#fic: allegory of the cave

[felixravinstills]

re: allegory of the cave

plutarch and florus plutarch and florus plutarch and florus plutarch and florus plutarch and florus plutarch and florus-

i haven't made mood boards before but i am starting to see the appeal. treasuring this fic so dearly rn. florus's interest in history just like his namesake is so <333

Ahhhhhhhh! Moodboard of my fic? 🥹. This is so cool!

The allegory of the cave black figure painting? with the bird? nice.

Thank you so much, mentally hanging this up on my wall!

[abstractppsychopomp]

—on sacrifice and conditioning

"Clones being programmed- nothing controls me!" "Wrecker, it is a logical conclusion that your affinity for destruction would stem from your conditioning." "You take that back!" "I'm merely stating a scientific hypothesis based on factual data." "Oh well I've got a fact for you. I like to blow things up because I like to blow things up!"

Wrecker and Tech, The Bad Batch season 1 episode 1 "Aftermath"

(disclaimer that here I'm talking headcanons, and while it is all based on my personal analysis of canon events, nothing here is 100% canon!)

So.

Reconditioning exists. I first read about it, obviously, on Archive of Our Own, and later researched more for other reasons, to find almost nothing on the topic- one of the most interesting ones regarding the clones, for the simple reason that it is called a reconditioning. To be conditioned again, twice.

What made me really think about this was the fic I wrote, that resolves around Echo's time after Skako Minor, as he deals with grief and loss, and a brief interlude about Dogma and his reconditioning.

So, Wrecker and Tech's conversation is put there before a (n almost) comical situation, them fighting in the cafeteria against the regs, which distracts a bit the watchers from it- and it's a pity, because it's one of the few things The Bad Batch gave to regular clones.

Tech proposes the idea that clones are engineered to be the way that they are, and Wrecker hates the idea, saying that he's his own person and no one made him that way- and it's the most reasonable response, isn't it terrifying to think that you're not a real person but what someone else made you, that what you are, what you feel you feel because someone else wants you to be that way, to feel those things?

They're, of course, both right.

One of the things I liked the least about The Bad Batch was that they gave us a whole show about clones, but defective ones- which is a huge huge deal, and handled "regs" in a really bad way, at least for me.

Not because regs were the "bad guys"- people who are mistreated can mistreat others, I'm not that naive, but they chose to not explore at all the differences between Echo and the others- and I find that the biggest difference is their perception of death.

My whole fic was born because of this- I imagined Echo, after Skako Minor, learning that Fives is dead, that Dogma and Tup and Hardcase are dead, that so many died while he was imprisoned, and the Bad Batch is watching him grieve from the sidelines, knowing nothing about grief.

Yes, they did mourn 99 when he died, but they aren't like other clones, who consider every clone close family and think that dying for them is a duty and honor. They're a tight-knit group, and while they understand sacrifice they're not part of a group of a thousand clones- they're four, they're clones, they have a thing called Plan 99.

Echo has seen thousands die, and is ready to die any day for the Republic, and the Bad Batch in the meanwhile is almost no used at all to the loss of loved ones.

It's enough to compare two sacrifice scenes, Hardcase and Tech, to understand the difference between Echo and the others, and the difference in how the writers perceive regular, ordinary clones and defective, unique clones.

Hardcase sacrifices himself, and Jesse and Fives are clearly sad- but they accept his sacrifice, because it was Hardcase's choice, and they would have done the same. It's a choice made in the moment, but still a sudden thing that they're all ready for- a juxtaposition that for them is the norm.

When Tech dies, they have a plan for just that- self-sacrifice to make the team survive, Plan 99, and they all oppose to that, they all try to stop Tech, they're, not to be mean, way more emotional.

Yes, we spend more time with Tech than with Hardcase, of course his death is written as something way sadder, but we're here to work with what they gave us, so we have two sacrifices.

One accepted in a minute, a name said twice before, a character made to die and make us empathize and suffer for his death, one that left such a deep mark in everyone around it.

Well, it's telling.

In The Clone Wars, we had some arcs dedicated to clones specifically, but most of them were pretty rushed (I have a beef with the way they wrote clones in the animated shows- except Rebels, but Rebels is the My Only Exception the Paramore spoke of), when The Bad Batch was all about clones.

Just not the regular ones.

So we have Echo, and we have the Bad Batch.

Echo, who's more prone to self sacrifice, just like Hardcase and his other brothers, and the Bad Batch, who has a plan made just for that, I repeat.

The Bad Batch received a different treatment from the kaminoans than the regs, which is why they think that regs hate them just because they are what, stronger, more efficient, different?

The so called 'regs' hate them, they do, and they hate them because their defections are called desirable.

(let's not talk about the word 'regs')

If they're clearly called desirable, there are defections that aren't desirable, and what happens to the clones who have them?

Imagine being scared of being different, of sticking out, because it would mean only bad things and danger (for the people who love angst and aren't scared of suffering termination) for them, and then see someone so clearly different and so 'beloved' for it.

Clones are brothers, sisters, siblings, yes, and not only in the way that makes them fluffy and miss each other.

What happens when, let's say, an older sibling sees their younger sister do what they used to do and used to be berated for by their parents, and not suffer any consequences?

In the worst situations, it ends up creating jealousy, hatred, and ruins the relationship as a whole. Or it simply strains it.

This is what they have.

The Bad Batch had a different upbringing, they had a different life, and their chip didn't work.

(Let's not think about Wrecker and Crosshair for a moment, and focus on the others. Hunter and Tech's chips didn't work. Whether it was wanted or not, they didn't. Why? Their defection, again.)

And they're not prone to sacrifice.

That's not the first thing they think about, that's not an easy answer they can give.

Sacrifice is difficult for them.

(less difficult than for a nat-born, more difficult than for a reg)

Now, sacrifice should be difficult for anyone, but it isn't for the clones, who were trained to fight and die for the Republic.

"Live to fight another day" not fight to live another day, because regs have to fight and fight and fight, and sometimes die- die is considered fighting. They were trained to do it, to fight and to die.

And the only reason this could have happened, is conditioning.

There were nat-borns on Kamino, that they met and interacted with, and they studied nat-borns since they had to one day work under them, so they know an alternative to their life, they have the tools to find out that they aren't being treated right. They were conditioned to accept their situation, their life, this life of fighting and dying, because otherwise why would they? Why would CC-8357 choose to die for a Republic who bought him, if he isn't absolutely sure that he is something made to be bought?

so yes.

Does this make Hardcase's sacrifice less important, less genuine? No, it doesn't because conditioning isn't something infinite.

Can we consider it his choice? Yes, I think so, but not a fully rounded one- in the way their choice to fight isn't a real choice, since they had no other options.

Does this make clones less human? Absolutely not, because with every second they spend outside of Kamino they learn and evolve, and this makes any part of their personality ten times more special- imagine being witty, broody, annoying and short-tempered, and imagine being witty, broody, annoying and short-tempered despite having humanity trained out of you.

the clones are so interesting because they should exist in the middle between droid and human, but can't help but be so human that people created enough lore that if someone wants to read on ao3 about them they have to research beforehand! The Clone Wars writers didn't deserve them but we do.

[s-aint-elmo]

throwback to when i first read harrow the ninth and i was convinced that The Body(TM) was not a genuine daily harrow experience but rather a consequence of gideon's erasure. like has harrowhark been having hallucinations of the body locked in the tomb since she was ten or is that just her mind filling in the sounds and sensations of gideon's presence in her life. is harrowhark really in love with the body or is that just her feelings for gideon finding another vessel in her absence. etc. etc. that was fun

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff part 2

Part 1

Again, just suggestions that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice, as I sit here doing my own edits for a WIP.

1. Crutch words

Specifically when you have your narrator taking an action instead of just… writing that action. Examples:

Character wonders/imagines/thinks/realizes

Character sees/smells/feels

Now not all of these need to be cut. There’s a difference between:

Elias stops. He realizes they’re going in the wrong direction.

And

Elias takes far too long to realize that it’s not horribly dark wherever they are

Crutch words are words that don’t add anything to the sentence and the sentence can carry on with the exact same meaning even if you delete it. Thus:

Elias stops. They’re going in the wrong direction.

I need a word in the second example, whether it’s realizes, understands, or notices, unless I rework the entire sentence. The “realization” is implied by the hard cut to the next sentence in the first example.

2. Creating your own “author voice”

Unless the tone of the scene demands otherwise, my writing style is very conversational. I have a lot of sentence fragments to reflect my characters’ scatterbrained thoughts. I let them be sarcastic and sassy within the narration. I leave in instances of “just” (another crutch word) when I think it helps the sentence. Example:

…but it’s just another cave to Elias.

Deleting the “just” wouldn’t hit as hard or read as dismissive and resigned.

I may be writing in 3rd person limited, but I still let the personalities of my characters flavor everything from the syntax to metaphor choices. It’s up to you how you want to write your “voice”.

I’ll let dialogue cut off narration, like:

Not that he wouldn’t. However, “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Sure it’s ~grammatically incorrect~ but you get more leeway in fiction. This isn’t an essay written in MLA or APA format. It’s okay to break a few rules, they’re more like guidelines anyway.

3. Metaphor, allegory, and simile

There is a time and a place to abandon this and shoot straight because oftentimes you might not realize you’re using these at all. It’s the difference between:

Blinding sunlight reflects off the window sill

And

Sunlight bounces like high-beams off the window sill

It’s up to you and what best fits the scene.

Sometimes there’s more power in not being poetic, just bluntly explicit. Situations like describing a character’s battle wounds (whatever kind of battle they might be from, whether it be war or abuse) don’t need flowery prose and if your manuscript is metaphor-heavy, suddenly dropping them in a serious situation will help with the mood and tonal shift, even if your readers can’t quite pick up on why immediately.

Whatever the case is, pick a metaphor that fits the narrator. If my narrator is comparing a shade of red to something, pick a comparison that makes sense.

Red like the clouds at sunset might make sense for a character that would appreciate sunsets. It’s romantic but not sensual, it’s warm and comforting.

Red like lipstick stains on a wine glass hints at a very different image and tone.

Metaphor can also either water down the impact of something, or make it so much worse so pay attention to what you want your reader to feel when they read it. Are you trying to shield them from the horror or dig it in deep?

4. Paragraph formatting

Nothing sticks out on a page quite like a line of narrative all by itself. Abusing this tactic will lessen its effect so save single sentence paragraphs for lines you want to hammer your audiences with. Lines like romantic revelations, or shocking twists, or characters giving up, giving in. Or just a badass line that deserves a whole paragraph to itself.

I do it all the time just like this.

Your writing style might not feature a bunch of chunky paragraphs to emphasize smaller lines of text (or if you’re writing a fic on A03, the size of the screen makes many paragraphs one line), but if yours does, slapping a zinger between two beefy paragraphs helps with immersion.

5. Polysyndeton and Asyndeton

Not gibberish! These, like single-sentence paragraphs, mix up the usual flow of the narrative that are lists of concepts with or without conjunctions.

Asyndeton: We came. We saw. We conquered. It was cold, grey, lifeless.

Polysyndeton: And the birds are out and the sun is shining and it might rain later but right now I am going to enjoy the blue sky and the puffy white clouds like cotton balls. They stand and they clap and they sing.

Both are for emphasis. Asyndeton tends to be "colder" and more blunt, because the sentence is blunt. Polysyntedon tends to be more exciting, overwhelming.

We came and we saw and we conquered.

The original is rather grim. This version is almost uplifting, like it's celebrating as opposed to taunting, depending on how you look at it.

—

All of these are highly situational, but if you’re stuck, maybe try some out and see what happens.

*italicized quotes are from ENNS, the rest I made up on the spot save for the Veni Vidi Vici.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #26

History hates Lovers

Imagine dis…

When Batman got lost in time it was said that he made some signs or even some symbols that send a message in the future. For example, a portrait that looked exactly like him or even a cave painting of a bat that looked too modernized to be from the early cavemen.

