they felt so safe to be in. 

"I feel like a right knob now making you lug that thing around across London."

"Oh it was no bother." You'd take anything to see Chris again sooner. 

"So how long are you around for?" ArthurTV asked when you were all sat around the sofas with pizza later on that evening. 

"I don't know, whenever I get fed up I guess, I just needed a break," you explained and Arthur nodded sadly. The expression on his face was the same look everyone else gave you, sadness, concern and pity. The only person who didn't look at you like that was Chris, he only had care in his eyes. 

You had been to London a handful of times before but there was so much you wanted to see and Chris took you to everything. You laughed together, you cried together but you had realised how much this break was needed and how much better it made you feel but it got you thinking, was it the break or was it Chris? You stayed for three weeks but eventually life needs dealing with. 

"I need to make sure the house is still standing at least," you explained to Chris as he watched you pack your bags. 

"You can always come back whenever you want. Have my key! I'll get another one cut," Chris suggested and you couldn't help but laugh at his almost childlike optimism. 

"You know I sit there in that house and I hate it. It's nothing but bad memories. It's her house, not mine and I just sit there and think about her, watching her deteriorate, thinking about all of the things I missed out on because I stayed."

"Like us?" Chris said softly. Up until now neither of them had bought up their past but Chris couldn't hold it in any longer, these past few weeks had taught him he wasn't prepared to let her go again, there was nothing stopping them this time. 

"I had to," you reminded him and yourself. You still stand by what you did, it was the right thing to do at the time. 

"I know. You're grieving I'm not going to be an arsehole and jump on you when you're down but. I never stopped loving you." Chris walked to you and gently caressed your cheek with his thumb, it was something he often did before he kissed you and he did, it was very short but incredibly tender. 

"I love you too." You whispered bringing him in for another kiss. Guess what they said was also true, absence really did make the heart grow fonder. 

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 心宅猎人/Psych-Hunter.

Psych-Hunter is a 2020 drama about a hot young amnesiac who, accompanied by a rich psychiatrist with major daddy issues and a rich girl who cosplays as a cop, uses his Inception-style psychic powers to solve crimes that are part of a shadowy conspiracy orchestrated by a mysterious figure.

True story: Once I couldn't remember the English name of the drama, so I called it "House Haunters," and now my brain insists that's the real English title. If only!

Do not, under any circumstances, labor under the impression that this show is good. It's not. It's incoherent. The writing is bad. The villain is absurd. The vibe is comically melodramatic. People make inexplicable and out-of-character decisions all the time. Countless complex mysteries get set up with no way to resolve them. There's a thin lampshade hanging over it that blurs the line between bad decisions made on accident and bad decisions made on purpose, but the net result is largely the same. This is the show that first inspired my wife to declare something dumb as a guinea pig in a roller skate.

But it's fun. It's a sea of colorful chaos with brilliant pieces that shine through like strange gems. It knows how to work an atmosphere and does so to create some legitimately creepy moments. It spins a wild yarn filled with bizarre and loveable characters. And it has some twists that truly have to be seen to be believed. In the mood for some beautiful nonsense? Here's five reasons that despite everything I warned you about in the previous paragraph, I think this one's worth watching.

1. Psychonauts for Jazz Age homosexuals

Honestly, that phrase alone should let you know if this is the thing for you. But just in case, let me explain the basic premise of the show:

Jiang Shuo, a man who has lost his memory and been adopted by circus folk, is capable of jingling his keys and diving full-body into someone else's subconscious, represented by lovely and thematic dreamscapes. He does this to solve crimes. Sometimes he takes along a handsome doctor who seems like he might know more than he's letting on, by literally tying their hands together with a red string.

Also, when they do this, they get gorgeous steampunk magical girl costume changes, complete with the cutest little pony nub you've ever seen.

This show can be stunningly beautiful. It knows how to manifest dream logic eerily well. Most of these cognitions are gorgeous, and many are done with primarily practical effects, like it's a stage play. ...And it's good it relies on that so much, because the CG it has is kinda cheap and terrible! So, yeah.

(Side note for the DMBJ fans: This is directed by the same guy who directed Sand Sea, which I assume is related to how this both is a visual treat and completely falls apart on the back end.)

The reason I'm a bit surprised that this hasn't taken off more among the creative set is what a great piece of worldbuilding this Psych-diving is. These boys (and, once, the girl) get to short-term manifest bodily in someone else's materialized mental state, where the person whose brain they’re in neither controls the experience nor remembers what happened after it’s done. Were you writing weird Arthur/Eames fic a decade ago? I got a new best thing for you. Can you say freaky dream sex? Because I can.

The base premise should be more than enough to get your gears going. Come ready to get weird with it. There's so much potential here, and so much of that potential is incredibly gay and wearing impeccably tailored suits.

2. Your friendly neighborhood circus family

As I mentioned before, Jiang Shuo lucks into the best possible fate that can befall an amnesiac: being picked up by carnies.

The troupe includes Ventriloquist Man, Really Big Dude, One-Eyed Acrobat, Other Acrobat, Cheerful Fat Girl, Boy Who Looks Like A Kid But Is Actually Played By An Adult So I'm Not Exactly Sure How Old The Character Himself Is Supposed To Be, and Silver Fox Circus Dad, who manages the whole crew. They're a ragtag bunch of performers who all live together in this cute little compound in some very nice slums, and sometimes they open the gates to their lavish compound and put on a circus show for all the common people!

Now: You know this is not going to be the wokest, most sensitive portrayal of body differences, because of course it isn't. But damn, it's pretty not-bad. The show treats all the circus members as valuable people worthy of affection, whose (occasionally exasperating) quirks are no more or less exhausting than those of the non-circus weirdos in the rest of the supporting cast.

I was half-expecting them to disappear after the first arc, but no! They’re a constant fixture through the show! They’re mostly there to support the show’s more comedic moments, but some of them get wrapped up in more emotional plotlines as well. And every now and then you get to see them actually do their circus shit, which is great.

I will admit that my fondness for them is related to how much I generally love fictional Freaks — you know, misfits who have banded together because society considers them unacceptably weird, but together their weirdnesses make them strong. When you find them, they’re usually the bad guys (e.g., the Gung-Ho Guns from Trigun, the Scorpion crew from Word of Honor) whose freak statuses make them formidable and occasionally sympathetic antagonists. But not so here! The Psych-Hunter Family Circus is good guy support all the way through to the final episode.

I know "found family" is a term that suffers from overuse, but that's the best way to describe what's happening here -- really, it's a family that's already found itself even before the show starts, and now they all live together as an unconventional collective of astonishingly flexible people. How did they find one another? Doesn't matter! What matters is that they all love and would do anything for their newest member, and they think it's great when he comes home with his attractive rich friends, who often arrive bringing snacks, which is really the best use for rich people, if you think about it.

3. Two hands, one ring

Now, if you've seen the series already, you know the moment I'm talking about. But if you haven't (and, statistically, you haven't), know that what I mean is the relationship between these two losers.

Together, Qin Yiheng and Jiang Shuo form the emotional core of the series. They're both drawn to one another because of mysterious circumstances that have started to align. Jiang Shuo's memory is missing, Qin Yiheng's dad has vanished, and all signs point to those absences as having something to do with one another.

Very early in the show, we see Qin Yiheng pull a "come with me if you want to live" on Jiang Shuo, giving the impression that he knows just what's going on in this crazy city. Except, no, he doesn't. Or does he? No, we're pretty sure he doesn't. Or he does, but he's forgotten what he knows, if he ever even knew it in the first place. Anyway, time to tie their hands together and jump into someone else's brain!

I'd say they're in love, but that's not quite it. Dr. Qin Yiheng, high-class homosexual, is in love with Jiang Shuo to the point where he's about to murder someone (possibly Jiang Shuo himself) out of frustration about it. Jiang Shuo, on the other hand, is much more sticking his fingers in his ears and going LA LA LA YOU CAN'T CATCH ME GAY THOUGHTS while trying get a girlfriend in an effort to pretend that all the shit they get up to together isn't tremendously romantic.

That is, until the scene that leads to the which-hand ring guessing game, at which point the burden of their relationship falls on Jiang Shuo (and the Inception parallels get unignorable) for exactly as long as the show will allow it to, before it freaks out and has to add another girl love interest just to make sure all the homos got no'd.

It's not textually gay, because seriously, have you met Chinese television? But it's pretty gay. Or, rather, I think Liu Dongqin (Qin Yiheng) is playing his character as a dedicated homosexual on purpose, and Hou Minghao (Jiang Shuo) is just ... kinda like that? I mean, everything I’ve seen him in, he gets real dreamy-eyed around strong men who pay close attention to him. Maybe it's just his thing as an actor. I'm not judging.

However, the main cast isn't just the two of them. One of the things that led me to this show was the promise of an OT3. And does it deliver on that promise?

Well ... sorta.

Qin Yiheng, Jiang Shuo, and Yuan Muqing are a pretty standard MFM not-love-triangle trio of Male Bestie, Main Guy, and Girlfriend (respectively). There's about five seconds at the beginning of the series where it looks like Yuan Muqing might be into Qin Yiheng, but no, that evaporates almost instantly and is never spoken of again -- and with it disappears most of their interactions with one another, period. So it's less an OT3, and more a case of bisexual cutiepie Jiang Shuo getting both a boyfriend and a girlfriend in a world where censorship will only let the latter relationship exist textually.

But damn if these boys aren't made for one another. Sure, there's a level of conscious comical queerbaiting to it -- I mean, there's straight-up an "only one bed" moment, so you know the show isn't stumbling into rainbow territory on accident. No matter how sexual or nonsexual or whatever you read it as, though, their dynamic is the spine that holds the story together. Really, it's almost sad how often the relationships are set parallel to one another, because when you do that, it becomes obvious how intense Jiang Shuo's bond with Qin Yiheng is, and how largely lackluster and comphet most of his canon romance with Yuan Muqing is by comparison.

Like so.

sidebar: The Girl

I am not going to go into a full-throated defense of The Girl this time, as I am wont to do, mostly because I think Yuan Muqing is full of potential in concept but so badly executed that there's really no hope for her. Her entire personality is whatever they need her to be in any particular scene. It's just that once in a while, what they need her to be is completely insane -- like, seeing-things-that-aren't-there insane -- and it's so great that it makes me mad! She could have been like this all the time! But noooooo

As it is, she has a perfunctory canonical romance with Jiang Shuo that's about as endgame as anything is capable of being (see point 5), and it actually gets pretty cute when it finally gets to the point where it's not just awkward obligation! But alas, it only does that so late in the series that it's not even worth it getting invested in it.

She is a creation of the show. She has no novel counterpart. Her entire function in the drama is to un-gay the dynamic between the boys. You can tell that she was initially supposed to have a different role -- to be the muscle of this trio -- but the narrative forgets pretty quickly that she's got that skill set, and she regresses to being The Girl. She makes dumb decisions that forward the plot. She gets put into danger whenever it's convenient. She demands Jiang Shuo do manly things for her because that’s what a girl is supposed to do, I guess? And then there are moments where she’s cool and crazy and it’s awesome! But they never last.

So if you are going to watch this, be prepared for the fact that the female lead is badly written to the point of frustration. I feel her actor is doing the absolutely best with what she's got; the problem is that what she's got is pretty crappy. Still, Muqing gets some pretty charming moments here and there, and I think it's worth hanging onto those and imagining the character she could have been, if the writers had cared just a little more, or even at all.

4. Powerfully surreal worldbuilding

I'm not even talking about the way people's psyches are structured according to dream logic -- the "normal" waking world is almost equally bizarre. The story takes place in sort of the real world c. 1930, except that a lot of things are off. For example, Japan and England are real locations, but China kinda isn't -- instead, the show takes place in a Shanghai-like city-state run by this moustachioed generalissimo with a faux Latin American dictator aesthetic. The place has its own flag and government and police force (where all the cops have coordinating surnames) and diplomatic relationships with other countries, so it’s clearly its own thing. But what that thing is? What it’s even called? Look, don’t worry about it. Nobody else is worried, so you shouldn’t be either.

You will, at every point in the series, be wondering if the show is trying to telegraph to you that Something's Not Quite Right Here, or if it's just making weird decisions for the sake of artsy weirdness. But don't worry -- there's absolutely no way to tell the difference between the two! Just roll with it.

There's a weird mix of universe rules happening throughout, where everything is mostly period-appropriate for a while, and then somebody builds a clock with levitating parts, or causes someone else to have very specific memory loss — or, again, swings some coins in front of a person’s face and gains the ability to treat their subconscious like a VR amusement park.

You can sort of reconstruct the evolution of this weirdness: The book has actual factual ghosts in it. Well, that’s fine for books, but TV isn’t allowed to have ghosts. But TV can have people who imagine ghosts, so long as it’s all in their heads. Okay, but you know jumping bodily into those imaginations isn’t actually a thing real people can do, right? Well, then let’s make it scientific. How can that be scientific? I don't know, it’s psychiatry. I don’t think that’s psychiatry. Look, it could be. Well, it’s definitely not psychiatry in 1930s Shanghai, and that’s the set we’re allowed to film on. Okay, what if it weren’t actually Shanghai? What if it weren’t actually 1930? What if all of this were at best a weird approximation of the period that adheres to no rules except the ones we want?

Once you’ve thought that, the sky’s the limit.

The show has a very inconsistent grasp on reality, and I am listing that as a pro instead of a con because I am choosing to embrace it as a deliberate choice rather than assume it’s the result of craven incompetence. There's something to be said, though, for how pervasively inconsistent it is. It'd be one thing if there were just a few plot holes here and there (and there are), but this is more along the lines of: We woke up in a mysterious boat and got taken to an island with a giant sea monster skeleton on the shore! What's that all about? Couldn't say! Was it real? Maybe! Moving on!

Let the number of "it's fine! who knows!" comments I've made throughout this rec indicate how much this is the kind of show you just have to roll with. If you are a nitpicker or someone who is troubled by unexplained nonsense, this is not the thing for you. If you love artistic magical realism and high strangeness, you will eat this up with a spoon.

And the lampshade that hangs over all of this worldbuilding is...

5. THE STUPIDEST POSSIBLE ENDING EVER

Okay, usually I am coy about when I think an ending has problems. I am going to drag this one out front and center: Psych-Hunter has an ending so jaw-droppingly, head-clutchingly stupid that I'm actually listing it as a selling point, because it has to be seen to be believed.