But it seems that we have forgotten that every change that he made whether it was just standing in a portrait as a background has a severe consequence in the time stream. The butterfly effect rests on the notion that the world is deeply interconnected, such that one small occurrence can influence a much larger complex system. The effect is named after an allegory for chaos theory; it evokes the idea that a small butterfly flapping its wings could, hypothetically, cause a typhoon.

Small changes could result in another and entirely new timeline, whether the changes were small enough that people don’t notice or large enough that people merely conceived it as normal.

But at the end of the day it still changes, so how did the timeline remain stable as it is?

(I am no expert in time travel so don’t get your hopes up, I do enjoy a good time travel or time travel -fix it fic in A03)

…

Bruce didn’t know where and when he is right now. Still weak and disoriented from the consent way he fell from each timeline. One moment he could be in the middle of a group of cavemen and then he was at the edge of a town in the Middle Ages. 

He kept sending messages subtle as they may be, as long as they survived the passage of time and arrived to his future. He just hopes that his teammates can see his messages, especially with the flash in their midst who had both knowledge and experience in time travel.

He tried to fit in every time he tried to send a message as the last thing, he needed was to change the time. 

…

But little did Bruce know the little messages he kept making and sending, despite their subtleness still created a butterfly effect. It makes some of the people in the period who were supposed to be in time to some event pause and take a look at the mysterious symbols and signs that Bruce made. Thus, making them late or even have some delay, thus creating a large domino effect that started small. From insignificant people, people who are just literally background characters who just have a very short greeting or meeting with someone in the event made the entire timeline crack.

Clockwork was looking at the time stream due to the fragile situation at hand. CW knew that this event was crucial for the Red Robin’s growth as a detective and vigilante. But the small cracks are turning into something unchangeable, CW knew that this was the only communication that the Dark Knight could send as well it was his way to get back to his own time.

Yet CW can see the cracks getting larger and larger, with each move that the Dark Knight made creating more holes in his known future. Usually, such events as the Dark Knight's faces don’t create any consequences or even affect the time stream of the said dimension as it was meant to be. An event unavertable in the end is more justifiable than the means.

But due to the Flash family going back in time as well the countless time traveler visitors made the time stream in that dimension week and prone to break in any given time. It was just a surprise to CW that it lasted so long.

CW found a solution in the form of his apprentice/ grandson, Phantom. Despite the young ghost being an Ancient of Space as well as the King of Infinite Realms he still needs a mentor to not only guide him to his new duties as an Ancient but also his responsibilities as the future High King.

Space and Time are two sides of the same coin thus CW ended up being the mentor of the young Phantom. 

Clockwork sent Danny to not only seal in the cracks in the flow of time but also want some great-grandchildren, if you heard the last part then you heard nothing from me.

…

Danny didn’t know he was getting in when Clockwork sent him out to another errand at another time. He should have gotten used to CW’s vague and cryptic errands through time when he was a teen, but as he was sealing another crack from time, he saw something that shouldn’t be in the period. A man clearly from out of time trying and failing to fit in, though he may have fooled the locals but he had been traveling and fixing time since he was in high school. 

At first, he looked perplexed but if CW didn’t mention anything then he won’t do anything.

But slowly Danny realized that whichever period the guy was in, it was where the next set of cracks would be, so Danny decided to follow the guy.

…

Bruce may still be weary and tired from the constant falling through time but even in his tired state can see that there is someone following him.

Every era there that man was, seemingly walking around aimlessly but then he noticed that he kept a good distance away from him.

Eventually, it led to and confrontation between the two males.

…

Danny who explained that despite having the power to travel through time cannot help Bruce as his little messages are creating small cracks in the time stream and are merely there to seal up the cracks, but offers news that he will get back to his own time.

Bruce who is just wishing for human contact that relates to him as well in the verge of going off to the Flash to stop going back in time for another chance to eat a breakfast that tasted better than before.

…

The two began conversing with one another and slowly fell in love.

…

Bruce is the first one to fall hard, Danny whose light-heartedness brought Bruce out of his shell. It had only taken a few conversations with each other to lose his shield around his heart. Danny both accepted both Bruce and Batman within him. Danny’s smile lights up Bruce’s world, at first Bruce tries to hide his feelings to Danny so as not to lose his only companion throughout the ordeal.

…

The two began dancing around their feelings and Bruce in an out of character of him sent a love letter and a poem to Danny when the ghost was needed somewhere else to seal the crack.

As old as I am, I have had the most dreadful experiences in love. I have a very dark past and I'm a damaged soul. My past experiences have groomed me into believing that there's no such thing as true love, but with you, I feel different. You make me fall in love with myself too. You always make me smile, and I'm scared. I'm scared to fall in love and get broken again, I'm scared to give my all, only to be used again, to get shamed and embarrassed. I've seen how careful and caring you are around me, but sometimes you give me a cold shoulder, and it's small things like these that break me. Please bear with me and be fragile. I come from a very painful past where I had to be a woman and have no say. All this love and affection is a little scary to me because I'm not used to it. I'm falling for you and I'm falling hard. I hope our love story has a happy ending. Know that I will always love and cherish you.

 (Mmakoma Kamogelo. "My Confession." Family Friend Poems, September 6, 2016. https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-confession-2)

Danny who received the letter burned red from reading the poem to the point his freckles were the only thing prominent on his red face, Danny knew that this man was from the future and couldn't help but feel a little bit insecure. That man, the Batman is someone out of his league but sends out a letter and a poem of his own.

Published by Family Friend Poems September 2016 with permission of the Author.

My love for you is uncontrollable.

 My feelings for you are unstoppable.

 Can't go a day without thinking about you.

 Without you, I'm not complete.

 With you, my heart finds its beat.

 My heart is filled with joy because of your love.

 You are my strength, and without you I'm weak.

 Before you came into my life, I was

 Hopeless, lonely, sad.

 When you showed up, I knew that you were sent to me. (Namely CW, Danny just knew that old Ancient did something)

 You are always here to support me.

 Your smile makes me shy,

 And sometimes I wonder where you have been all this while,

 But I'm just glad that I managed to get you in my life...

 YOU FILL MY HEART WITH JOY!

(Mmakoma Kamogelo. "My Confession." Family Friend Poems, September 6, 2016. https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-confession-2)

…

When the two realized both were pinning to one another began sending each other little love notes, in the form of short poems to full-blown letters.

Both males whenever received a letter when one was apart, collected and hid it in a box to reread each stroke of the letter from the other, and whenever they were together, they just spent the entire day basking in each other’s presence.

Their little note exchange didn’t stop whenever Bruce fell to another period, Danny just followed him and started a new exchange mail of letters.

Of course, both used pseudonyms in their letters ranging from initials to fake names using only the letters from their names.

…

When Bruce was saved by Red Robin, he felt relieved as he could now stop falling into another period but another shock as he didn’t get to say goodbye to Danny.

Bruce knew that someday it come, but he was going to offer Danny the future with him. He is going to offer Danny the world, but it seems that it was never meant to be.

Maybe that’s why his past self never met Danny, too disappointed, too dejected to meet him once again.

…

It has been a few months since he came back to his future, it was another family outing organized by Dick.

It was a museum featuring the latest found by archeologists, as Bruce was surveying case to another case, he fell upon a worn-out parchment with his handwriting.

Wide-eyed, Bruce looked closely at the exhibit and found that the description said the letter was about a man named “Brooks” confessing his love in the form of a short poem to a woman named “Daniella” who had the same feelings as him but had other responsibilities to fully go where he is.

Bruce began looking at the other exhibits and there along rows and rows of his letter exchange with Danny from different periods. 

Jason and Tim who were a few cases away from him began having a heated discussion with a stranger about the supposed woman in the letters being a man the entire exchange is between a pair of male couple, and the so-called Historians are hiding the fact that it was between men.

Bruce was about to interfere with the upcoming verbal fight when a stranger beside him commented that “Daniella” probably missed “Brooks” as the last letter and poem to the exchange when “Daniella” noticed that “Brooks” is no longer responding is…

(By E.E. Cummings)

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

 my heart)I am never without it(anywhere

 I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

 by only me is your doing, my darling)

                           I fear

 no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)i want

 no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)

 and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

 and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 here is the deepest secret nobody knows

 (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

 and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

 higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

 and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

 i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

 (E.E. Cummings. "[i Carry Your Heart With Me(i Carry It In]." Family Friend Poems, https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/i-carry-your-heart-with-me-by-ee-cummings)

Bruce is startled as he doesn’t even notice Danny’s last letter to him when he takes a good look at the stranger…

…

There he is, Danny in his early 30’s looking at him with softness and deep love in his eyes and a gentle smile. As if he hadn’t waited centuries for Bruce to appear once again, and what looked like willing to wait once again for him.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: As you can see, I have never fallen in love and please mind my poor and lack of love life in my life to relate to my work.

PPPS: I decided to post a bit early, I've got something going on to the actual February 14.

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Rubicon, Part 3: Allegory Of The Cave

AKA, the Force-Sensitive-teenager-that-didn't-go-to-the-Jedi-I wrote-flash-fic-of-on-someone-else's-post-and-kept-going-Whoops-AU

Part 1

Part 2

---

The galaxy has had many brilliant philosophers, among them is Platocca, the Wookiee scholar wrote an allegory of prisoners trapped in a cave, shown shadows of objects, people and animals are projected onto the wall by their captors, as a metaphor for the limits of the senses, and how the shadow of a Rancor is not the same thing as a Rancor itself.

-

Her disappearance does not go unnoticed- it’s hard to miss when the chateau of a locally prominent political family explodes hard enough to cause a major power outage and the body of their ‘reclusive’ daughter is nowhere to be found.  A search is organized, and the scent-akks trace her footsteps out of the house and into the desert but lose the trail at the river, like how a vulpire evades the hunt.

The search expands- her holo is circulated on the local planetary networks, The family is interviewed and they, tearful, plead for her safe return. Her little sister’s tears and begging that it won’t Lifeday without her play particularly well. It gets picked up by the regional channels and soon there is a galaxy wide search for the Missing Girl.  

Everyone loves to be a Hero. 

The desert is searched by police flyover and volunteer foot teams.  Hundreds scour the bare rocks for clues. Someone treks a full hundred miles into the labyrinthine canyons in search of her.

Everyone loves a Mystery.

Interviews are conducted with the family, with her mentors, with her caretakers and doctors. People try to reconstruct the final day before she vanished, someone publishes her school essays and more photos are found- of a shy child, cringing in the back of the Science Bowl team, or trying to hide behind a tree in a family reunion photo.

Everyone loves a scandal.

Ten is not that young an age to enter politics in the Galaxy far, far away, especially not for the now-heir to a prominent local political family and the little sister’s announcement that she’s running for the local civic council wouldn’t be terribly noteworthy, save that it’s done at a rally to raise funds for missing children all over the planet in her missing sister’s memory. By that afternoon, medical records are leaked- seven major psychiatric institutions in under five years, involuntary commitments, ‘experimental’ treatments for an ‘undiagnosed’ disorder- she hurt her siblings, it’s said, she was mentally deficient and home alone- abandoned, when the home “mysteriously” exploded and she vanished without a trace. 

Tongues wag, and eventually agree that, best case scenario,  it’s a family capitalizing on the tragedy to further their political ambitions But best case scenarios are rare in the Galaxy Far, Far away, and the idea that a family might try to get rid of a troublesome daughter before launching the career of another isn’t even a terribly implausible scenario. 

Regardless of the situation, the Sister continues to poll well. Or, perhaps, because of it. Everyone loves to think they’re in on a conspiracy, and if this family is ruthless enough to kill a daughter, well, imagine what they’ll do to the opposition?

-

She first becomes aware of all this at a funeral.

She had gone back to the oxbow to bathe- having worked out podes that are durable enough for the desert and dexterous enough for her needs, and a steady, efficient gait to traverse the vastness of her new home, she was now experimenting with skin, and while the latest thick midnight-violet mammalian hide performed admirably in terms of thermal regulation and protection against the spines every plant and half the animals here had, it had a tendency to get oily and she thought a nice roll in the sand and soak might be in order. 

Instead, the far side of the oxbow was crowded with people, all dressed in mourning white and carrying candles.  A pyre was set up on the far bank, and a small, closed coffin sat atop it. 

Oh hell. A child’s funeral.  Who died?  Not one of my classmates? or- no, no there are Sis and The Baby, thank fuck. Mom and Dad too. Front row.  Hell of a crowd too. And reporters? Yeah, those are definitely holocorders, for the news. She squinted at the logos on the vans parked just up from the riverbank, having to switch spectra and focal distance a few times before the characters became clear. Big networks!  We don’t have anyone that famous, do we? Which unfortunate bastard are you all the way out here for?

She stalked closer, using the harsh angle of the setting sun as cover, long ears cocked to listen.  Voices sang monotonously through the traditional funeral dirge, her mother blotting at her cheek with a handkerchief. As the assembled tried and largely failed to reach the final note, The local temple priest lowered the funeral torch, lit the pyre, arthritically climbed both stairs to the podium, and tapped the mic. 

“Blessings upon us all, on this sad occasion.” He bowed his head. “We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of one who was taken from us too soon.”  he gestured to the holo broadcast in front of the pyre.  She had to shuffle through the underbrush, until she could make out the flickering image against the flame. A girl, about her age, in fancy dress, grimacing as politely as she could.

Poor thing. Looks wretched even in the best holo her family could find. Would we have been friends, this girl and I? Maybe I knew her-

 She squinted at the holo, something about it familiar- Gods, they’d even had the same awful bob haircut and itchy, itchy tule dress she’d been subjected to-

Wait.Is. Is that ME?

“She struggled in life, but was beloved by all who knew her-”

What.

“-She was a champion member of the Science Bowl Team-”

They kicked me off the team for ‘cheating’! It wasn’t my fault I knew the questions before they were asked!

“-and her artworks still adorn the walls of our school.”

WHERE? I got told that they were ‘Too Scary’ and ‘Not School Appropriate’!  

“She was always unparalleled in character- you could not find a more, sometimes brutally, honest person, and she clung unfailingly to her personal ethics.”

Oh? Oh, that’s what we’re calling it? Because last month in front of the shrinks you called me ‘tactless and prone to blurting things out’ and said I ‘rigidly conformed to arbitrary standards to the point of insanity’!  She seethed, a low rumble of disgust.

“We are all aware of her unfortunate medical history-”

Oh. Oh no.

“-but we can take some solace in the fact that she does not suffer anymore.”

Her mother took this chance to bawl theatrically. 

There are no words in all the tongues of the galaxy-

“While ultimately unsuccessful, the efforts to find her- hundreds, if not thousands of volunteer search parties, all across the galaxy as this tragedy has brought us all together in ways I no longer thought possible.  She is now one with the Nature she loved so much, and at peace.  May this pyre symbolize the light she briefly brought into our lives, and let us reflect on our memories of her.”  

The Priest stepped back and the line of mourners stepped forward- classmates, muttering about brief conversations in the hall, except a Longtime Bully, who gushed enthusiastically about how funny she was, with her weird turns of phrase and the way she-

She almost retched at the way her Bully imitated the way her hands would twitch when she was frightened, giggling. 

Then her mother stepped up.

“We.  We knew She was special, from the very day she was born-”

YEAH YOU SURE FUCKIN’ DID, DIDN’T YOU? She seethed, claws digging into the sand and tail thrashing. WAITING AT THE DOOR FOR ME, YOU SAID.  BUT NO-  NOT, YOU KNEW HOW TO RAISE ME BEST, YOU LOVED ME TOO MUCH TO GIVE ME AWAY, YOU SAID-

She crumpled, flattening against the ground and sobbing, strained hisses as her mother carried on, trying to hold back the tide of emotion before the Pyre exploded or something.  She stared at the hologram instead. The girl depicted  is a stranger- no really when the hell did Mom even TAKE that??  Fucking. Dress. When was the last time I even wore that thing? Gods, last Lifeday? No, I was back inside for that. It was…  Really? Really? You chose a picture two years out of date? 

She remembered the dress well. An awful thing made of tulle that didn’t itch so much as actually shred her skin where it wasn’t dangerously compressing her lungs and intestines.  She’d been ‘allowed’ home for the holiday, a probation for Good Behavior and the muscles around her mouths ached at the memory of the practiced smile she held for weeks, lest her Mother change her mind about letting her attend the party. She’d made it a full three months before her hand slipped doing the dishes and even though the cut on her hand was small it was just one thing too many and the smile cracked and she ended up throwing the offending knife across the kitchen in a panic.

She looked down at her ‘hand’ now, the scar still there despite the changes. Some landmarks were stubborn like that- she still had the freckles and that one mole, and the scar from attempting to ride a swoop and crashing into the shrubbery instead. Others vanished from her body and her memory without a trace with the shape-change. 

…Not that a more current image would really be more accurate but fucking really? That’s the one you picked?  I guess I should be glad you miss me at all, but-

Her tail thrashes, chewing on this emotion and the air around her. Her mother is bent over the podium, sobbing. Her grief seems genuine, really.  These are ugly, snotty sobs and the air around her cracks and splinters like bone in the Force. 

And yet.

…DID she have more current holos of me? I was usually the one holding the camera, but. No, not from last Lifeday, I was inside.  Not from Sis’ birthday, I was in the kitchen all day. Not on the Baby’s nameday either, all the holos are from inside that packed fire hazard of a temple and i refused to go in. Unless she took something between when my last camp ended and before they left for the mountains on the ‘normal vacation, for once’...

That really is the last Holo you have of me isn’t it?

And it’s not even me, just your favorite role I played.

Her father pulls her mother away from the podium, and she latches onto The Baby, cradling him close. The Priest shambles up to the podium again, and starts the final prayers. For peace, for a happy afterlife. The mourners got up and filed by the pyre, setting their candles around it before shuffling past the family, offering their condolences. 

They lay hands upon her parents, and shake the hand of her sister, wishing her luck with her campaign. 

She watched them file by, shrinking and retreating back, cowering in- in what? Fear? Anger? Grief? Disgust? She clawed at her face, unable to run, unable to stay.

Eventually, the neighbors collect Sis and The Baby, and her parents stay, waiting with the priest for the pyre to blow out, as per tradition. Her father stares off into the distance, mother clutched to his side. 

“You. You’ve done this before, right?”  he eventually stammers, turning to the priest.

“Fifty years of funerals.” the priest nods. 

“And. And children?”  He asks.

“Some of them, yes.” the priest sighed. “Children are always the hardest.”

Her father stared into the flames.

“Is. Is it wrong to feel… Relieved?” 

Her mother wails again. 

“I, I just… I keep thinking I hear her, around the house or out in the yard and I keep thinking she’s not really dead but- but it’s dread. I dread having to be on guard all the time or take her to another doctor or suffer another tantrum. I- I loved her, like any parent would but- but-”

“- We couldn’t live with her.”  Her mother sighed. “Not really.“

The priest nodded slowly. “It’s not uncommon to feel relieved that our loved ones are no longer suffering. Or to feel some relief from being free of burden of care, even as we mourn.” he tried, over-optimistically.

“It’s not something you say to a child but. Oh gods. Oh gods what a nightmare.” Her mother sobbed.

“Her spirit may yet be with us!” the Priest pleaded. 

“Body and Spirit, Holy Father.”

They all looked up.

She stood on the sandy bank of the river, the thin nervous girl from earlier this summer. She held her arms out, silently asking for a hug.

Her father shrieked, and stepped back, her mother cowering behind him. The priest held his own arms up defensively.

Ah. So that’s how it is. 

“Relieved? That’s how you feel? The nightmare is over?”  Voice high and tight as she grimaced at them, smiling like a primate baring its teeth before an eye-gouging, face-eating assault. “You know what? I can’t blame you. I have to say, this last month? I’ve been pretty relieved too.  No white-knucke social events.  No more being abandoned so Sis and The Baby can grow up ‘normal’.  No more ‘treatments’- you know the last one involved electrodes, right? Of course you did. You signed the wavier!”

Her mother opened her mouth, but choked on whatever it was she was going to say.

“But the biggest thing?  No more pretending.  No more playing the sweet, stupid girl for you to pity and be pitied for. No more pretending I’m the crazy one here.  No more being something I’m not.”  She grinned, and began to change again, skin darkening to midnight again, stretching her spine out until she tipped forward, forelegs splashing in the water and making them jump. She stretched to the height and shape that felt comfortable, A deeper shadow of limbs and muscle and teeth and too many eyes, tapetum lucidum glittering above them in the last of the Pyre-light. 

Her mother gagged, her father stared, frozen except for the tears, and the priest crumpled back in revulsion.

“I really can’t blame you.” She rumbled, stereophonic now. “-But I won’t let you delude yourselves. I might be free of you, but you’ll never be free of what you did to me.”  She grinned mouths full of teeth at them, before turning and walking into he river, vanishing below the surface with a flick of her tail.

Her mother’s screams echoed in faintly through the water as she made her way downriver. There was a spaceport there, and nothing for her here.

---

Now, Platocca rather famously got in a brawl with another Philosopher named Ogg who posited that while the shadow of the thing is not the thing itself, if there's a moving shadow shaped like a Rancor, it's being cast by SOMETHING, and there are better things to do than standing around philosophizing about it.  Like finding out what's casting the shadow from a safe distance, on account of the downright-likely chance that the thing casting the Rancor-shaped shadow is, in fact, a Rancor.  You Pedantic Twit.

-

It doesn’t take long for the carrion beasts to come around.

The scandal embroils the galaxy, and the gruesome details of the child’s history are the gossip of the day.  

Some can sniff between the lines, and take notice- if it was any of the more common ailments, something would have worked by now. The details of the ‘explosion’ hit the insurance market- no point of ignition- indeed, no fire at all, like someone had swung a wrecking ball out from inside the home in all directions at once. And they dig a little bit and compare her birth date to the public logs of Jedi deployments and make an educated guess or five. 

The only vehicle available for rent was an ugly yellow cargo vehicle, but a make and model with an extremely reliable engine and good mileage, which he decided was a decent tradeoff for its abhorrent color. Alas, to rent! He's already in hot water with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild for ‘retroactively purchasing’ a vehicle the last time he was chasing a mark and while the work was undignified, being a Sith didn’t pay like it used to.

He can hear her miles before he sees her.  A low, rumbling thrum in the force, sort of crunchy and guttural, but not unpleasant. He stops the speeder in the blazing white light of late afternoon and cocks his montrals, the physical sensation helping him mentally triangulate the noise. It’s constant, steady drone, like she’s meditating.  Or asleep.  Either way, a sensible thing to be doing in this disgusting heat.  Maybe she does have promise.

The bounty hunter’s guild membership is a convenient source of income, but more than that, it’s an excuse to stick his nose into whatever business the Force demands.  Need to get into a secure building? It’s fine to put his boot through a window, he’s after a mark!  Need to make some dubious contacts to keep himself appraised of the movements of his fellow force-users?  People are much more willing to wag tongues about criminal gossip for some coin than snoop on the Sith, but the relevant details are the same.

And now, when he was trekking into the desert after a teenager- he’s just doing some public service, and certainly not looking for an enraged force-user to take as an apprentice!  Besides, if she wasn’t up to snuff, he could always turn her in for the money. 

He drives on deeper into the thrum, and eventually spots her location- a grove of massive cacti in a small, depressed ditch.  If there is water anywhere out here, its in there.  Honestly, did nobody know how to conduct a search these days?

About 100 feet front he grove, he stops, and listens.  The thrum is much louder now, but he can’t pick out a specific point of origin inside the grove, which is… peculiar. He hopped down and instantly, the thrum ceased.

“Oh, so you do have some wits about you!”  he laughed, strolling closer, hands up and saber tucked behind him, hidden by his coat. “Hey, hey- no reason to panic, I’m just a… well, you and I- we’d be kin, after a fashion.”