When I first watched it, I suspected the show ran out of time or money or something and just had to slap together the quickest possible ending ever. But no! This is the ending they meant! If you go back to the rest of the series, you can see that this is what they were (kinda) setting up the whole time! They just set it up so poorly and decided to make the twist hit at such a late point that not only is it complete nonsense, it actually renders moot the entire emotional stakes of the show! Absolutely incredible!

Now, as I've said before in other places, I don't begrudge the actual twist itself. I mean, it's stupid on its face, but I think they could have done something with it — if they'd had it happen halfway through the series, when the characters would have had time to adjust to the new knowledge. Instead, they slap it on at the last possible moment, when there's no time to have any reaction to it. It's just jarring and baffling, and then the whole thing's over.

I've seen lots of people say "season 2 when???" Season 2 never, friends. There was never going to be a season 2. The only reason you think this was an even remotely acceptable narrative move was that you were assuming that this would be the midpoint, not the end. You're having the same reaction I did, only I can tell this was always meant to be their spectacular dismount.

(To me, it's clear what happened: They J.J. Abramsed themselves into a cool premise for a mystery with no idea how to solve it, hoping they'd figure it out along the way. When they got to the end and still hadn't figured it out, they simply ... opted out of solving it.)

Now, if you want a normal viewing experience out of this show, watch to the end of the next-to-last episode, close your browser window, and have imagination adventures about how you think all the mysteries should resolve. But you're not going to. You are going to continue on to that last episode, and you are going to realize that nothing I could have said here could possibly have prepared you for this. And somewhere, I am going to feel the urge to cackle wickedly and not even know why. Except I'll know why. We'll both know why.

Want to watch this hot mess?

That baby's an iQiyi exclusive! But you can watch the first episode on YouTube, if you feel like getting a taste that way.

Look, I know I may have spoiled my pitch somewhat with that last selling point. After all, why would you bother watching a series if you know it has a shit ending?

I refute your objection thus: Knowing it has a shit ending changes the whole game, because it removes the feeling of betrayal that hits upon your discovering that the ending isn’t what you wanted. You know that already now, so there can be no betrayal. The ending goes from being an unpleasant surprise to being exactly the unexpected thing that you expected. With that in mind, you can dive right in (ha ha) knowing that you’ll never get the closure you crave, and therefore whatever you make up along the way is perfectly valid.

This is obviously a turnoff if you prefer shows that are like seeing someone start a magic trick, perform it without breaking a sweat, and walk off calmly, leaving you wondering how on earth they accomplished such an amazing thing. Think of this more as someone starting a magic trick, accidentally letting the rabbit fall out of their hat, saying “I meant to do that!” like thirty times, and suddenly vanishing through a trapdoor, leaving you wondering what the trick was even supposed to be in the first place — but they were really good-looking and well-dressed, so at least whatever they were doing was nice to look at while it was happening.

See? They're having fun.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Sorry for being gone for so long, I haven't been feeling great both physically and mentally, so that was awesome...anyway:

Look, Eddie wasn't that picky when it came to companions. He wasn't much of a catch either - as a bard, it was already expected of him to cause chaos, but with his choice of songs, the result was less of a bardic inspiration and more of a "turn everyone against each other" or "make everyone extremely horny". Which...actually worked when they needed to avoid combat, but by ancient gods, he didn't need to see that group of orcs going at it.

Anyways. Eddie wasn't picky, but Steven Harrington was becoming a bit too much for him.

First: he was a rich kid. Eddie was a proud trash raised in a cottage that barely held together and he had no patience for people who never washed their own laundry (not that Eddie did, well, not too often, but still).

Second: he was effortlessly handsome. Annoyingly handsome. Bad hair day? Steven fucking Harrington didn't know those. His moles were placed in perfect places. Eddie had nearly invisible freckles and his only moles were - embarrassingly enough - near his groin and if you squinted hard enough, looked like a daisy petal. So uncool. But uncool was a word Steven Harrington apparently lacked in his vocabulary.

And third...this. Just...all of this.

Eddie didn't want to think of himself as a prejudiced person, he really didn't. But there were two things he didn't like in this world: lawyers and necromancers.

And Steven somehow managed to blend both of those into a horrible combination that just. Fucking. Worked.

Eddie was strumming on his lute and watched Steven open a bag full of old bones, yet another unlucky trader, adventurer or whoever had died in the woods before them. He placed them carefully on the ground, arranging them - admirable knowledge of anatomy, Eddie would give him that - and muttered an incantation. Green light, weird whooshing, some sparkles, yadda yadda and the skeleton reassembled itself. It sat in front of Steven and they started working in hushed tones over a pre-prepared contract. Eddie could only make out phrases as "a work opportunity," "being dead must be boring," "do you have any family that could use a percentage of the spoils from this quest" and the best of all, "no pressure, if you'd rather be left alone, just say the word." From what Eddie had seen in last few weeks, very few of them did say the word, and if they did, Steven would honor his word and bury their remains where they desired.

It was a really decent thing to do and Eddie hated himself for even admitting it.

One discussion about details ("do you want to be only reassembled when needed or would you like to accompany us the whole time?") and a bony signature later, Steven carefully stuffed the newest party helper (Arthur, Steven made sure to remember all of their names, another fucking decent thing!) in the bag and stretched himself next to the fire.

Eddie couldn't help but glare. That fucking guy. Built like a fighter from carrying half of a cemetery on his back, pretty, rich and for some reason also awfully nice and moral. Eddie wanted to barf.

"You know," smiled Steven and Eddie's traitorous stomach did a triple flip with a botched landing, "I love seeing you like this. Calm. Strumming those slow melodies. You look really pretty, too." He laughed to himself and turned onto his back, staring at the stars. "Well, you look really pretty all the time, especially when you're trying not to be bitchy, but these times you look the prettiest."

Eddie almost dropped the lute. Almost swallowed his own tongue as well. "Are you trying to kill me, Harrington?" he sputtered. "Don't you have enough to resurrect?"

Steven just shook his head, smirking. "That's a thought. But no. Breach of ethics - I'm pretty sure killing someone to resurrect them wouldn't make them want to join me. Plus, I was thinking less of a "fight for me" and more like "fuck me, possibly date me" - interested?"

Eddie stared at him with large eyes, moving his lips without any sound. "Uh...well, sounds good to me," he said, not very intelligently, but his brain was chanting kiss those moles pull that hair shut him up kiss him like right now maybe. "Do you...have a contract for that?"

Grinning, Steven - no, Steve, he asked to be called that several times and maybe this was the right time to give in to his wish - pulled Eddie to the ground with him. "For you? I'm sure I can draft something."

When Gareth, Robin and Chrissy arrived back from their supply run the next morning, they found Eddie and Steve curled against each other, fully clothed but very obviously satisfied. Robin just snickered and whispered to Steve that she wanted details, all the dirty, sticky and scandalous details, but Gareth just rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you disliked the guy when you said "Fuck him," he nudged Eddie as he unpacked healing potions.

Eddie closed his eyes and hummed a new melody that came to him with Steve's touches and gentle words. "It was open for interpretation," he laughed and reached for his lute.

[libraford]

Also while I'm thinking about tarot and therapy, I'd like to link yall to a book on the subject of using cartomancy in a therapy setting, which is how I've been approaching tarot for the past 10 years.

It can be a bit dry to read sometimes, but it's been really useful when it comes to recontextualizing what it means to read tarot for clients.

It's been awhile since I read it, honestly. I cant remember exactly what it says. But instead of cards being a message from the divine or whatever woo spin you want to put on it, I've learned that cards can be a lot of things.

-a third person in the room to open up conversation

-a mirror for the querent to project onto

-a tool to tell a story

-a riddle for the querent and reader to solve together

-a rubber duck for the querent to talk to to sort out the problems.

-an image to inspire memory recall.

-image and word association

Like this is a non-exhaustive list of things that tarot or any Oracle deck can do outside of the woo aspect. And incorporating woo in my context works fine because, as I've said before- I'm a tarot reader, not a therapist. But these are ways that cartomancy can be divorced from that mystical setting and used for more practical problem solving.

It also means that you can choose to make the tools more approachable for people who might have stigma against it. On a few occasions, I'll be out doing readings and someone will be shy but curious about tarot and I'll ask them 'hey, you look like you've got some questions- feel free to ask.' And more often than not the question is about what's involved, are we summoning things, is my soul in danger- Hollywood stuff.

And I tell them that its art on cardstock. It's no more dangerous than a movie ticket. You pick some images at random, I tell you what I think they mean, and you can tell me what you think they mean if you want.

I think it opens people up a little to have it phrased like that, in a more plain context of what it is.

Anyways, that went on a bit longer than I thought it should. That book really helped me figure out a reading style. Strong suggestion.

[drconstellation]

Monkey Business with Furfur

This is a 2024 Smut War meta

(NSFW? I tried to keep it reasonably clean, just filled with innuendo.)

Time to dig up some dirty dirt from before the Fall.

Memory problems? Oh, Hell no! There was no way Crowley was going admit to remembering this bit of history between him and Furfur, especially not in front of Aziraphale.

On the surface this incident with Furfur in the dressing room at the Windmill Theater adds weight to the appearance that Crowley has holes in his memory, just like Gabriel does during S2. But a closer look at the language being used during the post-magic show scene actually reveals quite the opposite - something that is - well, I shouldn't say totally unexpected because I've written about it tangentially before - but something that I think will shake up the way we view things between the three of them.

Firstly, lets review what I call the sub-story theme running underneath this section of the episode: King Arthur and Camelot. I talked about it length in my meta Once and Future Royalty. Here's the important paragraphs from that work for this particular meta:

Yes, poor old Furfur. Two's company, three's a crowd, as they say. Now we know we're in Camelot, we need to be reminded of the central tragedy of the Arthurian story, that ultimately led to the golden kingdom's fall. Lady Guinevere, Arthur's queen, famously loved Sir Lancelot, and the two were passionate lovers. It was essentially a love-triangle at the top, with Arthur being jilted, but he wouldn't/couldn't discard his queen. Where do we see this playing out in 1941? Furfur, pleased with himself for catching an angel and a demon in the act of consorting together (with the help of the zombies,) barges into the backstage dressing room, and confronts the lovers with their crime. But who is playing who in the Arthurian love triangle? I would say Furfur is clearly caught in the role of Arthur here. Consider the following exchange:

[See GIFs at top - I will quote relevant script shortly in detail]

Furfur claims a past intimate relationship with Crowley, which Crowley spurns offhandedly. Crowley is playing Guinevere here, jilting Furfur/Arthur, which leaves the demon-smiting Aziraphale standing in for the handsome hero Lancelot (with his French connections, no less), and doesn't he make us weak at the knees when he drops his voice an octave in dominating disgust. (Is it suddenly getting hot in here...?Phew!)

Recently someone posted more images of Furfur's costume, and the sash was shown reversed, where a red crown can clearly be seen under the stag's head, which to me just adds weight to the Furfur=Arthur role.

Next we need to take another look at this line from Furfur:

FURFUR: I was right next to you. We did loads together. You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat.

Everyone took this too literally.

Really.

I mean really really.

There are two things - ok, three things - this set of lines tells us.

The first is the most obvious and likely the surface impression - maybe Crowley did turn himself into a monkey. But this is a misdirection to the real information here, so forget that. Put it to one side for the moment, at least.

Secondly, Furfur had a "monkey on his back."

We see by this turn of phrase that he was burdened by a problem, or something he couldn't let go of, and in this situation it clearly looks like a long held bitter feeling towards Crowley and his apparent freedom on Earth.

CROWLEY: Oh, we shan't, this is ridiculous. [leans back and puts hat over his face] FURFUR: No, what's ridiculous is demons like you doing what they please. And somehow still getting on, while demons like me graft for hundreds and hundreds of millennia and never get a sniff of a promotion! Well, not this time. Expect a Legion to come for you first thing tomorrow. Enjoy your last night on Earth.

Thirdly, the whole thing indicates there is a past history of "monkey business" between Furfur and Crowley, before the Fall. This is further emphasized by Furfur's greeting on arrival:

FURFUR: Hmm, well, well, well... What have we here? AZIRAPHALE: Sorry, have we met? FURFUR: Oh, no, you never had the pleasure, but... we have, haven't we? CROWLEY: Have we?

Ohhhh, Crowley. o_0 No, no, no, no, nooooooo..........

Can you see it? Can you see why he would deny knowing Furfur? That they did "loads together?"

Do you know what "monkey business" is an alternative phrase for?

Remember the Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot love triangle?

Do you think Crowley is going to admit this in front of his angel?

Uh huh.

Really. Really really.

An "unreliable narrator" indeed.

[ladaveen]

ArthurxEames fic recs

These are my favorites and not in particular order I just love every single one of them, also some are probably smuts so beware hehe

Presque Vu by rageprufrock : this is probably THE arthureames fic, I was floored by literally everything in the story

M | 69k words

Or, "on the tip of the tongue." Arthur meets Mal first. He inherits Dom, after. Everything else is on him.

Early Returns by rageprufrock

M | 15.5k words

Thinking that a reporter genuinely likes you is pretty much on par with feeling like you really are special to that stripper.

Trouble With Dreams by sparkledark

E | 39.7k words

College AU in which Arthur is a cranky senior and Eames is a professor of Dream Psychology.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins by aprettyaway

M | 10.2k words

This is what his life has become: hotels and coffee and reveling in those few hours he has to himself. The French news lulls him to sleep, and Arthur thinks if he can just get through this job, then it will be over. If only.

Late Night Phone Call by sparkledark

E | 14.6k words

Arthur usually finds blatant fishing for compliments extremely irritating, but in Eames’ case he is reluctantly charmed. In fact, he writes the phrase “reluctantly charmed” into the Eames notebook the moment the words occur to him because they so perfectly encapsulate his entire situation.

Pants on Fire by Helenish

E | 15.1k words

"Ah," Yusuf says, lifting a reproving hand, "are we calling less than 24 hours of memory loss amnesia now?"

we were once cinema gods in the night by gyzym

M | 21.3k words

That's the thing about Hollywood--everyone has a Hollywood story.

All's Fair (In Love & Werewolves) by Whisky (whiskyrunner)

E | 29.6k words

Arthur is lucky to have Eames. Somebody just as different, someone who understands when he wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like he's all alone in the universe. Eames makes that feeling go away. Eames, however, is not alone.

Incipit by thehoyden

E | 8.5k words

Arthur has been his editor from the beginning. Eames says he won't work with anyone else, and what Arthur will never tell him is that he would cut anyone who tried.

between my reflex & my resolve by gyzym

T | 4.7k words

People you kiss in an airport baggage claim and then don't talk to for thirteen months shouldn't be able to exist, let alone make your chest do the things Arthur's chest is doing. There are rules.

Catalyst by five_ht

E | 3.3k words

Arthur is a freshman omega in college who hasn't yet had his first heat. Eames is a friendly alpha who is willing to lend a hand.

Hello, I Love You, Won't You Tell Me Your Name by eleveninches

E | 3.6k words

Many people, Eames would find out later, assumed Eames had wanted Arthur from the moment they'd met. It was true Arthur was devestatingly attractive, but in all honesty, the first thing Eames had thought when he'd met Arthur was, Why did Cobb bring his son? (Or: It's all about trust.)

Don't Fall in Love with a Dreamer by eleveninches

E | 19.7k words

Arthur joins the mile high club, Cobb joins the broken hearts club, Eames joins the smug extractors' club, and Yusuf just wants to club everyone. Or, Eames steals Cobb's point man.

In Our Line of Work by enjambament

T | 15.7k words

Arthur wakes up and realizes the last ten years of his life have been a dream. He is nineteen, and he can barely remember where he is. What he can remember is the ghost of Eames’ hands pressed down on his chest trying frantically to stop the blood flooding up around his fingers as Arthur died (as he woke up).

[i-plague-eater]

It took me long to choose characters but I've ended with Elyon, Orube and Yazoo (from FFVII). First, Elyon.

I like her shaggy hairstyle in cartoon a lot! It is a reason for Kane/Phobos to has his hair so wild! But in a comic book her silhouette is much closer to Weira and they're said to be very look alike, so I've came with a compromise between comic and cartoon versions. Her iconic sweater is a noticeable detail too, plus it's purple and purple always gives a magical and mystique vibe.

I'm not gonna lie: as a kid, I've never been fond of her. As far as I know, most fans say the same as I do: she's too sugary sweet, naive, gullible and never had a chance to kick Phobos's ass. But as she's one of the characters in my fancomic In Breach, I followed my commom approach "You can't have a character in your script and feel a subjective grudge towards them". So I started asking myself why Elyon is acting the way she does. And I've discovered а very interesting fact.

Why she WOULDN'T act the way she does?

She is an ordinary teen girl, not the smartest, not the brightest (when it's not about amazing drawing skills that she share with Hay Lin. I mean, come on!). She isn't the most socially successful, as she mentioned in a cartoon "I'm a teenager without friends" (in rus dub). The ordinary "normal" type. Her only stable relationship is with Cornelia and Alchemy. She's so unnoticed that only Alchemy notified the police that Elyon is missing. And Alchemy is not a teacher, just a classmate. A family has disappeared and literally no one (including neighbors) told to police that lights were off for a long time.

Yes, we see Elyon in a background from time to time and she even says a phrase or two. She's not an outcast type, she hangs with the others BUT every time we see her involved it also involves Cornelia who was most likely the one who invited her. And she's always slightly away from the rest making me think she only does this to mix with her surroundings. We never see her hanging with her own company or even a single friend instead of the main heroes or Alchemy (who's also a Cornelia friend). Or Bryan... but it was a sad and short story. We never see her having a long dialogue unless we know who she really is. It's an arguable point tho as the story is about W.I.T.C.H girls and script writers probably were trying to keep a secret of her true nature.

But when Cedric appears! Unlike her furtive parents that always withhold something and Cornelia who's all about herself (with all the respect to Cornelia), Cedric just... listens to her. He shows compassion, non-judgmental approach and sound sincere. With him Elyon feel being special. Not to mention that Cornelia has betrayed her for Will (we know the reason behind it but Ely doesn't).

And then! Bang! Suddenly Elyon becomes THE special. The only one! She's like Harry Potter who got a letter from Hogwarts, like issekai character, the fucking King Arthur, THE CHOSEN ONE! Common people of Meridian are praying on her, servants are ready to perform any caprice, Miranda is being nice and ready to play with her, her older brother is such a sweet and cheerful person who would do just anything for her. She's like Coraline who found the other mother. And this case is actually so good that it should be in a video "How and why people fall for abusive relationship or being lured into a sect".

The only thing she can be accused is being too gullible but she acts as a person who grasps any straw. Who would you choose? Parents who lied to you for your whole life? Fake friends who replaced you with a new girl.

We can go deeper here. Remember the first scene with Elyon in a comic book? She got a low grade and instead of supporting her, her "friends" invent a humiliating punishment to hit on a stranger. Although they know she's quite shy! What a nice company we have here, don't we?

Don't get me wrong, teenagers may show low empathy due to their age. Cornelia isn't a bad person too. She's the most loyal friend one might only dream of! Both in a comic book and cartoon she stays at Elyon's side and refuse the idea of her friend being evil. Although Elyon did a lot in a comic book to be judged. Cornelia risks her own life to get to her. BUT she's still quite an narcissist type. Such people attract very specific friends: those who always stay in their shadow, never a threat or a competitor. You can see others confronting her in either passive-aggressive form or trying to show her a place like Irma does. But Elyon was with Cornelia since they were small kids. I have a theory that Elyon actually wins from it too: she seem very "normal" by hanging with a popular friend who would invite her to every party. And literally no one can say no to Cornelia, right? And Elyon seem present in the society. And at the same time she actually isn't.

So here's the whole picture: Elyon isn't a scapegoat outcast like Martin, she isn't labeled as "odd" like Hay Lin. BUT she's not a successful either. She's a blank one, that average conformal person that does their best to suit "normal" standarts. She's short on social contacts, she's breadcrumbed by Cornelia and has no friends outside her pack. As we remember, Alchemy is also Cornelia's friend. Both Browns are hideous, insanely quiet people who made a very, very isolated, incapsulated family to the point that no one even notices their absence. They do their best to lay low and they teach Elyon to act the same way (we know why, but it's quite unhealthy thing you know). I bet Eleanor is quite unhappy with Ely's marks, but I'm not sure if she's strict about it. She's been shown as a good parent in both comic and cartoon. Although the way Elyon agreed to throw them in prison in a comic so easily is something that keep my brain buzzing.

Sooo my idea is that her reliance problems has started long before the cartoon events. Her social contacts never worked properly to begin with and that's why Cedric got her so easily. Not to mention his speech skills. Elyon was a quiet, shady kid with a certain tendency for escapism. Drawing on her level is quite a specific trait that requires a lot of time spend alone and some wild imagination. I think while she never shows this in a cartoon and probably suppressed it, she was really envy of Cornelia, Irma, Hay Lin and even Taranee having huge and nice families, lots of friends and being very bright people. While she's... on the sidelines. There's a thick wall of white lies between her and her parents. She's... no one. Only Cedric shown her what being heard and important is.

Although all the above is cool, it makes her a bit bland to my personal taste. So in my AU called In Breach I given her a bit salt and spice by returning her some of her comic characteristics. I see her as a stalker type, very jealous and vengeful, but too afraid of showing aggression and staring a feud. She would write some really nasty fanfiction about her foes and spread rumors, make ugly caricature on Grumper sisters. Might even play a nasty prank on someone if she can get away unnoticed. But nothing violent, just humiliating.

So, imagine this lost envious girl stumbling across another narcissist. Different from Cornelia, quite a violent type. The one who seem to be afraid of no one. Like, literally not a single person can tell him what to do - even the police (on a first glance. In reality, he's afraid of jail as fuck). The one who questions the moral, the normality, the good and evil. AND telling her this is what she can and should be. WELL WELL WELL WHO COULD THAT BE)

Also, a song that must be a soundtrack for her kicking Phobos's butt in a cartoon.

[verdemoun]

What happens to camps in modern au? I can definitely see a few becoming tourist attractions. Shady Belle is Shady Belle, this was talked about a million times. But Clemens Point, for example? A calm lake, with a few bridges built, maybe for fishermen? A camping spot with just a few small buildings?

Beaver Hollow, now part of a legally protected forest? I don't mean national park, I'm 99% sure there was a phrase for that. But I think it'd be healing for someone (cough) Charles and Arthur (cough) to go on a hike, looking for Beaver hollow and spending some time there. The cave is probably sealed off due to safety, but probably with a tall fence or something. But the clearing is there. The memories are painful. But it's healing to see it so peaceful. No fights, no fire, no tents that'd remind them of that awful camp.

I think horseshoe overlook wouldn't share that fate though. It's close to a railroad. It probably became one of these small stations in the middle of nowhere (idk we have a lot of those here), but i doubt it'd just be left like that. Especially with limpany close. Maybe it's torn down, or reconstructed as a small tourist attraction in the middle of nowhere. I hc that Valentine is still a relatively small town. Sure, it grew a bit like most towns do, but it's still just a small town. Close enough to Limpany that people go there on a trip, and horseshoe overlook becomes a really cute scenic viewpoint? Something like that.

Colter is in the mountains. No sane person would do much with it. Hikers go there, sure. Maybe some- and i shit you not i just spent 5 minutes trying to remember the name. Maybe those are just a slavic thing. But these small cafes/hotels that are in the middle of a trail for people to rest up? Those? Something near colter? I can see that happening.

GUARMA. GUARMA IS A TOURIST ATTRACTION NOWADAYS AND NO YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME IT'S NOT.

All of your asks are like a 1v1 where I have to write more than you.

Clemens Point becomes a very kitschy beach and tourist attraction for its naturally calm water, with long piers/bridges letting you walk out to most of the islands (with massive environmental impacts, the iguana population wiped out, and the islands themselves little more than sandbars) . Almost the entire shoreline has a timber walking platform. The field that once housed Clint and Clive's livestock sales is now a beachside campground instead of the point itself. At the point itself there are public bbqs and a viewing platform with a tiny plaque saying that 'Dutch's gang' were believed to have camped there in the early era.

Beaver Hollow is a nature preserve! Even Elysium Lake still looks semi-natural with the exception of a few lake-side holiday homes owned by millionaires who could afford to build on such hellishly sloped terrain. Arthur was mortified to learn people were swimming in the lake. While seeing the wilderness and trail trees nearby still growing, untouched and in place, was comforting, the cave itself has become a hiking hotspot and is well-lit with walking ropes and guided tours. It was very uncomfortable to see an overly enthusiastic man in his late teens give a speech about how it was believed the VDLs used the cave as an escape during the legendary assault on Beaver Hollow. But Charles and Arthur found peace hiding the mountain that had been the site of Arthur's last stand, which is now called the Arthur's Seat trail. They got to sit together amongst the red flowers where Arthur had once taken his last breath, share a bottle of whiskey, and then hike back down knowing they could go home to their little cluttered house and the gang waiting for them.

Horseshoe Overlook is private land, with someone building a McMansion on the site. The gang can no longer access it, but they looked at the property on google maps and were delighted to tell Kieran the tree he was tied to has been torn down. There is no mention of the VDLs having ever been at Horseshoe Overlook, but the bar in Valentine that Cornwall cornered them at is still standing and is very much a hotspot for vanderlindonians (middle-aged men who obsess over the gang).

Colter somehow became a ski lodge with only the original church restored and graves (including Davey's) still standing. There is also a plaque saying it is believed the VDLs had stayed in the area while escaping the law in 1899. Jack and Isaac took a selfie with it, even though Jack was too young to remember and Isaac - well, wasn't there. Isaac proceeded to break his arm skiing.

You make a literature major look at a map, you bastard. Guarma we know is the second island east of Cuba. Looking at maps, cross referencing the history of island sugar plantations, Guarma was most likely based off Puerto Rico. So yes it is absolutely a tourist destination. Dutch went with Habitat for Humanity (under Annabelle's supervision) and still complained about the humidity. Bill and Mac went on a romantic getaway only for Bill to hate it and want to go home. Javier and Kieran went and absolutely loved it (Kieran was drunk the entire trip and flexed his spanish (while drunk (which was... not good))). Arthur and Charles took Isaac and proceeded to lose him multiple times to bars and dances. By the end of the trip they kept him on a monkey backpack. Charles made many jokes about Arthur's complaints about Guarma and Arthur complained in response that it was very different back then.

[sanddef]

How Sir Lancelot met with King Arthur and Sir Gawain, and how war was decided.

1522 words

“Which of you did it?”

The hall went silent. The drab colors of a dove make the thing blend into the background. Perfectly still, break the silhouette, it becomes just another piece of noise. Gawain, in plain clothes, without his armor or family colors, was pulling off a similar effect. Like a nervous bird, he twitched in place, cocked his head. Lancelot would have thought he was nervous, that is, if his eyes weren’t so deadly focused. 

Arthur, to his credit, cleared his throat, seeming to regret taking the man with him. Tensions were high enough, what with his former champion and wife sitting across the table. “Gawain, this isn’t for-”

“I want to know,” Gawain cut him off. The fire crackled, a log fell sending a gust of embers up into the air. The damned castle just wouldn’t get warm. Lancelot had done all he could and still, the cold seemed to leak through every stone.

Was Joyous Gard ever befitting of its name? Perhaps once. Perhaps Lancelot would be too young to remember. Had Arthur ever been here in its heyday? Did he sit at Lancelot’s father’s table, share a story and good food and drink? Did Gawain? Young, reckless, brimming with energy that time hadn’t quite tempered but reshaped into something versatile and sharp. A hook that Lancelot felt in his heart now, Gawain’s eyes hadn’t left him since he had arrived. 

Lionel’s hand was on his sword. For all Lancelot’s pleading, he would not be persuaded to maintain the illusion of a peaceful meeting. Bors had conceded to him, but said he would be looking for the first sign of trouble.

“At the very least, I will protect your queen.”

Yes. A queen of very little now, but Lancelot’s queen always and forever. Lancelot and his kin finally stepped into their long-neglected kingships, and the phrase King Lancelot seemed foreign on his tongue. At the very least Arthur looked uncomfortable saying it.

“I want to know which of you killed my brothers,” Gawain repeated, was never one to back down.

“Does that really matter?” Arthur’s voice rang hollow now. The years were starting to catch up to him.

“I think it matters.” Gawain looked at Guinevere, Bors, Lionel, Lancelot. “I think my brothers were about the only thing in the world that mattered and I want to know which of you killed them. I want to know whose sword, whose hands.”

“Mine.” Lancelot spoke before Lionel could stop him, “Gawain- I’m sorry. If I had recognized them I wouldn’t have.”

“If you had recognized them it wouldn’t have mattered.” Gawain hissed, “Brave Sir Lancelot, dear agent of chivalry, my little Gareth would never raise a sword against you. I know he didn’t.”