No response.  No scuttling through the underbrush, no tension from nerves. Cool as a cumcuber fruit, watching him.

“Well, maybe not Kin. I’ve heard all about the bastards that you got stuck with for a family. Most of the galaxy has now!” He shrugged, stepping into the shade of the outermost cacti and squinting into the grove. “They didn’t understand, did they?  The connection, the POWER that flows through you- it scared them!  And honestly, I can’t blame them, if half of what I’ve read about how you blew up a house is true, why, you’d give some of the elders of my sect a run for their money.”

He can feel her gaze on him, taking in every minute movement. No particular direction, almost as though she were circling him. Good, good!  She wouldn’t have lasted long if she was completely without talent, of course.  Still, let her circle.  Let her come to me. 

“My parents never understood either.” He sighed, strolling deeper into the grove. “Always insisting that I was breaking things on purpose, that I was being cruel by telling the truth-  but why shouldn’t I?  They always said ‘Honesty Is The Best Policy’!”  He laughed.

“But my Master?  He understood. He understood how big and cruel the galaxy can be, especially for people like us. And it’s not wrong for us to defend ourselves!  I’ve got just as much right to exist as a vrelt or a tooka!  They can’t make people understand growling, so it’s not wrong for them to bite! So what if I had to resort to force when they couldn’t be made to understand?”  He laughed, stopping near the center of the grove.  It wasn’t that easy to hide in- the cacti didn’t branch much, and the scub wasn’t that dense. She has to be using the shadows, or keeping her nerve to stay perfectly still and pass herself off as a rock.

“..I suppose it’s fair for you to be cautious.”  he nodded, reaching into the pockets of his coat. “I mean, the galaxy is full of hucksters and con-artists that think they know what’s best.  I won’t pretend that I do, but I know what it’s like to suffer for having a connection like we do.  And well, like how I was taken in, I should return the favor to those in need.”  He pulled out a bottle of clean water- still cold even!- and a protein bar. 

“Here, a token of my goodwill!” he said, tossing them into the scrub. “I’ll be in the speeder when you’re ready to talk.”  he waved, strolling back towards the rental.

“...You have The Force too?”  She asked. 

He stopped, and couldn’t help grinning a bit. He squinted at where he thought the sound had come from, but only found a plain cactus, and no sign of the frail little girl from the posters.

“That’s right!” He nodded. “That’s how I knew where to find you- belongs like us, we’re all connected.”  He explained, tapping his forehead and sitting down on the ground, lekku dragging a bit on the dirt.  The circling sensation was back, but he definitely had her interest now. He expanded his perceptions- ah, there it was- she wouldn’t know how to shield yet, of course and he could feel the head-tilting sensation of confusion.

“...Do some people have more Force than others?”  she asked, on his other side now. 

“Yep!”  He laughed. “Good trick, throwing your voice like that!  But yes, there’s a huge variation in the capacity people like us have in the force.  Don’t worry-  it took me years of training to get like this, but with practice-”

A sharp chortle of amusement rang through the grove. 

“...What’s so funny?”  He asked. 

“Years Of Training, you say?”  She snickered, and he felt the scales on the back of his neck prickle. He could feel her, close, and moving now, stalking and coiling like a carnivore, but he still didn’t know WHERE-

He was suddenly struck with a vision of himself- sitting, lanky and small, laughably small from her perspective. All the weapons on his person were highlighted, including a dark red throb of the Kyber Crystal in his saber, along with the ache in his back and knees, and the tinnitus in his left montral and his name and his master’s name and- and-

“SHIT!”  he snarled, instantly on his feet and glaring up at the tops of the Cacti, lightsaber thrumming in his hand. “Rude little bitch, aren’t you?  Sneaking into people’s heads without their permission!” he scolded.

Another amused chuckle. “Better a bitch than a braggart.”  she gave the impression of a shrug. “Because I know exactly where and what you are, but you-”

He felt something around his ankles. Midnight violet tendrils, like stalks of mycelium sprouted from the ground and wrapped around his legs. He flipped the saber around in his hand, plunging it into the ground-

“-Don’t even know where to look.”  She finished and suddenly the cacti all fell inwards on top of him, as the tendrils yanked down, and he was pulled under the sand, choking and flailing.

He could see her now and-

Oh.

Oh FORCE.

She felt like she’d been all around him because she HAD. She was the cacti and the root system that spanned the grove and dug deep into the underground river system, and hell, even the river itself. Any resemblance to a humanoid form was gone, she was now a companion shadow to the environment around her, a branching form more like a plant or subterranean fungus than anything else.

You were right of course, to head to the only source of water.  She conceded, and he felt his skull figuratively pop open like a pocket filing wallet, and the midnight tendrils rifle through his memories with a vague disinterest. But you didn’t know that most of a river is underground, did you?  I don’t think any rational search party would have guessed how I’ve been traveling, really-

So, a Sith with a day job? That’s… He felt the mycelium of her body wince in the soil around him as he began to choke on the sand. Pretty embarrassing, actually.  But, you’re right, money makes the galaxy go ‘round…  memories of The Guild application process, how he’d modified his ID card, His Master back on Korriban, the disciplines of the order, assembling his lightsaber-

His lightsaber!  

He swung through the dirt and she flinched away from the blade.

“Well, if you’re going to be like that, I’m going to leave.”  she laughed, a mouth forming and unforming from the mycelium ad hoc, and she withdrew from around him.  He clawed furiously, reaching up with the force, pulling himself awkwardly up out of the soil, spitting and howling curses as he tried to untangle himself from the roots and the pile of toppled cacti over him-

“So long, and thanks for all the snacks!”  She called and he turned-

…to see the yellow rental speeder flooring it into the distance.

He patted his coat and realized that the speeder keys, his wallet, and lightsaber were all missing. 

Oh.

Oh fuck. 

She was too far to reach now, but he could still feel the crystal in his lightsaber, calling out to them.  It’s fine, all I have to do was trust in the force and follow the crystal-  She doesn’t know what its capable of-

-

She set cruise control at just under the speed that made the cheap speeder shudder like it was about to fall apart, and leaned back in the driver’s seat, taking a swig from the water bottle and unscrewed the bottom of the lightsaber.

It was a simple enough device really- a small rechargeable battery that fed energy into the crystal, which was focused through a series of lenses and a magnetic field to create a looping blade of plasma.  Basically a more refined version of a Plasma Chainsaw, with a magic rock for a laser. 

The magic rock pulsed.

She blinked at it. 

It was a pretty thing, the color of really expensive rubies or fresh blood, and sparkled more than either. Not with sunlight. With… Potential.

There was a lot of power in her, and this would let her focus it, to carve the world around her as she saw fit, to conquer all that tormented her-  Visions danced, of her on a throne, the dismembered bodies of the doctors and orderlies and her mother at her feet-

“Nah.” She laughed, tossing it over her shoulder and out of the speeder. “I don’t want conquest or to cut throats or whatever.”

“I mean, I do.” She admitted. “I absolutely did fantasize about killing her, more than a few times, just to shut her up.  But that’d just leave Sis and The Baby without a parent that genuinely cares for them, and they never did a thing to me.” She shrugged. “It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s not what I want.”

Then what? The natural question followed. I really do have unlimited potential. What Do I Want?

She stared at the shimmering horizon in silence for a while, not so much thinking as listening.

“I want.” She started and paused. “I want to be happy.”

“It’s been a relief, to be away from all the doctors and eggshells, and to be the shapes I want.” She nodded. “But that’s not quite the same as happy.”

“It’s boring too.” She added. “Cacti are all fine and good, but hardly good conversationalists. I want-”  

“I’m lonely.  And sad, and scared about a lot of stuff.” She admitted, and the truth sat uncomfortably on her breast, but it was better than where it had been sitting inside her, aching, before. 

“I want a friend.”

She paused, having picked up a thread in the force.  A thin one, feeling like only the finest spun fiber, barely tying her to-

She saw the Apprentice from the documentary again, babbling excitedly about learning about how to conduct diplomacy and the the ins and outs of negotiation, and all the people she was going to meet, and the places she’d see and-

“She looks like she’d be fun to talk with.”  She mused.

----

Philosopher Ogg got thrown through a window for arguing with Platocca, but was really the ultimate winner because centuries later, when an excitable and somewhat high-strung Jedi Apprentice got up from her afternoon meditations and saw her shadow finish stretching a full two seconds after she did, she did not write it off as a trick of the light or still being groggy from a meditation session that had accidentally turned into an unplanned nap. 

She also, in a demonstration of what an early start learning  self-control in an emotionally supportive environment could do for someone, did not immediately panic.

“Alright.” She said, watching her shadow where it stood obediently against the wall in the reflection of the window. “Next we have Saber Practice, and then Rhetoric and then it’s dinner,” She listed off to nobody in particular. The ‘Royal’ We’ they used to call it. Very handy when you couldn’t specify exactly who or what you were talking to. 

She walked down the hall, watching her shadow in reflections and when it skipped ahead of her as she turned down the halls, keeping a close eye on when it actually met up with her feet as she walked. It was close, within the margin of error between the complex shadows cast by the architecture of the temple and the shadows of other Jedi but…

When she finally stopped at her place in the lineup to do katas, she could swear she heard herself take another step.

“You seem distracted today, young one.” The saber master frowned as she missed her thrust for the third time that day.

“I-  yes, sorry master.” she bowed her head. “It’s going to sound bizarre, but- I don’t know.  Does my shadow look weird?”

The master stared at her blankly for a second, then turned his attention to her shadow, which lay on the floor beside her in the expected fashion.

“...No.”  He spoke slowly, running his chin with concern. “But that’s my perspective.  How does it look to you?”

“Like it’s- lagging? Not quite doing what I am-  I stretch, but it stretches for longer. I walk, and it does too, but with a different gait. It’s not much but- I suppose it could be a problem with my peripheral vision? I have been having a lot of migraines lately.”

“Hm.” He nodded. “Well. I do not see any evidence of your shadow behaving in any abnormal way, but you should tell your master and perhaps make an appointment with the ophthalmologist.  I promise to tell you if I do see anything out of the ordinary, though.”  He smiled gently.

“Thank you master.” She nodded, shoulders drooping a bit. It was, most likely, a trick of the light or her eyes, but it was nice to have an additional perspective. 

Her next thrust landed perfectly. 

-

Her shadow was largely out of her line of sight during rhetoric, mostly cast under the desk behind her, and it was easier to focus, but there was the nagging sensation that the usually-empty seat beside her was occupied with someone who kept fidgeting and straining to hear the lecture. 

“You okay?”  her friend asked, taking her hand as they left class together. “You seem really tense.”

“I don’t know.” the apprentice sighed. “I think I might have a problem with my peripheral vision.  I keep seeing my shadow flicker or think there’s someone standing-”  She stuck out her free arm  and waved it in the air beside her.

“Ick.” Nodded her friend. “Yeah, that’d drive me right up the wall. Hopefully you only need glasses or something?”

“Ugh, glasses.” the Apprentice rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure which would drive me crazier- having to clean the lenses constantly just to be able to see or actually being haunted!”

They laughed, and walked together toward the cafeteria.

“So your master’s away?”  her friend asked grabbing trays for both of them.

“Yeah, Mirial, so you understand why the council sent an all-male contingent to the negotiations there.”  She nodded, grabbing a pair of allpes fruits. “He’s actually probably back by now but messaged me earlier that he’d been up for three days straight so to finish classes as normal and go see friends if I wanted because he’s going to have the mental faculties of a sofa for a few hours once he lands.”

“Oh nooooo-” her friend giggled. “You don’t worry about him?”