Lancelot didn’t look at Bors, but he felt his eyes on him. The whole event was a blur, Lancelot honestly couldn't remember a thing. Bors had told him that the boy had nearly cut his arm off and Bors defended himself. This was just before he had informed him that he was dead. 

Lancelot didn’t care if he believed him. Gareth was dead regardless.

Arthur seemed to be losing hope that this diplomatic mission would do anything to prevent outright war. He let Gawain speak.

“Agravain hated you, Lancelot, I suppose you took your revenge on him. Or was it one of your kin? Indeed, I imagine neither of them have hands as unclean as yours.” Gawain’s eyes landed on Guinevere, “And all this for you, my lady. I pray to God nobody ever loves me that much.”

Guinevere looked him dead on. Lancelot hoped it was just nerves making his heart beat that way.

“You’ll turn to war, prince of Orkney? Gawain, people are going to die.” She said.

He opened his mouth to respond. Arthur stepped in, seeming relieved to get a word in edgewise, “I fail to see any other option. You kill my kin, steal my wife, I would be a fool not to respond.”

“We have nothing to offer you in recompense.” Lionel spoke up, “Everything we had was yours. Everything we have now I would rather not give up, especially if you can’t keep your nephew on a leash.”

Gawain snarled, pushing his chair back from the table, “You’re happy to say that armed, aren’t you?”

Lionel shrugged and didn't waver. Despite years of bad blood between the two men, Lionel was one of the few people Gawain could never manage to faze. Lancelot respected him for it. 

“We’re in exile.” Bors said, “Surely that’s enough. We’ll never bother you again.”

“And l just go home and tell my baby brother that our family died for nothing?” Gawain was shaking, Lancelot had never seen him so unraveled. “Damn you all. I’ll see you on the field. This doesn’t end until one of us is dead, Lancelot.”

He stormed out of the room, knocking over a chair and slamming the door as he left. Lancelot knew he wouldn’t wait for anyone, would mount Gringolet and be halfway back to Camelot in a day. He would begin rallying the troops, his golden tongue wouldn’t fail him there, and by the time Arthur returned the decision would have been made.

What a farce. War was certain the moment Guinevere was put at the stake.

Arthur just sat, looking down at the table. He hadn’t flinched when Gawain stood. He was not even particularly bothered by the way the decision had been made; waves of fate just swept him this way and that. No amount of plotting could prevent providence. The waves had delivered Mordred to safety long ago.

“Arthur, are you alright?” Guinevere asked, her face softened.

“I was just thinking how long it’s been since outright war.” Arthur said, gesturing to the empty space Gawain left behind, “How last time I was only a child. Allied with your fathers, against his. Old Bors and Ban, I pray they don’t see us now.”

“Has it really come to this?” Lancelot asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer. Hector would be finished taking inventory in an hour, the letters would be sent out, alliances made, and resources collected. Lancelot would lead his men into battle and hopefully never meet Arthur’s eyes again.

“I pray I don’t see you out there.” Arthur said, thinking the same way. “I pray if we must die, it would be a stray arrow, a squire’s javelin. I’m too old and tired to fight a former friend.”

“I don’t want to fight Gawain.” Lancelot said, thinking of the sword he had left in his room. He knew Gawain was well aware of the inscription on the hilt. Based on how he was acting, he didn’t seem to care.

“I know you love him.”

“Of course I love him.” Lancelot said, “Most of us in this room love him.”

“It’s remarkable,” Bors said, leaning back, “That you should continue loving one who hates you so grievously.”

“No amount of hate could make me stop loving him.”

The streams of Logres rushed by, interrupted by the striking of hooves. A still lake’s surface rippled. Waves at Orkney’s shore beat on. Somewhere, Rome was falling. Morgause’s two remaining sons would be deputies, and war would be at France’s borders in a matter of days. For all Lancelot knew, Mordred was already preparing.

Arthur finally stood, like an old, brittle tree, he had been hollowed out, but would quietly wait for his final storm. He looked to Guinevere, she looked back at him.

“I won’t be seeing you again.” He said, “You were a good queen.”

“But not a good wife. You were a good friend.” She replied.

Arthur smiled drily. “Lancelot, you would do well to take her advice. She knows the field well. I will miss having her as counsel.”

Once upon a time, Guinevere had been raised to be a king too. It was easy to forget until her expertise was needed.

“I have preparations to make. I’ll need to fill your seats at the table.” Arthur thought out loud, before wincing. The irony of having to take his pick from the Queen’s Knights wasn’t lost on him.

He left without another word. Seems the time for courtly pleasantries is finally over.

Bors touched Lancelot’s shoulder until he looked at him, “Do you think he hates us?”

Lionel snorted, “He has every reason to.”

“He just seemed- well he’s an odd sort.”

“It doesn’t really matter.”

“He does.” Guinevere broke in. “He’s never been the type to show it.”

“Not like Gawain.” Lionel said, “He’s going to give us trouble, that witch’s son.”

“He’s not going to poison us.” Lancelot said, “He would want to fight me.”

Bors frowned, “Even though he knows-”

“It doesn’t matter to him whether he lives or dies.” Lionel’s eyes widened in realization, “Dear lord.”

Leagues away, Gawain was riding. The scar at the back of his neck ached. It might be time to retire the sword and return to his weapon of choice; take the green axe off the mantle. To hell with what it symbolized, Gawain wanted something heavy. Besides, shame and pride mean nothing to a dead man. 

[vickyvicarious]

"But," said he, "I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?"

"Of course," I replied; and "such is often done by men of business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person."

[...]

"Do you wish me to stay so long?" I asked, for my heart grew cold at the thought.

"I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?"

What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins's interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth, resistless way:—

"I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?" As he spoke he handed me three sheets of note-paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it.

Dracula, 12 May

"Now I know well that you medical men speak in camera, and that a man must not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this is no common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that so?"

"That's so," I said, and he went on:—

"I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did to-day. Is not that so?"

"That's so."

"And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago down at his own place he looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so quick since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grass all in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires had got at her in the night, and what with his gorge and the vein left open, there wasn't enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I had to put a bullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you may tell me without betraying confidence, Arthur was the first, is not that so?" As he spoke the poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a torture of suspense regarding the woman he loved, and his utter ignorance of the terrible mystery which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. His very heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of him—and there was a royal lot of it, too—to keep him from breaking down. I paused before answering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which the Professor wished kept secret; but already he knew so much, and guessed so much, that there could be no reason for not answering, so I answered in the same phrase: "That's so."

Quincey, 18 September

I don't remember who it was that first pointed out the way Dracula uses language in this passage to entrap Jonathan, but I thank them from bringing it to my attention because it let me notice Quincey doing something very similar today. They both use this confirming question "Is it/that not so?" three times in one conversation to get their way. But they do it for vastly different purposes, with Dracula using his words to entrap and restrain Jonathan more and more, until he eventually is forced to conceal the truth. Meanwhile, Quincey uses his words to draw Jack out and convince him to be more open, until eventually he is convinced to share his burden.

The first time, they precede it with a statement of what is generally accepted to be true, and link it to their own actions, in doing so refuting an objection that would normally be raised. People can hire multiple lawyers if they wish and it's legal for Dracula to have done so. The question of whether this is true derails any objection about it being unnecessary, because Dracula's not asking that. He's asking if this is the situation. Of course. Doctors usually speak in confidence about their patients, but this is an unusual situation where Quincey happened to overhear their conversation, as well as already donated his own blood. The question of whether this is true derails any objection that he shouldn't be privy to this information, because he's not asking that. He's asking if this is the situation. That's so.

The second time, they both are pushing further, and once again citing earlier experiences in order to avoid refusal. Dracula expresses his desire for Jonathan to stay, and references their contract, stating that he was told Jonathan would serve him however he wanted. Here Jonathan could say that what Dracula's asking has nothing to do their work which is already completed, but both the phrasing (which threatens that Jonathan refusing will reflect badly on Mr. Hawkins) and the next line move the conversation along before any such refusal can be given. Dracula has upheld his end of the agreement. What can Jonathan do but accept? Quincey extrapolates from his own experiences and references the conversation he overhead to seek more information. This no longer directly involves him and could be seen as confidential, but the way he phrases his inference (based on evidence meaning he pretty much already knows) and then seeks confirmation moves things along to make it harder to deny him. That's so.

The final time is the biggest ask. Dracula puts on his smoothest voice as he tells Jonathan he wants him to write his letters but only speak of business. In fact, he tells Jonathan exactly what to write about. He phrases it as though this is what the recipients would most like to hear, that he's doing well and looks forward to being home. And once again, that's true but writing it would be a lie. Because Jonathan isn't doing well and doesn't know when he'll be coming home. And yet Jonathan can tell from the way Dracula phrases it that he must tell this lie anyway, because his letters will be read and he will suffer if he writes differently. So we've moved on finally from Dracula doing what he wants on legal matters, to keeping Jonathan under his control as long as he wants, to making Jonathan act against his own wishes by hiding the truth of his situation.

Quincey's final one is his biggest ask as well. With this one, he moves past his own direct experience into speculation about an event he wasn't present for; but he makes it a point to bring up his own experiences once again which lead him to think what he does, both that Arthur gave blood since he seemed weak, and that Lucy is suffering from something causing her extreme blood loss like the vampire bat that killed his horse. Just like Dracula, Quincey expresses emotion on his face/with his voice here, but it's genuine and not a deliberate act in the same way. He also, like Dracula, brings up other loved ones and makes Jack consider the feelings of others, whereas previous statements/responses were more fact-based. Except the loved one whose feelings Jack is considering is Quincey himself. We see that Jack decides to speak because there's no point in him hiding information anymore, since Quincey has already established how much he's figured out. So we've moved on from Quincey only speaking of his own experiences, to those he's witnessed being discussed, to things he's speculated about, and he has managed to learn the entire truth by convincing Jack to speak to him.

It's just kind of a cool contrast that I never noticed before.

[spockanalia-archive]

Spockanalia #1: Star Drek

By Ruth Berman

Art by Sherna Comerford and Juanita Coulson

by Ruth Berman Reprinted from Pantopon #16 (FAPA) by permission of the author

On the Enterprise, Sulu ran his hands through the space which had been occupied a moment ago. "Captain?" he said. "Mr. Spock?" His panic increased as he counted empty spaces.

Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise glared at the young man asleep in the middle of the room. "Where are we?" he demanded.

The question woke the sleeper. "In a dungeon. Beyond that I don't know. Who are you?"

Kirk introduced himself, Lieutenant Uhura, Mr. Spock, and Doctor McCoy.

"How do you do," said the stranger politely. "I'm the Coceytus." He rose and bowed.

The walls were littered with fragmentary murals: here a tournament, there an orgy, or a hunt, or a dance of satyrs, and dozens of bright-colored boats sailing the grey stone rivers between each scene. Dr. McCoy grinned as he found the Coceytus staring up at an orgy in the middle of one wall.

"There's a more imaginative one to your left in the top corner," he said.

The young man smiled at him. "No, I have more a literary interest." He pointed at a neat inscription covering a fat man's rear. The others joined him in trying to decipher it, but it was upside-down, and all any of them got was a mild attack of vertigo.

The Coceytus blinked and rubbed his forehead. Then he rose in the air, cartwheeling as he went, until he stood on the ceiling, his eyes level with the inscription, and his cloak spreading out beneath him like a storm cloud. He let his feet fall and dropped to the floor, where he stood gazing up at the inscription with a bemused expression.

"Well?" said Kirk.

"Well," he said slowly, "it's an ordinary dirty joke, told in the form of a Spenserian stanza. The names of the protagonists are given as Prince Arthur and Queen Gloriana, fairest Tanaquil."

McCoy snorted.

"However," he went on, "there's a phrase that may be the key to a spell to get us out of here: 'elf's or man's or neither's kiss.' It's just stuck in parenthetically, and it doesn't make any sense in context, except, of course, that it rhymes with 'piss.' Lieutenant Uhura, may I kiss you?"

She was silent, dark face impassive, as she unwound his line of thought. "Very well."

He kissed her lips gently, ran to the door, and shoved it. It moved about half an inch and thumped on its lock. The Coceytus rubbed his bruised arm.

"Not very successful," McCoy commented.

"No. Would one of you humans care to try?"

"Are you serious about this?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, yes." He looked at the skeptical faces and laughed. "It's not all that uncommon—you have to remember that magic is science in this world. It's a standard sort of spell."

"All right." Kirk put his arms around Uhura and kissed her firmly.

"Perfectionist," McCoy muttered to himself. "On the other hand, he's probably never kissed her before. Jim doesn't sleep with officers."

One slanting eyebrow slanted higher on Spock's face, and McCoy suddenly remembered the Vulcan's acute hearing. He looked at Spock questioningly. "Your diagnosis is probably correct," Spock said.

"Still locked," the Coceytus announced. "I guess we're stuck. We don't have any elves around."

"What are you?" said Uhura.

"Me? Why, I'm—I suppose it depends on the definition. I was thinking of Spenser's elves—or was it green and yellow creatures sitting on a buttercup I had in mind? Well, that would still leave us needing someone neither elf nor human."

McCoy looked at the ceiling. Uhura looked at her feet, and Kirk looked at Spock. The Coceytus considered all the glances carefully. "I see," he said. "Mr. Spock?"

Spock returned Kirk's glance for a moment, then pulled Uhura to him. McCoy took his gaze off the ceiling.

"Open," the Coceytus said, some moments later.

"Don't I get a turn?" said McCoy plaintively. "Oh, well," he added, "sorry we couldn't find a more Prince Charming sort of neither-nor for you, Uhura."

"Mr. Spock is quite satisfactory," she said calmly as she hurried out the door.

"No accounting for tastes," sighed McCoy, and ran to catch up to them.

They followed the Coceytus down a long corridor, dimly lit by rows of small blue lights set in the floor. The inverted shadows cast up on their faces distorted their looks. Kirk felt as if he was in a pack of monsters and had to fight the impulse to run and get away from the beasts.

The corridor ended, and three narrower corridors branched off from it. They stopped, uncertain which way to go. The Coceytus peered down each one, snuffing the chilly air. The little group pulled together in a cluster at the end of the corridor, hemmed in by a cage on one side and a large roll-top desk at the other. The cage held a stinking creature, something like a small dragon, so far as they could see it. Although it was asleep, they drew away from it and pressed up against the desk. Its surface was hidden by a mass of books, three jars of herbs, a row of quill pens in a stand, a half-written parchment, a plaster bust, and an inkwell full of a golden liquid that gave off a light. It was a faint light, but it seemed sharp after the shadowy blues. The parchment, too, shone gold, and a little pool of gold light was gathering on a furry blotter left beneath the pens.