The Apprentice shrugged. “I mean, a bit? But this is pretty normal for him- he’s like a loth-cat, slinks away and hides when he’s not well, but he’ll call if he’s in real trouble. Still, I think I’ll finish dinner here and go back to our rooms, I’ve got so much reading to catch up on-”

It was good to talk and catch up on all the gossip for an hour- She’d been one of the first of her class to be picked for an apprenticeship and as much fun as her new freedoms and responsibilities really were, she sometimes missed the camaraderie of the creche. There were the expected interrogations about off-planet missions and OH FORCE THE PADDWORK and learning one-on-one and the splitting of responsibilities between master and apprentice. 

“It’s pretty normal that you don’t go on all the missions early on, I know.” She sighed. “But I did miss him this week.  The rooms are too quiet without him taking random calls or doing the dishes at weird hours, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s weird not having you snoring at night.” her crechmate  nodded, grinning.

“I DO NOT SNORE”!” she yelped, mock-threatening to throw the spare piece of fruit at him. 

“We’re kidding!  You whistle a bit, at most.” he friend patted her shoulder affectionately. “Besides, if you get really lonely, you’ve got your little peripheral vision fairy for company!”

The Apprentice rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help a surreptitious glance at her shadow.

“Your WHAT?”  her crechemate asked.

“I think I’ve got something wrong with my peripheral vision, and it’s faking me out into thinking my shadow is misbehaving or I’m being followed by some sort of sprite that hates rhetoric class.” She shrugged, waving at her shadow, and it waved along with her. “It only gets more boring- tomorrow is Economics, so you should go haunt someone more exciting.” She told it.

“UUUUGH that sounds so annoying!”  her crechmate groaned.

“I don’t know- I suppose it’s not so annoying if I think of it as an invisible friend or something.” The apprentice laughed, and her comm beeped.

>I have returned safely to the bosom of the temple once more.  Wretched migraine, grab me a snack? XD

She snorted and showed her friends the message.

“He texts like such an old fart!”  her friend giggled. “I thought he was like, really young?”

“He’s only a decade older than me, so practically a kid for a Knight, but damn good at it.” She nodded. “He’s Accumulated Great Wisdom For His Years!”  she said in her best esoteric philosopher voice. “So he’s the galaxy’s youngest old fart.”

Her friends cackled as she got up, pocketing the fruit and a few snack bars for him, before waving her goodbyes.

He was curled in bed with a pillow over his head to block the light and noise when she came in, but rolled over and reached out towards her anyway.  Her shadow stretched all the way across the room and onto the wall his bed was pushed against in the slice of yellow-orange light cast through the doorway, like the spectre had already joined her master. 

“Hello Master.”  She smiled, sitting on the bed beside him and pressing a juice pouch into his hand. “I missed you.”

“-and I you.” he replied, slowly sitting up and squinting at the pouch an inch from his face. “Melloon!  You remembered my favorite flavor!” he beamed. 

“You’ll read with less headache with your glasses.” She sighed, handing the small device to him and watching as he unfolded them and blinked, large dark eyes now appearing twice as large through the prescription lenses.  “...How did you know you needed glasses?”  She asked as he fiddled with the straw, trying to puncture the pouch.

“Couldn’t see shit.” He grunted. “Well, actually, it was when I couldn’t distinguish the letters on the board back in my very first formal classes. I’ve had them longer than I’ve been able to read.”  he said, taking a long sip. “...Why?”

“I’ve- all day my shadow’s looked weird.”

He paused, face still scrunched in discomfort. “...shadows in general, or your shadow specifically?”

“-” She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. “-just mine, actually.  And I thought I could hear someone walking behind me, and all rhetoric class I had the impression someone was sitting next to me-”

Her master was suddenly sitting all the way upright, staring at her with rapt attention.  She winced.

“It’s alright.” he soothed, hand on her shoulder. “But please, tell me everything.”

She sighed, slowly recounting- the way her shadow seemed to lag or not quite match her, the ongoing headaches, the sensation that “-I don’t know, like someone’s standing beside me? I mean, I absolutely could be working myself up over nothing-”

“If it’s bothering you this much, it’s not nothing.” her master nodded, still watching her face. “Even if it’s just a flicker brought on by growing pains, it’s not nothing. What was the first lesson you were ever taught?”

“...Trust your instincts?” She tried,

“Trust your instincts.” He nodded, smiling gently. “...Without looking at your shadow-  do you have an impression of what this… companion looks like? Are they tall, short? A sapient being? Or maybe an animal?”

“They’re uh…” She unfocused her eyes, concentrating on the sensation of the person that had been beside her all day. “-They’re… A girl, like me, my age- not me though, she’s… thinner. A little frail maybe? Skittish- no, that’s not right.  Like she’s hanging back.  Not sure when to come into the conversation kind of awkwardness?  And thirsty. Like, dehydrated.”

“Alright.” Her master nodded. His voice had shifted, like he’d sat up more and closer to her. “Anything else?  Do you know what she looks like?  Has she said anything?”

“No.” The Apprentice shook her head. “Quiet. Listening, but not having an easy time of it.  Keeps fidgeting. She-  she has a shape, but it keeps changing. Like- sometimes people don’t know who they are, like they have blurry edges around their sense of self?  She’s got really sharp edges of what is and is not her, but those edges are always moving.  The eyes are the same though. Intense focus, and an eyeshine, like an animal.”  She started to tremble at the feeling of that terrible gaze fixed on her.

Her master shifted his weight, gently wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to lean into his shoulder. 

“...I’ve seen her before.”  the Apprentice realized. “I don’t know where but. I remember those eyes, staring right through me.  Something-  something terrible happened…”

“I’m sorry.” a voice whispered. 

Her head snapped up, staring at the shadow on the wall on the other side of the bed- it had changed- still the same size as her, but they sure as hell weren’t the same species and a pair of holes in the shadow, in the shape and location of her eyes, still staring.  The shadow flinched and the Apprentice’s heart race, but, gazes locked, neither could move.

Visions- the brilliant night sky of the desert, electrodes on her temples, a map tracing the route of a subterranean river, a wound (and the knowledge she’d caused it), the furious screaming of a bounty hunter who had meant her some malice- arced across their connection like lighting.  And visions from her mind- The flowers carved and painted into the bunk bed posts at her creche, the buzz of a training saber, the warp of her Master’s prescription glasses, the weight of his arm across her back- arced back.

“You!” She gasped.  “You’re the girl who- who-” She gasped, tears flowing but she refused to blink, if she blinked she’d be gone-

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!!!”  She yelped and whimpered, unable to pull back from their connection, fear and despair and-

“It’s alright.” her Master’s voice settled over them like a thick blanket, and he reached out, touching the shadow’s shoulder, fingers curling around it as she seemed to peel off the wall, in three dimensions now, and became her own being, still a shadowy echo, but herself and not the Apprentice’s shadow. “It’s all alright.”

He pulled her closer, translucent form still trembling, until the Apprentice couldn’t hold it back and blinked, throwing herself at the other girl, wrapping her arms around her strange not-doppelganger, and sobbing- “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have-  that wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair-”

The shadow screamed, hugging her back and clinging to both of them, smoke-like fingers digging into her robes and hair. 

“By The Force.”  her master whispered. “Oh no, oh dear-” He stroked their backs as the girls cried in his lap.  The shadow girl began to flicker, and his apprentice grabbed at her, trying to keep her with them.

“I- I can’t stay- please- please!”  She wailed.

“We will find you.”  The Master promised, voice heavy with the seriousness of his pledge. “I don’t care how far we have to go or how long it takes, we will find you.” he promised, clutching the girls close in an embrace, the shadow-girl trying to cling to him hard enough that her fingers drew blood on the side of his face and across the back of his apprentice’s neck, before she succumbed to whatever was pulling her away from them.

The apprentice continued to sob as their connection faded, her Master still holding her.

“...I need to speak to the council about this, and fast.” he spoke, voice still grave. “That- If she was doing what I think she was, he is an immensely powerful force-user.”  He swallowed hard, hands trembling. “-A very dangerous thing to be in this galaxy, especially alone.  She could fall prey to all sorts with ill intentions…”

-

She woke up, screaming and clawing at the cheap third-class cabin mattress pad, sobbing, and could only lay there for a second, whimpering and pawing at the blanket that a moment ago had been a robe-

“So uh.” a voice spoke up from the other side of the cabin, pausing to clear his throat. 

She looked up realizing she’d gone from a plausibly-normal-but-uncommon humanoid to something three times her regular size with horns, long thrashing tail and covered in spines in her sleep. Pressed firmly to the far wall was the tiny cabin’s other occupant, a man that was actually probably not that old, but looked like he had gone through the garburator of life without the sink running, judging by scars covering his torso and his cautious but strangely calm demeanor as he slowly stood up from where he’d been taking cover behind his mattress, which was now covered with spines.

“-Do you usually sleep-shapeshift?”  he asked. “Because if that’s the case we’re gonna need to ask the steward for a lot more bedding.”

“...I was having a nightmare.” She croaked awkwardly, slowly collapsing back to her previous humanoid shape.

He nodded slowly, shaking the spines out of his mattress as they shrank along with her and setting it back on his bunk, opposite hers.

“Not to be entirely self-interested, but that’s an unusual talent you have there, and something I would find immensely helpful in my line of work.” he said, studying her with interest. “Ever considered getting into crime?”

[inawickedlittletown]

You Can Always Find Me Where the Skies are Blue (BuckTommy fic) - 1/4

Summary:

Soulmates are rare. So rare that it's actually incredible that Buck has two soulmate couples in his life. Statistics tell him it's very unlikely for him to meet his soulmate. Of course, then he meets Tommy. Too bad it happens at the worst possible moment.

Canon compliant soulmate AU where Buck is still a mess and Tommy is still very understanding.

Words: 4,378

Ao3

-

Part One

The truth was that Buck never quite got an understanding for how the whole soulmate thing worked. His parents were soulmates which was strange to think about considering his childhood, but then Buck hadn’t known about the older brother he’d been born to save, the one he’d failed to save. 

From what he’d learned in school, soulmates had been more common in the past. They said it was something to do with population growth or something about cultural life experience and technology. 

There was a lot of research on why soulmates had dwindled, but no one had concrete answers. There was some kind of database where soulmates had to register. So while it wasn’t impossible to find a couple that were actually soulmates, more often than not people settled down with someone that wasn’t their soulmate. A lot of them were happy. 

Buck thought that one day, it would seem like some kind of myth. Instead of viewing Aristophanes’ speech in Plato’s symposium as an explanation, it would become legend. It would no longer be an early explanation of soulmates. It would be like Plato’s allegory of the cave, a thing to consider without real life application. 

And so, before Buck had even reached the age of eighteen, he was sure that he would never find his soulmate. He wasn’t resigned to it, he just knew enough about statistics and probability. Most people wouldn’t meet their soulmate. It was just how math worked. 

When he joined the 118, he couldn’t deny that a part of him had been surprised when he learned that Hen was married to her soulmate. He’d asked so many questions that Hen had eventually banned him from continuing to ask. 

It hadn’t stopped Buck from thinking that it was amazing. More surprising was his sister and Chim and how Buck had missed the whole thing even though he was the one to introduce them. That whole thing had made Buck well aware that even among soulmates things could be complicated. 

So, when Buck followed behind Chim and Eddie onto the tarmac of LAFD Harbor station air operations, the worry in his gut growing and growing the more he thought about Bobby and Athena being unreachable and Hen being correct about the need to go out and rescue them, he didn’t expect to meet his soulmate. 

In the books, it never described what it was like. It only said that you would know it if it happened to you. The book was right. 

Buck knew it the moment their eyes met. 

It was the world snapping to focus, narrowing down on that person and saying: “this one is for you”. It was a feeling in his gut. Tommy Kinard missed a step and as for Buck, he froze on the spot. What felt like minutes translated to seconds, but it was enough for them to both know. 

They were soulmates. 

Chim was explaining, expanding on what he’d said to Tommy over the phone as their uber driver drove them to Harbor. Tommy was nodding, but his eyes were on Buck and Buck couldn’t look away from him either. 

It was only when Tommy looked away that Buck dropped his eyes from Tommy. He tried to shake it off, remembering why they had faked stomach issues and left in the middle of a call. Yes, he might have found his soulmate, but it wasn’t the time or place. Of course, what they were about to do was verging on stupid and reckless…but if Hen was right — and she most likely was — then they had to and Buck couldn’t complicate matters because their pilot turned out to be his soulmate. 

He could tell that Tommy seemed to have decided the same from how quickly he began directing them to a helicopter.

“Thanks again, Tommy,” Chim said. “We’ll for sure owe you one. Collect from any of us.”

“That would require I know who exactly I’m allowing onto my helicopter,” Tommy said. 

Eddie stepped forward first, hand out to shake Tommy’s. “Eddie Diaz,” he said.

“I’m Evan Buckley,” Buck said, and he knew his voice was shaky. 

None of them noticed because it seemed that Hen had arrived. Tommy’s hand touched Buck’s shoulder. “Get situated. I’ll get Hen.”

His shoulder felt warm, it was in Buck’s head, but still it lingered even as he climbed in first. He took a few breaths to center himself. They would have time to deal with it later. He had to focus on that. By the time they were in the air, that got a little easier. When Tommy mentioned that they might all die, Buck felt the loss of what he’d just found and he wanted to scream. In a way, it also made perfect sense for his life. Of course he would meet his soulmate, get into a life or death situation, and perish. 

When they found the capsized cruise ship, he almost felt relieved, followed by the fear of what they would find once they got down there. Bobby and Athena had to be alright, they just had to be. 

Focusing on the work kept him from thinking about Tommy and about everything that came with it because there were so many layers to get through. It was a while before Bobby, the kid, and Eddie had climbed into the back of the helicopter, leaving Buck to sit up front. 

Tommy glanced at him right as he settled himself in and he smiled a smile that scrunched up his nose and the corners of his eyes. Buck shouldn’t have found it so endearing, then again, this was his soulmate. Buck smiled back and he wanted nothing more than to bring it up, to confirm with Tommy what they both knew to be true. He couldn’t, though. He didn’t want to do it over the open channel. So, instead, he turned away, admiring the clear blue skies and the water below. It was as if the storm they flew into hadn’t been there at all. When he looked back at Tommy again, it was even harder to look away, but he forced himself to when the helicopter touched down on the ship. 

His mind couldn’t quite wrap around it. He had a soulmate. He, Evan Buckley had a soulmate and he’d met him. Him. His soulmate was a dude. A man. It was hitting him secondary to the initial thing, that he had a soulmate at all. 

Same sex soulmates were a normal thing, Buck knew, it was just that in most instances soulmates were romantic and Buck wasn’t gay. He loved women. He slept with women. He was attracted to women. 

Bobby walked ahead of them and Buck heard Hen calling out to Athena. Buck stopped to watch as Bobby and Athena ran into each other’s arms and he was caught up in the moment. He hadn’t gotten a lot of time with Athena when Tommy first landed the helicopter on the capsized ship, but he’d seen her worry for Bobby. That was the devotion and love that Buck wanted…what he’d been searching for and failing to find for years. 

Athena and Bobby weren’t even soulmates, though they may as well be. They had always given Buck hope that he could be happy without a soulmate…but now he’d found his soulmate. Tommy. 

Eddie was next to him, but Buck was a little more focused on Tommy approaching. It all still felt like the wrong place or time and as Eddie headed towards the other side of the ship, leaving them seemingly alone, Buck had no idea what to do. Slowly, he turned to look at Tommy. Tommy was smiling wide. He looked beautiful. Buck didn’t think he’d ever thought that about a dude before and yet it was true. Their shared look was enough to confirm what Buck already knew. 

“You’re—” Buck managed to get out, his throat closing in on the word. 

“Yeah…we are,” Tommy said. His eyes were shining. 

Buck’s mind went blank, words and thoughts jumbled up in a way that had never happened before. Tommy seemed if not similarly affected, then willing to wait for Buck to be the first to say something. Buck also realized that he didn’t mind just losing himself in staring at Tommy. 

He only looked away when Eddie was back, bumping into his shoulder and delivering a bottle of water to him and Tommy each, entirely oblivious to what was going on between them. Buck’s hands shook as he opened the bottle, but he was grateful and drank almost all of it in one go. 

Eddie was talking about their ETA back to LA when Chim appeared at Tommy’s side. 

“Can’t thank you enough, man,” he said, clapping Tommy on the shoulder. 

Tommy laughed. “I’m always a call away, Howie. But, thank you…I really…thank you.” 

Chim just shook his head, but Tommy’s eyes were on Buck and Buck inhaled a breath. He’d have to thank Chim too, eventually. It wasn’t lost on him that he had introduced Chin to his soulmate and that Chim had now introduced Buck to his. 

Bobby and Athena approached, arms still around each other. They looked exhausted, but happy. 

“I was so glad to see you two,” Bobby said, directed at Buck and Eddie. Then, he turned towards Tommy. “And you…thank you, for helping these guys out.” 

Bobby reached out a hand and Tommy grasped it and Buck could tell he was shocked by Bobby pulling him into a quick but meaningful hug. Athena for her part just pat Tommy’s shoulder. 

It should have bothered Buck that he had yet to have a single moment alone with his soulmate, but he liked having him there among his family. They would talk about it, figure out what it meant later. It gave Buck a bit of time to think, too. He had a soulmate. His soulmate was a man. His soulmate was Tommy, a ridiculously impressive LAFD pilot. 

Buck was an ally. He always put a rainbow up on his social media in June. He’d gone to a few pride parades since living in LA. He’d never dated a guy before, though, never even thought that it was a possibility for him. Looking at Tommy, he wondered if Tommy had known that men were an option for him. All that Buck really knew about the guy was that he’d been with the 118 as far back as when Chim had become a firefighter and that he hadn’t stayed too long after Bobby took over as Captain. 

Maybe they were meant to be platonic…have some deep understanding about each other that no one else could ever comprehend. A little like he and Eddie, maybe. That wouldn’t be too bad. 

He stole glances of Tommy as Bobby and Athena started to tell them exactly what had gone down even before the hurricane. Buck was having a hard time focusing, but the few things he caught did make it seem like it had been far more eventful than any cruise had a right to be. 

He couldn’t deny that Tommy was attractive. He was tall and his arms were kind of huge. Tommy’s attention was wholly on Athena and Bobby, eyebrows a bit furrowed as Bobby explained how it had felt when the ship capsized. Buck’s attention was on the way Tommy’s mouth moved as if out of surprise for what Bobby had just said. His attention was drawn to Tommy’s storm colored eyes and on the slight curl of his hair. 

“I wish you had been there to see him, Buck,” Athena said. 

Buck refocused. Eyes reluctantly going to Athena. 

“Well, if Buck had been there, he would have been the one doing that climb,” Bobby said. “I’m going to be sore for days.” 

“I don’t think that’s the only reason,” Athena said. 

Tommy was called away before Buck could find a reason to explain wanting to talk to him on his own and then the next time he saw him, he was saying a quick goodbye and heading back to the helicopter. Buck watched him as he took off and wished that somehow he’d had a reason to go with him. 

“Cool guy,” Eddie said. 

“Yeah,” Buck said and he knew he sounded awestruck. 

—

Tommy had known from the moment he saw him. 

When his phone rang and Howie’s name appeared, Tommy had sort of known that Chim probably wanted something from him. It was why he called at all these days, but Tommy didn’t mind. He wasn’t wrong and as Chim explained something about Hen having a hunch and how she was probably gonna not pull off whatever she was thinking she was doing, Tommy had already mostly agreed to help. After all, Chim did save his life and he had a lot of respect for Hen too. 

Then, Chim arrived with two firefighters in tow. They both looked the part, strong and sturdy kind of guys. Attractive, though Tommy tried not to notice that type of thing while at work and most definitely about colleagues. It wasn’t until they had gotten nearer that Tommy got a better look at them, a better look at his soulmate. 

Tommy had never known that he would ever replicate the feeling of flying while on solid ground, but if asked to describe it later, that was what it felt like when his eyes landed on his soulmate right before he paused mid-step and almost lost his balance. He didn’t even know his name. 

Chim was giving him a more in depth explanation about the cruise ship and storm and Hen’s part in it, but while Tommy could hear him, he couldn’t process the information. He led them to the helicopter, glad it was already out on the tarmac and that it had been refueled just a few hours earlier. 

“Thanks again, Tommy,” Chim said. “We’ll for sure owe you one. Collect from any of us.”

“That would require I knew who exactly I was allowing onto my helicopter,” Tommy said, sure that if he didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t get to know his soulmate’s name. 

“Eddie Diaz,” the one that wasn’t his soulmate said, reaching his hand out for Tommy to shake.

“I’m Evan Buckley.”

Evan. Tommy repeated it inside his head. Evan. 

They didn’t shake hands like he and Eddie had, and Tommy had heard how shaky his voice sounded. He also didn’t miss the slight pink on Evan’s cheeks.  It was horrible timing. He could see the shock and awe in Evan’s face, but it was going to have to wait. So Tommy did the thing where he pushed aside the personal to focus on his job. He got Hen to the helicopter where the others were already stashed and then they were in the air. 

Tommy had been flying for so long that his focus didn’t need to be on it 100% of the time. It let him linger on the moment from earlier, what it had been like to see Evan Buckley for the very first time. He held onto that moment as they flew, even as he realized that what they were doing verged more on the dangerous and reckless side than anything he’d ever done. He had to get them through it, even when he had to make awful fake static noises at the chief and ignore his orders to get back to Harbor. 

In the end, it all worked out. 

They found the cruise ship and they were lucky they did, none of them talked about how easy it would have been for them to miss it. It was hours of work after that, not that Tommy minded. Eventually, he made a final trip to pick up Bobby, the kid he’d rescued, and Eddie and Evan. 

Evan wound up up front and maybe it was presumptuous to think about how good Evan looked right there at his side. Tommy hoped it would happen again and soon. With the skies having cleared up, the sun shone through and in the moments that Tommy allowed himself to take Evan in, there was no denying how gorgeous this boy was especially when the light hit him just right. 

With everything going on, they didn’t get more than a small moment to acknowledge it once they were on the ship and Tommy felt warm because it was real. He had a soulmate. 

It wasn’t until he was back at Harbor that he realized he hadn’t exchanged numbers with Evan — not that it was a big deal. He’d just have to call Chim. Yet, as much as there was an urgency, Tommy was still at work and he still had to write up a report about the night and explain to his Captain exactly what had gone down before he could finally end his shift. 

He texted Chim as he walked to his car almost an hour later, but got no response. When his phone did start vibrating, it was an unknown number. He picked up at once, heart in his throat because it had to be Evan. 

“Hello,” he said and hoped he sounded normal. 

“Hey, Tommy, it’s Eddie.”

He tried not to be disappointed, but of course he was. It was nothing against Eddie…it was just that he wanted to hear from Evan. 

“Got your number from Chim. I hope it’s okay I’m calling. I was just wondering if you’d want to meet up sometime,” Eddie said. 

For one very strange moment, Tommy wondered if Eddie was trying to ask him out. He probably had no idea that he and Evan were soulmates and…but, no, he didn’t think that Eddie had seemed interested in him like that. Tommy did wonder if it would be rude to ask Eddie for Evan’s number. He missed something that Eddie said, but caught:

“....drinks or something. Maybe as a thank you for helping us get to Bobby and Athena.” 

“Uh, sure,” Tommy said. 

“Cool. Cool. How about later tonight?” 

Tommy wasn’t great at saying no to things. He also had no reason to put Eddie off. “Yeah…yeah that sounds good. And if you want to invite anyone else from the 118 that’d be great.” 

Eddie chuckled. “I think they’re all pretty beat. It might just be us two, unless you want to bring along a friend or something.” 

Tommy wanted to ask about Evan. He wanted nothing more than to beg Eddie to bring Evan along. Knew if he did he would be giving away what they were or even just his interest in Evan. He couldn’t do that. 

“I’ll text you when and where,” Eddie said. “Just gotta secure a babysitter.”