"Still wet," Spock murmured. "I wonder…"

He reached for the parchment, but the Coceytus whirled, so swiftly that he knocked against Uhura, and caught Spock's arm. "Caref—"

"Master! Master!" yelled the plaster bust. Its voice was high and echoed thinly down the corridors.

Uhura stumbled, and McCoy steadied her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "one of those pens pricked me, that's all."

A screaming and clattering rose in the distance from the middle corridor. The thing in the cage snored and sighed and made a whistling sound like water boiling. The Coceytus shrugged and then ran headlong down the right hand corridor. It led them to a flight of winding stairs. There were no banisters, and the stairs were steep, so they used hands as well as feet in their race. Kirk, scrambling up the stairs, felt he had become one of the pack and wondered why he was not baying. A light flickered from the top of the stairs as they circled, and he ordered himself to concentrate on it.

The Coceytus reached the next floor and ran at random to the left. Kirk grabbed him and tugged him to a halt. The others collided with them.

"Look!" said Kirk, trying to pull his arm out of the tangle to point.

"What?" said the Coceytus. "Oh!"

The light was daylight, shining through a small, dirty window set high in the wall. McCoy, shorter than the others, looked at it dubiously.

The Coceytus jumped into the air and tugged at the window, but it stuck fast.

"Smash it," ordered Kirk.

The Coceytus nodded, wrapped his arm in his cloak, and swung. Fresh light streamed in, blinding them.

McCoy reached tentatively for the ledge.

"No need," said the Coceytus. He dropped to the floor, sprang up past the window, carrying Uhura, and shoved her out.

McCoy shivered as he was pulled up, partly from the rush of cool air, partly from the howls coming up the stairs. He fell heavily to the ground, a few feet below, and stood still, until Uhura grabbed him out of the way of Spock's descending feet. Kirk landed next, but the Coceytus, dropping after him, hung choking a foot above the ground, his cloak caught securely in a large blue hand.

Spock and Kirk tugged the cloak free, and the young man fell to his knees. They dragged him up again, and the group pelted across the red and orange flowers, a lawn of yellowed grass, up a hill, and down the hill through a wood. At the foot they came out of the wood to a narrow, dusty road.

"Do we dare follow this?" asked Kirk.

"We can make better time on it," said the Coceytus. "I think we'd better take the risk of being followed."

"All right, let's go," said Kirk.

The Coceytus offered his arm to Uhura, and McCoy smiled, wondering how she would react to the archaic courtesy. She accepted the arm. McCoy stared for a moment and dropped back a pace to the other side of the pair. He touched the wrist with the tiny scratch. It was cold. "How does your wrist feel?" he asked.

"Pretty awful," she said.

They were whispering, but Spock heard anyway. ''Lieutenant—" he began.

"My fault, too," the Coceytus interrupted. "Or no one's fault, really. A wizard's castle is just plain dangerous."

McCoy pulled out his diagnostikit and held it to the injured wrist as they walked along. "You keep talking about magic," he remarked, "but…" He paused.

"What is it, Bones?" asked Kirk.

"I can't get a reading."

"That's what happens to precision scientific instruments in a wizard's world," said the Coceytus.

McCoy looked at the diagnostikit again. It was obstinately motionless. He finished his remark: "but you must know what you're talking about, so do you have any ideas on what happened to Uhura? Was the ink poisoned?"

"Not necessarily," the Coceytus answered, "but poisonous, at any rate."

"Then we'll stop as soon as we cross a stream," McCoy said. "Do you think you can go on farther?" he asked Uhura gently. "We could rig something to carry water back in."

"I can manage," she said.

Spock raised his head and ran a few steps ahead of them. "There's a stream not far away," he called back. "I can hear it."

"How far?" said Kirk.

"I'm not sure. It probably crosses the road, but I think it's closer this way." Spock and Kirk pushed open a way through the underbrush that clogged the wood on the side away from the wizard's castle and held it open as the Coceytus and McCoy helped Uhura after them. Several yards later they came to the stream so suddenly that Kirk and Spock both slipped in.

"As long as we're wet anyway…" Kirk said.

Spock nodded and locked hands with him.

"Come on Lieutenant," Kirk said. "You'll have to get wet, Doctor." They carried Uhura over to the farther side, which was higher and not so grown over with brush. A grassy bank sloped up for several feet before the wood began again. McCoy splashed after them, grumbling at the Coceytus, who arced across in a graceful parabola.

"Cheer up," Kirk told him, "this may free us from pursuit."

"Thanks."

Kirk brushed twigs out of his uniform. "Now what, Bones?"

McCoy took out a small surgical knife from his kit. "I wish I had some proper materials with me," he muttered, "but this will have to—Coceytus, are you wearing a sword?"

"Yes." He shrugged back his cloak to reveal it.

"All right. Use it to cut me a bandage off your cloak. About so wide." McCoy gestured to show the width and turned to Uhura. "I'm sorry, this will hurt. Kneel by the stream."

She managed a smile. "You got it wrong, Doctor. You mean: Now this will only hurt a little bit."

He smiled back. "I'll ask you afterwards. Spock, hold her arm steady for me."

Uhura remained silent as he slashed across the scratch, motioned Spock to let go, and thrust her arm into the stream. He held it there some moments, forcing the blood to flow out freely, then bathed the wound and took the arm out. Instantly, the Coceytus bound the strip of cloth over the wound.

"Neat," McCoy said. "You've had training?"

"A little. First-aid procedures, mostly."

"You'd better lie down, Uhura," McCoy said.

Spock helped her down, and she sighed as she sank into the long grass. "You were right, Doctor," she said.

"Of course," he said smugly, and felt the injured arm. It was cool from the water, so he could not tell if it was cold in itself. He scowled at the arm. "I wish I could be sure lancing was any good against venom."

"Aren't you?" Uhura said, startled.

"There's no proper proof for it, medically speaking," McCoy answered. "But, medically speaking, a treatment that perhaps helps, does not damage, and is expected by the patient is a treatment that should be applied."

He glanced at Spock, waiting for the Vulcan to comment, "Most illogical," but Spock was silent, lost in thought. When he spoke it was to the Coceytus. "If you don't know where we are, do you know where we are going?"

Kirk broke in, "You know more about where we are than you admitted back in the castle."

"Well, I guessed more. I still don't know. I don't suppose any of you have read Spenser's epic poem The Faerie Queen ?"

"No," said Uhura and McCoy.

"Yes," said Kirk and Spock. They looked at each other speculatively.

"You surprise me, Mr. Spock," said Kirk.

"I may say the same, Captain," Spock replied.

Kirk smiled. "You'd be surprised what a serious young man will get through who thinks captains are supposed to be well-read."

"And Spock is a walking reference library, we all know that," said McCoy. "Perfectly simple. Go on, Coceytus."

"I think we are either in Spenser's Faery Land or near it. More likely near it."

"Why?" said Kirk.

"Someone in Spenser's world wouldn't know about the Spenserian stanza, unless he was a wizard interested in other worlds. None of the wizards Spenser describes sound as if they'd be much interested in knowledge that isn't immediately useful; they're too busy haring after power—or dames. A mark of a poor wizard."

"That sounds like a professionally righteous indignation," McCoy commented.

The Coceytus grinned. "I'm not in the profession, but I suppose I've absorbed their attitude. No, our wizard has to be someone who is close enough to Spenser's Faery Land to enjoy making fun of it and learned enough to have run across Spenser."

Spock said, "I wonder if we are justified in assuming that 'our wizard' is hostile."

"Well, I generally assume someone is hostile when a stranger comes to his door to ask for hospitality, and he orders his servants to grab the visitor and lock him up.''

"Why were you asking for hospitality?" asked Uhura.

"I got lost during a dragon hunt and fell into another country," he answered. "It's easy to do Back of the Beyond."

"Back of what?"

"Back of the Beyond…let's see…I guess you could call it Fairyland in General. The terrains shift a lot, so if you go near the border of one country Back of the Beyond it's easy to find yourself someplace else you'd never heard of. Why do you think our wizard may be friendly, Mr. Spock?"

"He provided you with the means of escape, or so I should assume."

"The means of…Oh, yes! You and Uhura. Yes, it's a possibility. His dungeon implies a certain piquant sense of humor. But if it's all a joke, I'm not sure I care for his taste in comedy. But as to where, we're going—maybe nowhere. If there's a full moon tonight I may be able to call my people without any help. Otherwise, where we're going is in search of a friendly wonder-worker to help me. If we're in Spenser's world, we could try Lady Cambina. If we're not, I haven't the faintest idea."

Kirk nodded. The whole set-up was ridiculous, but at least it had a modicum of internal consistency. "Uhura, do you feel up to walking again?"

"Yes, Captain," she said.

"Careful, Jim," McCoy interposed, "Uhura is one of those idiots who hate to admit a weakness. I think it's a bad habit she picked up from you and Spock."

"I really do feel well enough," she said, and got to her feet unaided to prove it.

"Good," said Kirk, "then we'll follow the stream to where it meets the road and follow the road till we find someone who can direct us to a wizard."

They set off, Uhura taking Spock's arm, but they had only gone a few steps when a knight came riding into view around the curve of the stream. His horse picked its way daintily along the strip of bank between water and wood. The knight was in full plate armor, neatly jointed.

"Well," said Kirk, "he looks like one of Spenser's knights."

"Yes," agreed Spock, "although I don't recall a description of a shield like that."

"Azure, a sphere argent," said the Coceytus. "I don't either."

The knight pushed up the bevor of his helmet with one hand and lowered his lance with the other in a flowing, easy motion which, Kirk suspected, took great strength. The face revealed was fair and conventionally handsome—he looked a little like Kirk, except that his features were set in a grave expression.

"Looks like Jim when he has to order other people into danger," McCoy thought to himself, and suppressed a smile.

The Coceytus stepped forward. "Good…" He paused and glanced uncertainly at the sun. "Good day, sir knight."

"Good day, youngling. Are you all Paynims?"

"All?" The Coceytus blinked. "None of us are."

"Your lady is, or should be. I have never seen a Christian with so black a Saracen's hide."

Uhura stared at him and decided the words were meant to be insulting. She rummaged through her memory for the few When-Knighthood-Was-in-Flower stories she had read and said coldly, "Sir, a knight is, or should be, courteous."

"I pray your pardon, lady." The knight raised his lance, and set it back in its holder, then dismounted and knelt before Uhura. "I have ridden far today, and my heart is burdened. I did not understand that the ladies of this land could look and…and dress so strangely."

He managed not to stare at her bare legs, left free by her uniform. Uhura, visualizing herself in a long dress with a flowing train, suddenly realized what an arousing sight a woman's ankle must be in his world and said gravely, "Your error is forgiven, sir."

Spock raised an eyebrow at the deep solemnity of her tone, and she nearly broke up. But she swallowed hard and managed not to laugh. Fortunately, the Coceytus distracted the knight's attention. "Then you are not a native to this country, sir?" he said.

"No, I am Adamantus of Faery Land."

Kirk and Spock exchanged congratulatory glances.

"And I serve Queen Gloriana—and my heart's lady, Constance." Sir Adamantus looked around "What is this country's name?" he asked.

"Alas, Sir Adamantus, we are strangers to it," said the Coceytus. "We had hoped you could tell us." He went on to introduce the group, tacking a knighthood onto Kirk and calling McCoy "Surgeon McCoy."

McCoy suspected that a few extra syllables were slurred into the word, so that Sir Adamantus would hear it as Chirurgeon.

Sir Adamantus bowed to them, and a few moments of embarrassing silence followed. The knight looked uncomfortable, as if wishing they would all go away. At last he said cautiously, "What make you, traveling so near an enchanter's castle?"

"We just escaped from it," said Kirk. "He had us locked up."

"Truly?" said Adamantus eagerly, "then I need not hide my thoughts. Now let me see…the third oak, Lady Cambina said, and the fifth stone. Here is the third oak." He glanced at a large tree at the edge of the wood and turned to the stream. "One…two…" He stopped and wrinkled his eyebrows. "Think you a pebble is a stone?"

"Yes," said Spock.

"No," said the Coceytus, "not for a spell."

"I am no vile sorcerer!" Sir Adamantus exclaimed, turning on him.

"I can see that," said the Coceytus, ''but something of sorcery concerns you."

The knight nodded and finished his count. He drew his sword and took as deep a breath as his armor allowed, then stooped and rolled aside the fifth stone at the stream's edge. A fox sprang out of the hole. The sword flashed blue in the sunlight and chopped off its head. A duck flew squawking out of the bloodless carcass. Sir Adamantus grabbed it and wrung its neck. An egg dropped out of it into the stream. Adamantus snatched the egg, leaning so far in that he nearly toppled over, and Kirk had to pull him back.

"Thank you, Sir James," he said, and rose slowly, holding the egg in both hands. "Now I hold the enchanter's heart, and he must do my will—if I can get to him."

"Oh?" said the Coceytus. "May we know your will?"

"I seek the Lady Constance, stol'n from me by the Titan's daughter, Mutability. I know only that she hid her nowhere in Faery Land. It is my hope that this enchanter can show me the road that leads to my love."

"Sir Adamantus, perhaps we can assist each other," said Kirk. "We were going to go looking for a friendly wizard…"

"You would have looked long!" said Adamantus. "Sir James, know you not that all men of magic are evil? The essence of magic is deceit. So say all wise men, and I know it to be true, for, look you, what is magic but the shifting of appearances, and the changing of true substance to false? A thing which my lady could never abide."

"She will have to," suggested the Coceytus, "if magic is the only way for you to rescue her."

The knight looked with horror at the egg in his hands. "True—and I am already stained with sorcerous dealing. How shall I face my lady?" He turned to his horse and fumbled in his saddlebag with one hand, drawing out at last a sort of canvas sack, which he proceeded to draw over his shield.

"What are you doing?" asked McCoy.

"I cannot bear my lady's moon, the emblem of constancy, on my shield while the taint of magic is upon me."

"But I thought the moon was the emblem of inconstancy," said McCoy.

Kirk and Spock made "shut up" gestures at him. "Not in the Spenserian universe, Doctor," whispered Spock.

Kirk drew his imaginary knighthood around him and held Adamantus' hand from fastening the cover. "Sir Adamantus," he said, "it may be you mistake the matter." He pulled the cover off. "Behold your moon—always in the full upon your shield. But in the unchanging heavens she waxes and wanes in her appointed course. Surely the changes of magic, rightly used, can be as regular?"

Kirk paused to kick the Coceytus, who was grinning in frank appreciation of the Platonic sophistries, and went on, "Would your lady disdain to meet the Lady Cambina?"

"I do not know," said Adamantus. "It may be as you say."

The Coceytus slid smoothly into the attack. "You have lost your love, Sir Adamantus, and we have lost ourselves. If we help you win your way to the enchanter, will you ask him to help me call my people as well as help you find Lady Constance?"

"Yes," said Adamantus, and repeated it with more conviction, "yes, and gladly. If I do this thing at all I must do it with some hope of success, and I will freely tell you that it puzzled me much to consider how I should pass the enchanter's guards and protect myself without losing the egg. Sir James, will you do me the honor of wearing my sword? For I see yours is lost."

"I would be honored," said Kirk, accepting the sword. It was heavier than it looked, and he felt like a fool as he tried to find some way of holding it that would not result in his tripping the moment he took a step. Sulu, an enthusiastic fencer, had managed to persuade them all to learn the rudiments of fencing, but Kirk had never gone beyond, preferring to study more generally useful forms of in-fighting. He wished that he had accepted more of Sulu's tutelage, although he was not sure that it would have helped him at all with the monster, heavier than a saber, which he now held.

"Lady," said Adamantus, "will you please to ride?"

"Thank you," said Uhura uncertainly, and started towards the horse. The Coceytus steered her to the left side and helped her mount.

They went silently back to the road, back to the hill, through the wood to the hilltop, and down across the wizard's garden. Uhura looked in the broken window and peered carefully to both sides. "It's—" she began, and then remembered how the Coceytus had hovered in the air to read the inscription. So she craned her neck for a careful look upwards before leaning down from the horse to tell the others, "It's safe."

"Go ahead," said Kirk, "we'll follow."

The horse protested softly as she stepped to the saddle and into the hall through the window, but its master stroked it and held it steady. One after another the rest mounted the horse and scrambled into the castle, Adamantus last of all.

Something small squeaked on the right and dashed gibbering around a corner before they could see what it was. Kirk and the Coceytus looked at each other. Holding their swords ready, they stepped out in front of the rest and walked towards the corner.

Sir Adamantus forgot he had no sword and moved up beside them, grinding his teeth in frustration when Spock pulled him back. He glared at the egg in his hands and muttered "Sorcery!"

They reached the corner, turned it, and stopped. Two large, blue trolls stood blocking their way with drawn swords.

"En garde!" yelled Kirk, and feinted to the right, cursing the sword's weight which slowed him down as he went under the troll's parry and thrust at its breast. But the thrust almost went home. The troll had to jump back a pace to avoid it.

Kirk thrust again, half seeing out of one eye that the Coceytus, his cloak whirled around his left arm as a shield, was driving the other troll slowly back. Kirk wondered if his fencing stance was wrong. The Coceytus, facing his opponent directly, instead of turning his body sideways, thrust and slashed and darted to one side or another at his ease, while Kirk moved rigidly straight ahead, his thighs aching with the unaccustomed strain of the crab-like steps. But still his troll gave ground before his thrusts, and still he parried its strokes successfully.

Kirk gasped as the troll's sword jabbed his arm. He paused for a moment at the hot sting, but the wound was slight, and he was able to thrust once more. Even in that thrust he was wondering why the troll looked so upset, but it was his last stroke.

Spock announced loudly from behind him, "This is no battle."

The Coceytus beat his opponent's sword upwards, stepped back, and lowered his sword.

"You say true, Master Spock," said Adamantus, wonderingly.

Kirk let his arm fall.

The trolls stared at each other in consternation.

"Wizard!" yelled the Coceytus, "What's your game?"

A tall form stepped into the doorway. "To get you into this room. As you seem to have discovered my little device, I shall simply invite you in. If you'll step aside, I'll send your escort away."

The Coceytus stepped back to one side, shielding Adamantus.

The trolls looked miserable.

"You have done well," the wizard reassured them, "but now go and rest."

They stomped down the corridor and around the corner. Their footsteps echoed all the way to the staircase. The wizard shouted after them, "Find the glazier and tell him to fix the window, while you're at it," then stepped out of the doorway.

"Now what do we do?" said Kirk.

"Go on, I guess," said the Coceytus.

The room they came into was warmer than the corridor had been, for a large fire was lit and trying hard to take the chill off the stones. The wizard, a cadaverous man dressed in black, stood leaning against the mantelpiece. If he had stood upright he would have been taller than any of them, even Sir Adamantus. As it was, the Coceytus and McCoy looked like two small boys, and the others felt uncomfortably shrunken.

"Welcome, madam and gentlemen," said the wizard. "Won't you sit down?"

After a moment the Coceytus held a chair for Uhura and sat down next to her. "We thank you, lord of the house," he said.

McCoy followed suit and said meditatively, "Well, it seems you're not a wicked wizard after all."

"Wicked," the wizard repeated. "That is a curious word you humans use."

"Not just humans," interrupted the Coceytus.

The wizard paid no attention. "As I understand it," he went on, "it describes one who puts his own interests above those of others. Yes, of course I am wicked. However, I find it to my interest to grant your wishes."

"You must, vile enchanter, for I hold your heart."

"Yes, Sir Adamantus, precisely. My name, by the way, is Threngil. I prefer it to 'lord of the house' or…other titles."

His guests were all seated now, except Adamantus. The knight shook his head and sat down. Threngil arched his back once against the fire's warmth, then drew up a chair and sat down, too. "Tell me, Mr. Spock," he said, "how did you discover my stratagem?"

"Captain Kirk is not a skilled swordsman. The Coceytus obviously is, if I may judge by speed and appearance of ease. Yet each was driving his opponent back at the same pace. The discrepancy could not reasonably be due to chance."

"Thank you," said Threngil. "Now your wounds should be seen to." He rose, and Kirk pressed back into his chair, shrinking away from him. The wizard smiled bitterly and held out his hands to the ceiling. A quantity of white bandages fell into them. "Here," he said to McCoy, "but remember to change them when you return to your…spaceship. They will turn into cobwebs."

McCoy glanced at the Coceytus, who nodded. So McCoy bound up Kirk's wounds, and, after a moment's hesitation, put a fresh bandage on Uhura's arm.

Meanwhile Threngil went on, "Would you like some food or drink?"

"Master Threngil!" Adamantus burst out, but then stopped.

"We would, thank you," said the Coceytus.

Threngil clapped his hands and told the goblin who ran to the door to bring wine, fruit, and meat. "You are quite correct, Sir Adamantus," he remarked. "I enjoy your torment. But, aside from that, your companions are hungry. The Coceytus, for example, has eaten nothing for some twelve hours. You must forgive me," he said, turning to the Coceytus, "but I expected Sir Adamantus to arrive this morning. When he didn't I forgot to wake you for breakfast."

"You expected me?"

"Yes," said the wizard, "what kept you?"

"An old man was trying to get in his harvest, and his son was ill." Adamantus looked ashamed. "It is not work fit for a knight, but they needed help."

"You mortals have such inconsistent ideals," murmured Threngil. "I sometimes wonder how you ever disentangle them. However, you are here now. My intention, you see, was to send my servants to capture you before you reached the stream."

"But how did you know I was—"

"It is not so easy to sneak up on a wizard's heart as you suppose. One feels these things. And one has equipment to substantiate one's feeling." Threngil nodded at a crystal ball on the mantelpiece. "As it turned out, the Coceytus occupied the dungeon meant for you. And, as I inadvertently provided him with the means of escape, he escaped just when I should have sent my guards out to meet you, and they spent so much time chasing him that they missed you. A pity—such an ingenious plan."

"Why didn't you just hide your heart someplace else?" said McCoy.

"I cannot touch it. That is the penalty for security. I could have sent my servants, if they were fit to be trusted, but they are not."

"Are you?" said Adamantus suddenly.

"It all depends. For example, I am perfectly trustworthy as long as you hold my heart. I would be more comfortable, I may say, if you held it a little less tightly."

Adamantus relaxed his grip, after a suspicious glance, and Threngil slumped down in his chair. "Thank you," he said, straightening up again, "that is better. And here is your food. Excellent."

Threngil poured himself some wine and took a pear and some meat, tasted each, nodded his approval, and sent the goblin on to serve the others. Kirk wondered if the wizard was eating only to prove to his guests that they were not being poisoned, and decided that he probably was. With or without poison, the food was good and the wine excellent.

McCoy sipped his wine and carefully tasted it, enjoying both the light-bodied rosé and Spock's look of disapproval. "You really ought to try it, Spock," he said.

"Give up, Doctor," said Uhura, "you'll never change him."

"A teetotaller?" said Threngil. "Dear me, how interesting. And he sent the goblin back to bring Spock some water. "Now, Sir Adamantus," he said, "my plan originally was to take you prisoner, because I thought I could not fulfill your demands. I know where the Lady Constance is, but I cannot get there."

"Where?" said Adamantus eagerly.

"On the Moon."

"That's impossible," said McCoy. "She couldn't live there—or is she there but not alive?"

"Master Leech, do not say it," begged Adamantus.

"She is alive," said Threngil. He added to the doctor, "You know and I know that the moon is an airless rock, but in Queen Gloriana's realm they do not know it—and, I believe, it is not so in their sky. I changed my plan, however, when the Coceytus arrived, for I found in his mind an image he calls a spaceship. I took him prisoner and set about trying to transport a spaceship here for him to fly—"

"You could have asked me."

"Would you have agreed?"

"Oh—probably."

"I preferred the certainty. I worked through the night and, indeed, found a spaceship. But my attempt to bring the whole ship here, as you see, foundered." He gestured at the four from the Enterprise.

"Look here," said Kirk, "one man alone couldn't operate my ship."

"Indeed?" said Threngil. "Then it is fortunate that you have already promised Sir Adamantus your assistance."

McCoy touched his diagnostikit. "The Enterprise won't operate Back of the Beyond, will it?" he said.

"Normally, no," said the Coceytus. "However, things could be arranged." He rose. "May I?"

Threngil nodded, and the Coceytus took the crystal ball off the mantelpiece and sat down with it. He stroked it with his right hand, never taking his finger-tips off it, and crooned a spell over it softly.

A cloud of color grew up in the crystal—shapeless, so far as Kirk could see, but the Coceytus spoke to it happily.

"Hello, Father…Yes, I'm in trouble again…No, I'd like to be transported to a ship called the Enterprise. I've got four members of its crew here with me…No, six of us all together. Sir Adamantus of Spenser's Faery…Just a moment." Ho turned to Kirk. "Where is the Enterprise now?"

Kirk gave him the co-ordinates, wondering what, if anything, they would mean to the young jack-of-all-trades. He rattled them off to the crystal ball and went on, "And then, can you transport the Enterprise to the Spenserian world with enough of its own space to leave it operable? …Thanks—oh, anywhere between the Moon's orbit and Mercury's will do. Can you keep in touch with me through all that? …Right. Bye."

"Between the Moon and Mercury?" said Kirk.

The Coceytus nodded.

"A Ptolemaic universe, sir," said Spock.

"I should have known," said Kirk ruefully. "It's described in the Mutability Cantos. That reminds me of something." He stared into his glass of wine as the lines came back to him. "Cynthia lives in her palace on the Moon. Couldn't she send Lady Constance back to Earth? Why hasn't she done something to help her?"

"Because Mutability put a spell of silence on the lady's lips and told Cynthia that the parents of the speechless maiden begged her to take the girl under her protection. Not a very good lie, but she left before anyone could challenge it."

"A spell of silence," mused the Coceytus. "Do you know what can break it?"

"Threngil let his head fall back and nearly choked on howls of rusty laughter. "What would, you guess, Coceytus?" he gasped at last, "what would you guess?"

The Coceytus raised his eyebrows. "True love's kiss?"

"Exactly!"

"You wizards seem to like kisses in spells," remarked McCoy.

"Mutability is no wizard," said Threngil. "I like kisses in spells because they provide the maximum embarrassment for the participants—hence, the maximum amusement for me. But lovers feel no embarrassment at kissing. True love's kiss is not only unimaginative but dull. Still, what can you expect from a Titan's daughter?"

The Coceytus stood up. "We'll be off in a minute," he said. The others rose, except Threngil and Adamantus. "You'd better stand up," he told the knight, and turned to the wizard. "Thank you for your unusual hospitality. I've enjoyed myself, I think, in a way, on the whole."

"I'm delighted to hear it," answered Threngil. "Sir Adamantus, tell me, do you insist on dragging my heart all over the universe, or will you consider my part played and leave it behind so that I can spell it back into hiding?"

Adamantus looked at the wizard for a moment and set the egg down carefully. "Farewell, Master Threngil," he said.

"Farewell."

The Coceytus looked at the egg. "Why not put it back where it belongs?"

Haze closed around them as the wizard answered, "That is a—" Their ears popped at the slight difference in air-pressure between Threngil's castle and the bridge of the Enterprise.

"Captain!" said Sulu, jumping out of the captain's chair, ''Where've you been the last five minutes?"

"Five minutes?" said Kirk.

"Yes, and who's that?" asked Sulu. "And that?" he added, a moment later. Adamantus' armor was so spectacularly out of place that the Coceytus was at first invisible.

Kirk looked around at the familiar chairs and panels. His arm hurt, and he could feel a little blood oozing out of the cut. A bit of wadded-up cobweb fell from his sleeve to the floor. "I'm not sure I know the answers to any of your questions, Mr. Sulu, but these gentlemen are called Sir Adamantus and the Coceytus."

Sulu started over to his own seat, but Kirk stopped him. "Keep command, Mr. Sulu. We're going down to the sick-bay for a few minutes."

While McCoy cleansed and bound Uhura's wound properly, Kirk said, "The five minutes' absence is your doing, Coceytus?"

"Yes. My father's, rather."

"How long do we have till the next shift?"

"A few minutes—longer than it took him to get ready to get us here. It's a more complicated movement."

"I appreciate that," Kirk said dryly.

"How does that feel, Uhura?" asked McCoy.

"Not bad. I don't feel shaky all over now."

"Good. Your turn, Jim." He set to work on Kirk's arm.

"Uhura," said Kirk, "you're relieved from duty, if you want to be. You, too, Spock. We've all had a—well—a disquieting time."

"I'd rather not, sir," Uhura said. "At least, not till after we've seen the Ptolemaic Moon."