“Okay,” Tommy said. “Sounds good.” 

Chim still hadn’t answered. Tommy texted Hen next. No response. Maybe it would be Eddie that would give him Evan’s number…Tommy would just have to show up for that hang out and get the number out of Eddie. Or maybe, Evan would call him first. He hadn’t known that this was going to be complicated and actually it kind of wasn’t, it was that he was impatient. 

Tommy managed a nap out of sheer exhaustion. He’d learned a long time ago how to sleep almost anywhere, which didn’t change that sometimes he just couldn’t sleep. Yet, despite not having contact with Evan, there was peace in knowing he was out there and knowing that he was his soulmate. 

Evan didn’t call. Chim and Hen didn’t respond. Eddie texted him the name of a bar that Tommy knew well. Some of the guys from Harbor liked going there to play pool. They also had Karaoke night every Wednesday night and trivia on Thursdays. Maybe he knew a little bit too much about that bar. So, he texted back a thumbs up and got ready to meet up with Eddie. Eddie was already at the bar when he arrived, a beer in front of him while he made small talk with the bartender. He looked relaxed, in a way that Tommy almost hadn’t expected him to be. 

“Hey!” Eddie threw out. “Glad you made it.”

He took the stool next to Eddie, ordering a beer and then turning to him. “How’s it going? I was surprised to get your call.”

Eddie smiled easily. “Well after Buck turned me down for drinks, I thought maybe you were like me and needed this a bit after everything.”

He usually didn’t. Not that it wasn’t welcome. The bartender passed him his beer. 

“Evan turned you down?” Tommy asked.

“Uh…yeah, guess he was really tired.”

“Right,” Tommy said. “It was a long night.”

A longer night than Eddie knew. Tommy took a gulp of his beer and tried to figure out a way for him to keep the conversation on Buck…Evan. He was Evan to Tommy especially knowing that everyone else seemed to use the nickname. 

“Well Bobby is kind of like a father to Buck, so even though he didn’t show it…he was really worried.”

“Oh,” Tommy said. “It’s actually like a family over there.”

“You could say that,” Eddie said with a smile. “I guess it wasn’t that when you were at the 118?”

“Farthest thing from it,” Tommy said. “I guess I left right before things changed.”

He had never once regretted leaving when he did. Tommy had always meant to get back in the air. It was where he was freest and the thing he missed the most after leaving the army. So, when he had completed the required years as a firefighter, Tommy had started looking for a transfer to any of the air operation stations. His experience as a pilot helped, and he’d found a place where he belonged. He felt freer than he ever had and it had allowed him a brand new start. One in which he could explore parts of himself he hadn’t ever thought he would.  

“I should say I’m sorry you missed out, but I’m sure you love what you do.” 

“I do,” Tommy said. 

If there was one thing, it was Evan. Would he have met him earlier if he stayed? Of course there was no changing the past. There was also who Tommy had been then and Tommy could admit to himself that he hadn’t been ready for a soulmate, much less Evan. 

Eddie drew the conversation in another direction. They started exchanging stories then. Stories about their time at the army which led into conversations about what it was like to return to a civilian life. It was hard, Tommy knew, to talk about it with regular people that hadn’t served and hadn’t seen the things they had. It was clear almost right away that Eddie didn’t have anyone to talk to about stuff like that. Tommy did still have a few friends from back then, but they weren’t all that close anymore. He figured it was exactly why Eddie had reached out. 

Past that, though, they had other things in common and it wasn’t that Tommy forgot about Evan — he was always there in his mind — it was that Tommy found himself having a good time with Eddie. They got talking basketball when the scores of a game were being reported on the tv, and when an ad for a MMA fight came on Eddie made a comment about how he missed going to see fights live. 

“Shift ran late when tickets went on sale,” Eddie said. “Didn’t even get a chance to try and get at them.” 

“I have tickets for this one,” Tommy said. 

“I hate you right now,” Eddie said, but he said it with a grin. 

He hadn’t bought them. A buddy of his had asked if Tommy wanted to go and then because he was a promoter, given him the two tickets. Tommy had meant to ask someone from Harbor if they wanted to go with him, but he’d forgotten. 

“Hey, you want to go with me?” 

“What? Wait, are you serious, man?” 

“Yeah. I mean, it was gonna go to waste, so why not? Fight’s in Vegas. I can probably fly us there.” 

Eddie’s grin grew wider. “Hell yeah, that sounds amazing.” 

“Yeah?” 

Eddie’s hand landed on his shoulder. “You just made my night, man. This is awesome.” 

They talked MMA fighting for a while and he could tell that Eddie had probably dabbled in it a bit. 

“So,” he said two beers in. “Is this the norm for you and Evan? Going out after a shift?” 

“When my kid allows,” Eddie said. “Half the time we’re at my house or his apartment with Chris. Marisol’s gotten used to it.” 

“Marisol?”

“My girlfriend,” Eddie said. 

“Ah. And uh, what about his…partner?”

Tommy braced himself. He hadn’t thought about the possibility that Evan would be involved with someone. It was one of those things that you heard about, people that were happily in a relationship and suddenly one of them met their soulmate. It wasn’t like most people were out there waiting for their soulmate convinced that it was something that would actually happen.

Eddie laughed. “He broke up with his last girlfriend a little while ago. She was a death doula if you can believe that’s a real thing.” 

“I can’t actually,” Tommy said. “But clearly it didn’t work out.” 

“Nope,” Eddie said. “He has the worst luck.” 

“Maybe that’s changing,” Tommy said. 

The conversation shifted again somehow and Tommy couldn’t ask more questions about Evan without giving away that he was looking for information on him. Tommy didn’t want to tell Eddie about Evan being his soulmate, not without first speaking to Evan. He did garner that Eddie and Evan were close, but despite trying several times, didn’t manage to finangle a way to ask for Evan’s phone number. 

He felt a little bit pathetic. After all, who met their soulmate — a rarity in itself — and then not insist on taking a moment to talk even in spite of the circumstances? Insist on exchanging numbers? 

By the time he made it home, a little buzzed from the beer, he realized that somehow he’d made lots of plans to hang out with Eddie and none with Evan. He was a mess.

-

Part Two

[somefanficrecomendations]

April Monthly Recap

I’m back! I took some time off to finish out the semester and get my life back in order and I’m finally able to post again. I’ve barely had time to post about fics, let alone read them, so this month’s recap is a month late. But hey, better late than never?

BATMAN

Plato's Allegory of the Batcave by hppjmxrgosg (gen), 2k, Dick Grayson Character Study “So who do you think was the angstiest Robin?” Stephanie asked. In which Dick Grayson contemplates what Robin meant to him, what it means to everyone else, and how he has to reconcile the two. OR I get my filthy hands on one (1) Dick Grayson and shake him until a character analysis falls out.

Hat Off to the Bats by dietpudding (gen), 6k, Crack Treated Seriously "I've identified a pattern in the frequency of Mad Hatter's previous breakouts. Data shows he's more likely to stay put after he scores a new hat." "Go on." Steph perks up in her seat. Now that she knows to look for it, she can easily spot the manic twink to his eye that Tim gets whenever he's about to act a little unhinged. "I like where this is going." Tim's lips twist into a mischievous grin. "How comfortable are we with ghostwriting a heist?" "Extremely comfortable," Steph replies with an equally roguish smirk.

Ad Infinitum; Modified by familiarities (twistsandturns) (gen), 8k, Time Loop Tim is hunched over his computer, bouncing between a report for B (Batman, not Bruce) and a spreadsheet for B (Bruce, not Batman) when Jason stumbles into the cave. If it weren’t for the fact that Jason had been in a somewhat good mood lately, Tim probably would have been a little more concerned about this fact. Still, it’s weird when, instead of ignoring Tim’s existence like he usually does, Jason walks over to him directly and says, “I'm in a time loop and I don't know why. Fix it."

IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio (gen), 8k, Paperwork, Humor (01:25) Red Hood: (Mild static) (Out of breath, slurred) You motherfuckers. Put some fuckin- (01:25) Batman: (Shaking) Red Hood- (01:25) Red Hood: Shut up. Put some fucking respect. On my name. Start fucking copying me. I just got thrown fucking. Um. 40 feet. Into a fucking uh. What's it. Ditch. I'm still fucking conscious. (01:25) Batman: Red Hood, do not move, we're en route- (01:25) Red Hood: What'll I win if I stand up. (01:25) Batman: (Loud) Do not stand up.

Shark Week by heartslogos  (gen), 2k, AU-Mermaid "Do you have a tail? That'd be cool." Bart says, "If you had a tail. Could we give you a sea-shell bra?"

DCU

myself and this body that they stuck me in by misspickman Superboy, (multi), 14k, Non-Binary Kon-El “Oh,” Bart says with a hint of surprise in his voice. “You look so pretty.” “I look like a girl,” he rebuts. He's not sure why he's even continuing this conversation. Bart, blissfully unaware of Kon's internal crisis, shrugs and says, “Well, I think you'd make a lovely girl.”

The Outlaws’ Guide to Parenting by Flowerparrish Pod Collabs (Flowerparrish), kbirb pods (kbirb), Opalsong (Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd), 4k, 40 mins, Podfic, Texting Roy: so you know how I had that fling with Chershire for a month or two a couple years ago? Roy: apparently the condom broke Kori: You have a child! Jason: of fucking course we're keeping her

SHERLOCK

The Least of All Possible Mistakes by rageprufrock (Multi), 118k, Female!Gregory Lestrade If ever a people deserved tasering, it’s Holmeses.

[cynicalrainbows]

I'm only in the Supercorp fandom because of my wife- I haven't even watched the show and probably won't- and I love that gifs and fanart and headcanons and fic are enough to sustain me in this.

It's like Plato's allegory of the cave, except I'm not a prisoner chained to the wall, I'm a cave-dweller who is frequently invited by people to come and experience the outside and I'm waving them away because I'm more than content with my gay little wall shadows, thank you very much.

[steddieficfind]

I’m looking for a fic on AO3 that I don’t remember much of except for this one conversation between Dustin and Steve about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. I think Steve was really upset thinking about the idea of babies being chained in a cave as a little funny joke. I’m sorry this might be so unhelpful but I’m pretty sure the topic is related to the overall plot somehow??

Request 1266! Send us an ask if you recognize this fic!

[felixravinstills]

can't believe that while I am trying to be productive with real life things florus fic has me having thoughts like "is history not a god?" and my brain is actively compiling reasons why history is in fact a god.

[naranjapetrificada]

Fic recs based on what bits of s2 promotion made you go 👀

So obviously we only have a couple days left and I shouldn't have put this off for so long, but I've been making connections between fics I've encountered and questions raised by the teaser, trailer, and BTS video and thought I'd share some of them. Light (extremely light, like you've just emerged from an isolated cave light) s2 spoilers possible, although it's still mostly speculation?

Anyway this obviously got very long, so I'm throwing in a break now so I don't slow your scroll.

Maybe time in nature helps Ed do some healing?

Fallow Land & Bigger Sky, which I can't ever seem to shut up about was such a rewarding and healing read for me. Especially recommended for people who are interested in Ed's inner life, healing journey, and coping mechanisms, maladaptive or otherwise. Also folks who are excited for him to have an animal friend like Stede Bunnet, although in this fic it's a sweet little black lamb that he sometimes carries around in his shirt.

It begins with Ed having spent a year since The Dock living incognito on a remote (but not deserted!) island trying to get his head around everything that happened and looking for something like peace, however he can get it. It's written in an evocative, poetic way and includes some incredibly lovely flashbacks, believable character growth, important realizations, and tender emotional moments. The vibes are more pastoral than castaway, but Ed is still given time and space to do the work he needs to do in rugged, isolated surroundings so it still scratches that itch for me.

[There are definitely some triggers to be aware of but it feels like the author did a good job of mentioning them at the beginning of each chapter.]

Maybe they do some healing together?