"Understandable," said Kirk. "Same with you, Spock?"

"Yes, Captain."

McCoy grinned. "Can't I be relieved from duty so I can come hang around the bridge for the fun?"

"Yes, if you're done tying ribbons on me."

"Done, Captain."

"All right." Kirk looked around at his little company. Grass, dirt, and water competed for precedence in staining, and his own uniform had a small patch of dried blood in addition to everything else. "I'll see you on the bridge, when we've changed. Sir Adamantus, Coceytus, would you like to borrow fresh clothes?"

"Better not," said the Coceytus. "We'll be out of here pretty quickly."

A few minutes later they were all gathered on the bridge. Uhura and Kirk were the last. They entered together and found the second navigator and the second communications officer standing by the captain's chair, listening incredulously to a discussion of the advantages of fencing as opposed to sword-fighting with a shield between Sulu and Sir Adamantus. Spock, McCoy, and the Coceytus were listening with less interest, although the Coceytus occasionally threw in remarks, randomly supporting one side or the other.

Spock rose from the captain's chair, in his obtrusively quiet way, and walked to his own when he saw Kirk. Sulu and the navigation and communications officers scurried to theirs. "All in order, Mr. Spock?" said Kirk, ignoring the race to restore order.

"Yes, sir," said Spock.

As Kirk and Uhura took their seats the ship bucked. Kirk clamped his teeth against a cry as his injured arm bumped against the arm of the chair.

"Captain," said Sulu unhappily, "is that Earth I see on the screen, or aren't you sure of that, either?"

"I'm not sure, Mr. Sulu," said Kirk cautiously, "but it's an Earth. We won't be here long. Set a course for the Moon."

"Without crossing the Moon's orbit," added the Coceytus.

"Seriously?" said Sulu.

"Yes," said Kirk.

"Otherwise you'll break the crystal sphere," explained the Coceytus.

Sulu and the second navigator looked at each other and then at the Coceytus. "What crystal sphere?" they said in unison.

"The one the Moon is set in. All the planets are set in them. Their turning is what makes everything rotate around the earth, you know. If you can get a view on your screen at right angles to the plane of the ecliptic you should be able to see the axletree."

"Oh," said Sulu.

"What axletree?" said the second navigator.

"The one that turns the crystal spheres."

"Sir, we can't establish an orbit this way," offered the second navigator.

"Unnecessary," said Kirk. "We just want an approach close enough to beam Sir Adamantus down."

The second navigator subsided with a few muttered remarks about plate armor and space-suits, and he and Sulu set the course.

"Captain," said Uhura, "I'm picking up something."

"Radio?" said Spock incredulously, going to look over her shoulder.

"Yes, but Very Low Frequency. Not more than four kilocycles or so. Just a moment. I think I can make it audible."

Soon she had a sweet humming sound filling the bridge. It was a chord, but the base note was much lower than the rest. They found themselves straining to hear all the notes equally. The blend had a comforting sound. Kirk felt his head fall back, his muscles eased, and the pain left his arm. It occurred to him that he should not be staring slack-jawed at the ceiling, but he was too comfortable to do anything about it. He could just see an upside-down Coceytus running towards Uhura before the young man collapsed languidly out of his field of vision.

"Spock!" the Coceytus called. It was meant to be desperate, but it came out in a yawn, blending with the sweet noise.

Spock moved one hand slowly past Uhura. At last he fell, knocking them both against the panel, where his hand, dragging along the dials, found the main communicator and turned it off.

Kirk snapped his head down and sprang out of his chair. The Coceytus thrust himself off the floor. Spock and Uhura disentangled themselves, murmuring polite apologies. McCoy rubbed his eyes and asked, "What in heaven's name was that?"

"A most apt expletive, Doctor," said Spock. "The music of the spheres, obviously."

"Oh, obviously," agreed Kirk. A slow, joyous smile crept over his face. McCoy glared at him.

"Stop jotting that down in your mental notebook of Spockisms and do something! Sir."

"Spock's done all that's necessary, but I suppose I could escort Sir Adamantus to the transporter room. Sulu, how soon will we be close enough?"

"Five minutes, sir."

"Excellent." Kirk bowed, glancing sideways to see if the Coceytus enjoyed the gesture. He did. "Sir Adamantus, may I show you the way?"

"Lead on, Sir James."

Kirk reappeared by himself shortly. "Uhura," he said, "stand by to notify the transporter room. Sulu, give her the signal directly."

"Yes, sir," they said.

Kirk examined the screen unhappily. "Mr. Spock," he said. "Is there really any life on that Moon?"

Spock checked the sensors. "Affirmative, sir. Quite a large concentration in one spot—I assume it to be the location of Cynthia's palace."

"What are they breathing?" asked Sulu.

"Ether."

"There isn't any such thing," several voices said.

"If you like attenuated, but breathable, air any better, you may call it air. However, it extends beyond the surface of the Moon. It is, in fact, pervasive, except in our immediate vicinity. I prefer to call it ether."

"Quite right," said the Coceytus.

On the screen the Moon grew larger. Already they could see Cynthia's palace of ivory and silver. Slowly the palace grew, and they could see figures running out of the palace to stare at them.

"Now," said Sulu.

"Now," said Uhura to the intercom.

A silver figure appeared on the plain and moved towards the palace. One of the figures in the group ran forward to meet the newcomer. They embraced.

"Now," said the Coceytus to the empty air.

The ship jerked again, and they were back where they had started a few minutes—or hours—ago.

"Goodbye," said the Coceytus, and disappeared.

Spock looked at the empty space and turned to Kirk. "Sir, how will you enter this on the log?"

"Well Mr. Spock…" Kirk said and paused. He smiled sweetly. "That's not your concern."

"No, sir," agreed Spock politely.

"Besides, you'll look it up as soon as the Captain goes off duty," said McCoy.

Spock looked hurt.

Sulu leaned back in his chair and counted faces. The right ones were all there. "I don't suppose, Captain," he remarked, "that you have any sureties now about what happened?"

"Oh, yes," said Kirk, "I have one, Mr. Sulu."

"And that is?''

"It never happened. And, since it never happened, I need not record it in the log. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Mr. Sulu," said Spock thoughtfully.

"Yes?"

"I'd like a few more fencing lessons, if you don't mind."

"So would I," said Kirk.

"Me, too," said McCoy.

"I'd be delighted. How about you, Uhura?" said Sulu.

"No, thanks," she said, rising to go off duty. "I'm going to be too busy the next few days—there's a long poem I want to read, if the ship's library has it."

"It does," said Spock.

Note: With the help and guidance of Open Doors, we digitized the first volume of Spockanalia and imported it to AO3, which you can view here. In order to meet AO3's terms of service, some of the content was edited or removed. The full version of the zine is preserved on this blog. The masterpost is here.

[camlannpod]

Character Playlist: Gwaine Turner

You can find character playlists for Dai, Morgan, Perry and Gwen already posted on our blog (and at the links on their names here).

The last of our main character playlists! Episode 5 is Gwaine's episode, of course. Let's get to know him a little better.

First Class by Rainbow Kitten Surprise

I say I'll be damned if we can make it out of this alive But is this what you want? What you wanted? Do you need love? Am I enough for you? In time you'll find I've got my baggage too

A lot of Gwaine's story is about the tension he feels between what other people expect of him and who he actually is. The Knights want him to be one version of himself, in the way that the rugby team and his friends at university did. Dai wants to be a different version - but the version Dai wants is one which surrenders everything from the other side. Gwaine is caught between all these people who think he's beautiful, who want him and want to use him, and very few of them remember that he too is just a man who's as traumatised and grieving as everyone else is.

2. The Quittin' Kind by Eleisha Eagle

There's a corner you painted yourself in I'm not sure what was your intention Now you're trapped alone on an island And you can't swim, no you can't swim

Gwaine left Dai, Morgan and Perry in the middle of the night in the haunted wilds of Bannau Brycheiniog after they made their escape from the Knights. He stole half their supplies to make it back and he didn't leave a note, knowing they'd assume he'd been killed by something in the night. Obviously, this wasn't a great thing to do to them - especially to Dai. But as we learn in the series, Gwaine did it because he was being pulled back by Arthur's song. And when he got back, he realised he was no longer the only popular jock in the one small group of queer weirdos who understood him. He was alone.

3. Look Alive by Guster

The sun came up The world began to shake Fault lines exposing All my own mistakes If I could do anything Then this wouldn't be happening It's been a long time Since I've felt courageous

Gwaine is extremely frustrated with his own conflict between wanting to be comfortable with his sexuality and also wanting to be everything that everyone wants him to be. He knows that the popular, charismatic man who was drowning in friends before the Cataclysm was not a man that anyone wanted to be bisexual, so he just pretended he wasn't. He was 'straight-passing' (I hate this phrase, it's a core part of Gwaine's character arc), and he hid. And he hates that he hid.

4. Scared of the Dark by Lil Wayne, Ty Dolla $ign, XXXTENTACION

I ain't never scared and I ain't never horrified I just look down at my Rolex, it said it's the darkest times I ain't never terrified, I ain't never petrified You know I see dead people, I just tell 'em, "Get a life"

After the Cataclysm, Gwaine has an even bigger reason to be nervous about opening up about his sexuality to the Knights given their general bigotries. But he also, like Perry, has a job to do. He's a Knight. He protects people. He's the person who rides out alone in the night to go fight the monster everyone else is scared of. Before he left, he took half of the protection duties from Perry for looking after Dai and Morgan. And with the Knights, he's one of a band of brothers protecting what they're pretty sure are the last few hundred people left alive in the UK. So every day, he gets up, and he faces the monsters, because someone has to.

5. Growing Pains by Layup

I walk this world with broken toes From my missteps and told you so's I learned my way, breaking every bone Now I see all these aches will make you grow And every fall has a rise, every burn has a flame From foolish to wise, we all bruise the same

Slowly but surely, left alone with very little decent company among the Knights and no one who really understands him, eating himself alive with worry about what's happened to Dai whilst also begrudgingly reassuring himself that Perry would never let anything happen to him, Gwaine has a lot of time to think, and grow. He starts to get a bit of clarity about the man he wants to be, and starts to learn from his mistakes. He decides to stand up to the men who've backed him into this corner, and for the first time in his life, be something other than what everyone wants him to be. Himself.

6. To the Desert by Branches

I came out to the desert To find what I lost in your eyes I filled my lungs with the sunset And walked out into the night

Gwaine leaves the Knights for Dai. That's not a lie. He wasn't sure whether Dai was even alive before he found him on the radio, but he'd decided months or years walking through the wilderness looking for the love of his life was better than merry bullying in Camelot. He walked into the wasteland.

7. Our Kingdom by Hugo Barriol

If you choose the red, and I choose the blue We can share the green, we can share the green When I've lost my words, looking at you I didn't know your name, I didn't know you could- Change what I see Change the way I feel I was far away from me I wasn't listening

Gwaine knew he was attracted to men before he met Dai - he'd messed around with a couple of people in various ways. He did not know that he could love men before he met Dai, and it's part of why Dai is so important to him. For Gwaine, the nights spent staying up til 3am playing video games were just as important as the drunk hookups he pretended didn't happen. Dai never really realised just how much he meant to Gwaine - he always assumed he was just a passing fancy to him.

8. Gawain by The Trials of Cato

In crashing blows there is no game But when the Emerald Knight begins again I risk my life to make my name

Our Gwaine is determined not to be remembered as a coward. He doesn't want to be cruel, and he doesn't want to hide from who he is or his love of Dai. He's entranced and enchanted by the story, which pulls him in, playing on these tendrils of his desperation for acceptance and catharsis. He so badly wants to prove that he's brave enough to be worthy of a man like Dai. It's an easy opening to exploit.

9. Blood Upon the Snow by Hozier, Bear McCreary

It's not my arms that will fail me But this world takes more strength than it gave me The trees deny themselves nothing that makes them grow No rain fall, no sunshine No blood upon the snow

You get it.

[whiteshipnightjar]

Do we know anything about Joanna's creative process and working habits?

Well, we know what she's told us haha. But yes, I'd say we know at least somewhat how she works. You can read her wonderful Arthur Mag interview to see how she used to work during her Ys era (I mean the WHOLE interview is a fascinating inside into her work psyche at that time, I don't even know which quote to pick and choose for a sample, all of it is great haha). Then, e.g., Under The Radar for HOOM is really good. Also, Here's Ryan Francesconi talking about working with Joanna on HOOM:

“Ryan Francesconi transcribed many of the vocal and harp parts while working on “Have One on Me.” “Her phrasing with the vocal is really hard to write down,” he told me. “The rhythms are so subtle — so subtly off the beat all the time. And that’s a really interesting thing, because her harp is very precise, yet the vocal floats on top, and has a really separate feeling. The things she can do independently while playing the harp are humbling.”

And Joanna talking about writing HOOM:

"Timeout: It’s [Have One On Me] been called a pop record.

Joanna: ‪I guess it’s almost like I’m saying the same thing [as on Ys], but the intention is a little different for me. For some reason I was in the mood to make something very direct. I felt like I had been so abstract in some ways and kind of ungrounded, there were a lot of frenetic, hypercomplicated musical or harmonic transitions, an extremely compacted, compounded density of lyrics as well as a hyperawareness of the structure of the lyric, the syllabic emphases and the interior rhyme structure. Just a bunch of stuff like that. I had felt like I had been in that very constricted space. Sort of outfitted in this specialized writing gear. I felt like an astronaut or something in my crazy suit walking around in space doing this specialized, technical thing. For me, for whatever reason, that was what I need to do at the time to make what was ultimately a very emotional and intense at times record.‬

T: It is a sad record, isn’t it?

J: For me, it was. But I think for whatever reason when I started work on this record I zipped off the astronaut suit and wanted to be grounded on earth and very earthy, very bodily, physical. I wanted the songs to be easier. Warmer; and a lot of that was intention and a lot of that was a product of the mood that I was in. I did a German interview the other day, where I said that it reminded me of when I was really little and I would go to church. I was five or something. I remember wearing my little sailor dress and zip collar and itchy wool tights and patent leather shoes. My hair was tied up into some really tight French braid and I would get home and tear it all off. Throw it in a pile in the corner and run around outside…Sunday! Run around with my brother and my sister and the dog. Run through the sprinklers if it was summer. And that feeling. And there was something like that that pervaded the process of editing this record. I’m unburdening and setting off to work in a way. I think that it lends a directness probably to the record which might be what some people call a “pop feel.” Because it’s certainly not a pop record."

For Divers, I think her interview with The Stranger shares some fun bits about her process. Like this hilarious quote:

"I asked Newsom why she goes to the trouble of constructing such elaborate musical structures.

"The thing is, I don't know why," she said. "But... I do have a real belief that the exact right word—in terms of conveying meaning as efficiently and correctly and concisely as possible—will also be the word that agrees in terms of rhyme, musical weight, syllabic weight, beauty, and elegance. I think that words are magical. All of that effort is all about uncovering the word that is just sitting there waiting for you, and when you find it, it's like the equivalent of watching your team get a touchdown. It's just like WHOA. And you run in circles and say, 'Fuck yeah!'"

There are so many goodies! And her creative process is so fascinating!!

[arthurtaylorlester]

you may have seen my previous theory on wtf is going on with john doe malevolent, but i have more proof this time to show for my hypothesis!

in episode one, we first hear someone turning on a radio, presumably in a car, listening to “You call it madness (but I call it love)” by Russ Columbo (not the 1946 version by nat king cole trio we all put in playlists lol), then arthur gain consciousness

afterwards, they are in bookstore when a radio starts playing the song again, the entity doesn’t see the radio, but he does recognise the song

both arthur and the entity recognise this is odd, since atp the entity had only been in arthur’s body for 20 odd minutes

but, if you’re caught up, you’ll recognise that this is moment directly parallels a scene in part 33

this, however is not the only time something like this happens. in part 5, john uses a turn of phrase

this moment is soon after arthur’s month-long coma, so unless lily had been reading robert frost to arthur (which john would’ve most certainly mentioned when arthur brought it up), he shouldnt have any way of knowing this sentence. 

the first time we hear the poem in full is in part 26

but even still, in the context of the moment, why does john know this poem? he’s had no moment since he came back to learn anything of the sort, even ignoring the time it’d take to memorise something like this.

before this, there are only two instances of 'miles to go before i sleep' appearing, once at the end of part 17 and just before arthur leaps of the edge in part 23

so now, my answer to all these questions is a bit weird.

in part 1, the entity says as follows regarding time in other worlds and the dark world as being timeless

which initially led me to reach the idea that john's forgetfulness in part 33 has to do with the time he spent away from arthur in s3, which he claims he does not remember.

i think he was actually sent back to the dark world and spent an indefinite time there, since there is none, causing him to forget finer details. but that raises leaves many questions unanswered, like why did the entity know the song before ever being with arthur?

i think it's time fuckery. the entity we see in part one could be some sort of future!john, at some point he could be sent back to the dark world indefinitely once more, than brought back via the book at a different moment in time that from which he left, the past.

this theory makes a lot of leaps, but it also gives reason to why john already knows call it madness and miles to go, i believe he might use both of these as some sort of anchor to not go mad himself in the dark world, thought he does end up losing parts of himself and of arthur. still, he isnt completely gone, which is why he's eventually capable of becoming john again

it also kind of explains the first sentence the entity ever says in the show

of course, on your first listen you assume he means what happened to arthur a few moments prior, but with the context of a timeloop, he could be referring to the whole shows events, even what we havent seen

later, when john says he doesn't remember who he is either, and arthur says

i understand that the entity knowing what he is might help them both, but it's still a weird thing to say. arthur has just woken up with a corpse and voice in his head, and acts like it's not his first time doing this? i'm not saying he'd remember, but it would make more sense if he was partially amnesiac to the future/past loops like the entity/john

also, i think it's important to distinguish the entity and john, the former being an amnesiac john who has only the potential to become john, but could just as easily become yellow.

last point is, obviously, also a massive stretch.

in part 9, after their first consequential argument (as in it nearly gets them imprisoned), arthur tells this fable to john

which yeah, could be foreshadowing john being the king in yellow in the s1 finale, but. it wouldn't make much sense since john doesn't permanently get him and arthur killed?

i think it goes like this, if it lines up with my theory.

john starts forgetting about the dark world, starts getting dicier and riskier with his and arthur's choices, whether it be about his deal with kayne or other future lies, but he pushes and he keeps pushing until both he and arthur meet their end. at some point, he gets himself sent back to the dark world and arthur killed/otherwise indefinitely unavailable, and as he does, he says "it is in my nature", so the last thing he tell arthur isnt sorry, but an excuse. perhaps they end on bad terms, after all he's promised to not let him drown.

he is left there to rot in his misery with only faint memories of his new self (significant moments, like him telling arthur the poem) and after he starts forgetting, a long time for a place with no time, he is pulled into the book in the past, eventually reaching arthur again. he might recognise arthur's voice, but he might not remember enough at this point, having turned back into the entity, no longer being john.

but hey. this is based on my relisten of s1 and little else. i love stretching the canon to make it make sense lmao

edit 05/12/23 — further proof i only now noticed in episode 30 “The Tenant”

[astrobravo]

Old Fools Senior Husbands Sanctuary

Scoteng Week, Day 2: Punch drunk / “I think of you. Sometimes.”

Is this how hospitals contacting families and managing discharges work? Let's pretend it is, because it's how I writ it.

It's around 2k, so click the read more or see the full fic on ao3 here.

Again, I'm so sorry for attempting Alasdair's accent.

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

“And I’m telling you, it’s a mistake. I shouldn’t have been on his Emergency Contact list. We’ve been divorced– well, separated, for almost five years.”

“Be that as it may, sir, if you are still legally married you are his next of kin. There’s no one else on the list. And he really shouldn't be left alone for at least 48 hours.”

Arthur bit his lips, looking at the scuffed surface of the hospital counter. “Can’t you keep him here? If you just feed and water him I’m sure he’ll be fine in a couple days…”

“This is a hospital sir, not a kennel.”

–🩹–

“Arthur!” his technically husband called from the bed, goofy smile smeared across his bruised face. “Sweetheart! Come to help me make my great escape?”

“Alasdair,” said Arthur, helplessly. For a moment he was frozen in the doorway, pinned straight through like a moth in a display case. Alasdair’s voice was so full of light and love, it flung him back in time a decade, held him under the flood of memories until he felt like he was drowning.

Alasdair's face was different though – eyes blackened, nose splinted and taped, gauze mostly covering a line of stitches across his forehead. There were more wrinkles around his eyes, and the patches of grey at his temples had grown. He was missing one of his front teeth, the little one next to the canine. Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off it, the empty space. He wished, absurdly, he could remember the name of that tooth.

“Why are you lookin like you’ve been stabbed, love? Ach, I can tell I haven’t been kissing on you enough. Come over here, I’ll fix it.” 

He closed his eyes, his throat tight. Would it be so bad to pretend? Just for a moment?

“They tell me you can’t remember much,” he said, instead. He walked over to stand at the foot of the bed, eyes on the plastic footboard. Alasdair’s chart hung over the edge. He picked it up and leafed through it, giving his helpless hands something to do. Phrases like traumatic brain injury and temporary neurological amnesia stared up at him. He quickly hung it back where it had been.

“Aye,” Alasdair said, unbothered. “And I'm still outta it. But I’ll either remember or I won’t, and that’s how it is. I’ll try not to be too much of a burden on ye, in the meantime.” He held up his still insultingly muscled arms and did grabby hands in his direction. “No kiss for me?” he asked, eyes pleading. 

“Not right now,” Arthur said, flushing despite himself. He made his way to the chair next to the bedside and sat down, tucking his legs in primly. He tried to ignore Alasdair’s kicked puppy gaze, dismissing the instinctive swell of guilt – it was for his own good. He clearly didn’t remember anything about the last time they had talked.

If he did, he would know better than to ask for a kiss. 

Alasdair watched him for a moment, furrow etched between his brows, then seemingly decided to table the kiss discussion for later. “Did they tell ye what happened to me?”

“They said they don’t know– someone just found you lying in the street, unresponsive. Probably a hit and run. They called for an ambulance, and the ambulance brought you here. Then the hospital called me.”

“Oh no– did that Bastard Johnson say anything about ye clocking out?”

Arthur had left that job at Mr. Bastard Johnson’s firm six months after Alasdair left. He'd started work at his new firm not long after. If they had anything to say about him taking off for the hospital in the middle of the day, he hadn’t heard it. He had barely even stopped to grab his coat and scarf on his way out the door.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Arthur asked, avoiding the question.

“Well. The nurses have asked me that about twenty times now, so I think I’ve got it down by now. This morning… I planted a kiss on yer sleepy forehead before I left. Ye grumbled and smacked me and called me a ‘curse laid upon ye by God for your sins’ so I had to go back and give ye an extra kiss, to ease yer suffering. Then I went out… to work? To… the shops? I don’t…” He trembled for a moment, passing a hand over his pursed mouth. “Then I woke up here.”

Arthur wished he could remember that specific morning, the feeling of Alasdai's lips, the warmth of their bed. That memory had long ago blended into the dozens and dozens of other mornings just like it, a well-worn path, each footprint indistinguishable from the others.

Alasdair had always risen with the dawn, usually leaving Arthur tucked warm under their pile of quilts. He'd go out for a smoke from the pack that he thought Arthur didn't know about, or fix something broken in the house, or get started on breakfast. Then he'd get too lonely or bored or hungry and would bully Arthur into waking up and eating something.

Arthur made himself focus. “What year do you think it is?”

“...I think whatever I say I’ll be wrong," Alasdair said with a helpless shrug.

“Well,” Arthur sighed, willing his tone flat. Reasonable. Calm. “The last time that morning could have happened would have been at least… six years ago? It’s 2024. You moved out in winter of 2017, and we haven’t talked since.”

“Wh… what?” Alasdair went paler than he had been, voice shaky. “Why?”

You'd know better than me, Arthur wanted to snap, but he held it in. Alasdair didn’t know, not right now. 

“Well. I think we just must have…grew apart. Gave up on each other."

"I… I can't remember."

Arthur remembered it all. Especially the night he'd come home late to a dark and empty house, envelope on the counter. He'd got roaring drunk that night to try and block it out, but all he got out of that was the worst hangover of his life and an inability to even look at whisky without gagging for months after.

He swallowed hard.

"I was busy a lot with work. Late nights, early mornings, overtime. You were working too, but just odd jobs. You'd been laid off, and were looking. Taking care of the house. Always trying to fix things. The place was a shithole."

"Aye, that it was," Alasdair said quietly.

"We fought sometimes. A lot. But we would always make up. Then we’d fight again. Then, I don’t know. I came home one night and you were sitting at the kitchen table, in the dark. And you said you wanted to talk. And that you were tired of fighting.”

Arthur paused for a moment, staring at the hospital linoleum. It was a hideous yellow green. Why would they have flooring that color in a hospital? It made him feel sick just to look at it.

“And so we talked. And fought, again. And, I don’t know. Yelled. There was a lot of yelling. And finally I said, I wished we had never married. And you said, fine, you fixed everything else around here, you’d fix that too. And that was it.”

Alasdair’s face had grown paler and paler as Arthur spoke, his expression closing off. He pulled his arms tight to himself, wincing a bit at the pull in his bandaged shoulder. 

"I thought you'd come back the next day, and we'd talk about it. But then you didn't. Or the next day. The day after that Sean called, said not to worry and you were staying with him. A couple weeks later, I came home and your stuff was gone. You'd moved out while I was at work. You left an envelope on the counter, with your ring in it. And that was that."

He looked up from the floor and their eyes met. Alasdair looked away first.

“Well,” Alasdair said at last, “I must have really fucked up, if that's what happened.”

“No. It was on both of us. We were too young.”

“...Yer over 40 now, if my math holds.”

“We were BOTH too young,” Arthur snapped, glaring daggers at Alasdair's answering ghost of a smirk. “And foolish.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’ve gotten any wiser since then. In fact, I bet I'm even more foolish, what with the thump I took.” He sighed. "I guess we're divorced then. I'm sorry, they shouldnae called ye–"

"N-no," Arthur said quietly. "We're. Still married."

"Wha'?" Alasdair stared frozen at him, a glimmer of light coming back into his eyes.

"Never sent you the paperwork. Never printed it off, or even went to a solicitor, I guess." Arthur looked away, suddenly shy. "I just kept waiting for you to come back home. And then you didn't. But… I couldn't. I put your ring away and got on with things. But. I still think about you. Sometimes." 

He closed his eyes, a humorless laugh slipping from his chest. "I guess even if I got older, I never grew out of being foolish either."

Alasdair looked at him for a long moment, grin slowly making a reappearance – still charming even with the missing tooth. "We could still have a chance to be two old fools together then. If ye wanted."

"We could," Arthur said quietly, tiny smile unfurling across his face like a new spring leaf. "If you wanted."

"Do ye think I could get that kiss then?" Alasdair said hopefully, holding out grabby hands again.

Arthur got to his feet and stood by the edge of the bed. Still, he couldn't bring himself to lean in. "What if," he started, then stopped.

"Yeah?"

"What if you remember why you left. And then leave again."

"Then we'll just have to rent a car for you to hit me with, and I'll come back to you again."

Arthur gave an ugly snort, caught off guard. 

"No but, sweetheart. I may not know what year it is–"

"I just told you, it's 2024–"

"Or my own address, but I know this. I missed ye. So much. Bone deep. And I wouldn't leave ye again if it killed me."

Arthur clenched his fists, then leaned in at last, pressing a kiss to the least bruised part of Alasdair's cheek. He inhaled, and under the scents of hospital and betadine and blood, Alasdair still smelled like himself. He smelled like home.

After too long a pause, Arthur made himself pull back.

"Let's get you discharged then," he said, straightening back up. "The nurses say you shouldn't be alone for at least 48 hours. You're going to have to stay at mine."

–🩹–

"Oh FUCK," Alasdair yelled, sitting bolt upright in bed.

"WAUGH," yelled Arthur, kicking and scrabbling at his quilt cocoon, knowing in his heart they were under attack and this was where he would meet his end.

"No– no, it's okay. Sorry. I just remembered everything," said Alasdair, shaking. "My brain came back online like someone turned the lights on in a dark room. Fuck me, I've been a fucken IDIOT."

"Always," Arthur said, willing his heart rate back down to a reasonable level. "But go on."

"Arthur. After I moved out, I kept waiting for YOUR call. I've been pining for ye daily. I've got an album of pictures I took of ye that I sometimes have a sad wank over."

"I'm honored," said Arthur, who definitely did not have a very similar album hastily hidden away in his hall closet.

"Also I remembered I owe Sean two hundred and thirty four quid."

"Hmm. Let's just pretend you didn't remember that part."

"Agreed."

And they went back to sleep.

♡ The End ♡