There's no need to reinvent the wheel so I'm going to borrow heavily from an earlier post I made about healing and fanfic two make the case for these two:

Brace Yourself and Nestle into Me: The premise is that Ed and Stede figure out that they're into each other around episode 7, and they're deliriously happy to know that they feel the same way about each other. But Stede has some (understandable) sexual dysfunction around being queer thanks to the horrible society that he grew up in. Ed is a darling trying to help him through it all, and along the way he realizes he also has some of his own hangups he needs to work through, and that they can both support each other's healing.

I appreciate that this one doesn't treat healing like a straight line because it never is, and emphasizes that trust can't just be implicit, you really have to talk it through as a crew, even if it's just a crew of two broken middle-aged men who are desperately in love with each other. It also gets into some of the stuff I've been talking about on here about grieving your former selves and the selves you never got to be, which was validating as hell. That sounds heavy and there are concepts that are literally part of modern therapy modalities woven into the story, but there are also warm and loving and hilarious moments too, including this gem:

“Also can you just imagine how proud little horny baby gay Stede would be know you would be to know that whatever he went through, today you’ve got your own ship and are getting completely railed by Blackbeard? I mean, just absolutely dicked down by the most famous pirate in history? He would lose his mind.”

Adrift Between the Dreaming Seas: Based on my usual filtering on ao3 I probably never, ever would have come across this fic if it weren't for a recommendation someone posted here. It's got fantasy elements, allegory, metaphors stacked on metaphors, talking animals, and so many other things that would have kept me from ever discovering it on my own. My life would be poorer for it.

Basically Stede is cursed to be a lighthouse keeper on an island that seems to move around the world. Animals show up and the ones who talk to him are members of the crew, and Ed is an actual kraken. It's all this symbolism about monstrosity and trauma and maladaptive coping and the messiness that is Stede's kindness scraping against his self loathing. I shed tears of many kinds along the way, and it made me think hard about community and recovery and the things we do to and for ourselves and others.

It's just a lovely little gem of a story that made me feel so much so deeply while also making me laugh much more than I was anticipating. I'm so glad I gave it a chance.

Maybe there's a massive, life-altering storm?

A World of Tempestuous Things, which is nearly finished and has been such a rewarding, moving journey to follow as it explores another take on their reunion story. There's the expected angst and misunderstandings, but also wit and warmth and longing and rage and these casually devastating historical asides, some of which still haunt me out of the blue because of the staggering and inescapable nature of the passage of time. Speaking of passages and being haunted, dig if you will, this picture:

so little time to dwell amongst strangers as a citizen of the world will never, ever stop reverberating in my head like a cymbal crash and I guess that's just something I live with now. @lostakasha, you've given me the existentially beautiful prose version of tinnitus.

Maybe Stede's slut party era is finally upon us?

If so, good for him, he deserves it so much.

When the Light Shines In is a missing scene/lightly canon-divergent take on s1e06, if you just like the idea of meeting a jolly version of Drunk Stede (vs that "unhand me or bleed" guy, who is hot in his own way or course but can't beat messy earnest bossy Stede in my opinion). It's set immediately after the fight with Izzy. Ed is patching him up and trying not to vibrate out of his own skin, while Stede is affectionate and chatty and besotted whether he knows it or not, and steadily working his way through a bottle of rum for the pain. So not really related to season 2, but it will still scratch that same itch and make you smile real big.

Well, I Ain't Tactful is actually set during season 2, inspired by the moment in the BTS video where Ed sees Stede getting drunk with his new leather buddies. If you asked yourself what might happen if Ed felt compelled to keep an eye on Sloppy Stede and tuck him in with a glass of water, then this one will be fun. Ed is caring and lovely about it all even while still being a bit mad at him for everything, and Stede is a mess but so sweet and still so, so in love.

Maybe we'll get to see young Ed on Hornigold's ship?

There's no evidence of that so far beyond the whole ghost of Hornigold thing, but it certainly would be a treat. But even if it doesn't, if the idea of more young Ed appeals I cannot possibly recommend the pre-canon Never Shall We Die enough.

Now there's no getting around two crucial things that may be dealbreakers for some people: first, it's long. It's very, very long. Second: it's a WIP. Only one of two I've allowed myself to follow in this fandom so I don't get overwhelmed or bogged down. But!

The writing is so impeccable that it stands head and shoulders above almost everything I've ever read on ao3 and honestly above a lot of commercially published original fiction I've encountered in the same span of time since I've started it. The settings are deliciously (and sometimes, due to the realities of life on a pirate ship, disgustingly) immersive, the action scenes are perfectly paced, and the emotional beats, when they hit, hit hard and ring true and stay with you.

Starting at at age 13, young Ed's growth and development over time is equal parts rewarding and harrowing. Threads are pulled together from canon and from earlier parts of the story to coalesce into a portrait of a living, breathing version of our favorite guy trying to find his place in the world, stumbling along the way, and eventually realizing that if he wants a place he'll have to make it himself. The secondary characters leap off the proverbial page too, and the connections he does or doesn't form with them have interesting, believable fallout for everyone involved.

I mentioned action scenes earlier, but I want to circle back around to them again because NSWD takes Izzy's season 1 comment about Blackbeard being the greatest sailor he's ever known and says the same with its whole chest. I know I'm not alone in hoping to see Incredible Sailor Ed in season 2, but in the mean time this is more than scratching that itch for me. We see Ed set foot on his first ship with no skills beyond attracting (mostly) unwelcome attention and observational skills that become the foundation of his later abilities with the sea and with the art of fuckery. From the outside he looks like a savant but on the inside he builds his skills slowly over time, delighting in learning new things and seeing a plan come together. But best of all, he delights in the skills of others, eagerly learns from them when he can, happily teaches what he can to the few people he trusts, and takes pleasure and pride in their own success.

I could literally keep talking about this fic until the next chapter gets posted, but the good news is that happens regularly! I know it can be tough to trust a WIP but I for one am so thankful for the moment of poor impulse control that led to me starting this one. New chapters come roughly every two weeks, and looking at @tresdem's output elsewhere helps me feel secure that we'll actually get to the end.

[thevioletcaptain]

WRITING MEME: *steeples fingers* talk to me about a WIP you've got goin' on

This is such an impossible open-ended question for my indecisive brain because I have far too many works in progress and just choosing which one to talk about is hard 😭 But let's give this a try.

Gonna take the roulette approach (opening my WIP folder, closing my eyes, scrolling up and down several times, and then clicking without looking) to save myself from The Initial Struggle.

OKAY. The WIP I landed on is an as-yet-wholly-unpublished DeanCas fic titled One More Chain Does the Maker Make. Whoo!

Here's an assortment of bullet-point notes about it!

The premise: 15.06-adjacent alternate canon fic! Jack kills Chuck before they even know he's been resurrected, and his influence on the world--and on Dean in particular--lifts away. Dean leaves, fearing that Cas won't feel comfortable coming back to the bunker to see Jack if he's still there, and also because he feels the need to be on his own for a while as he figures out who he is without Chuck pulling his strings. He goes no-contact, and ends up working on Jesse & Cesar's ranch, where he eventually realizes that he's gay, and that Chuck's manipulations ran even deeper than he'd thought.

Yeah, that's right -- it's a gay!Dean fic, which I've wanted to write for a while. It's been a really compelling concept to explore, considering everything else I've written has been bi!Dean, and once I started thinking about it from the Chuck-manipulation angle I knew I had to write it.

The title is a lyric from The Maker Makes by Rufus Wainwright, which I didn't realize was written specifically for Brokeback Mountain until right now when I went to find a youtube link.

It's a rare fic for me in that Dean legitimately doesn't already know that he's in love with Cas. He's felt it for a long time, but Chuck has been fucking with him so intensely that it's very much been an allegory of the cave situation. He's been looking at the shadows of his love, but now that the chains are gone, he can look at it directly.

Dean stays on Jesse & Cesar's ranch for several months overall, and when he eventually reaches out to Cas it sets off a long period of writing emails to one another, then texting, then calling. The epistolary section of the fic is HEAVY on the pining and it's been a lot of fun to write.

This fic also features a favorite trope of mine: namely that Dean looks at Cas in his ill-fitting suit and dumpy trenchcoat and sees an absolute brick house stud, while the person he's just been gushing about him to looks and sees Just Some Guy.

Dean! Befriends! A horse!

There's also a subplot with a radio show, but I'll save further details on that for when I eventually post it.

I hope this was at least somewhat interesting! Thanks for the ask <3

If anyone wants to know more about this fic, or another WIP, or something I've posted on Ao3, feel free to send an ask :)

[nikolai-alexi]

@jegulus-microfic

12 June 2023 Micro-fic

Prompt: warmth

Tags: angst, subjective allegory, no dialogue, references to self harm and child abuse but nothing graphic, sort of toxic past bartylus but it’s not their fault, not sure if you can read this as romantically involved Jegulus but it’s not platonic either, I’m quite literally completely unable to write anything under a thousand words I’m so sorry

WC: 1300 words, average read time 17 minutes

Regulus was always cold. It didn’t matter what season it was, what he was wearing, or how many blankets he was under, he was always, always cold. He wondered if it was a byproduct of living in that godforsaken house for too long. Sometimes, when his mind wasn’t working the way it should and he gave into the temptation to look at Sirius, he would see Sirius burrowed in his friends’ embraces. Like maybe Sirius was just as cold as he was.

For a long time, the closest he came to warmth was Barty. But Barty wasn’t warmth, not really. Barty was flame. Scorching, dangerous, burning, and uncaring of the damage left behind. And Regulus was like a moth. He let himself get pulled over Barty’s edges again and again, each time hoping he may get to soak the warmth up from the coals at the end. Barty left him burned and scarred every time, and Regulus left him snuffed and drenched in return. They both knew they’d kill each other one day, but it didn’t matter. They were both toxic people at their cores. They would poison themselves until one of them dropped dead and the other would follow shortly behind. A sick, twisted, crude facsimile of a phenomenon that neither of them knew but desperately craved.

James isn’t sure when he started noticing Regulus’s eyes on them, but now that he’d noticed, he’s hyper aware of his gaze. At first, he’d thought his gaze was bitter and angry and directed only at Sirius. And, it was, kind of. The farther into the term they got, the more Regulus seemed to lose the battle in himself and the more his eyes would land on their group.

He never seemed to realise he was being watched in return.

James watched Regulus closely and at some point, he realised that the anger and bitterness in his eyes wasn’t actually directed at Sirius like he had thought. Regulus was jealous. His eyes burned with it, desperate, longing stares that shuddered with a kind of sadness that left James with chills along his spine. The longer he watched Regulus, the more he saw. The way his hands never stopped shaking, the way his chapped lips always looked like they were a hair shy of blue, how he always wore long sleeves and jackets no matter the season, and how he caved in on himself, like if he scrunched down into himself far enough, he might find the barest hint of warmth. James isn’t sure when he starts flicking warming charms at the younger boy, but when his tense face smooths out for just a moment every time they hit him, James knew he wouldn’t stop.

He never finds out how Sirius finds Regulus that cold, stormy, December night. All he knows is one minute they’re sitting around the fire in the lounge, and the next, Sirius goes rigid beside him. James doesn’t manage to get a word out before Sirius is gone. He comes back hours later with a half dead, drenched Regulus who’s bleeding from Merlin only knows where and shivering so hard he keeps biting his own tongue. He’s drawn to Regulus with an urgency he’s never felt before, and the fact that he’s not at all a healer doesn’t occur to him. He’s been treating Regulus for years, hasn’t he?

He tries not to let his eyes linger on the countless, brutal scars that line the hidden planes of Regulus’ body as he strips him from the soaked robes he wears, but if the sound of his heart breaking over and over is anything to go by, he’s not successful. He’d be able to recognise Walburga Black’s handy lacero work in his sleep, or the deep wounds left from Orion’s rage, and it doesn’t take him long to discover Regulus’ own work across his left forearm. This body holds the remains of so many different people’s violence. James wonders if it holds a person at all.

He stays with Regulus through his nightmares. Speaks softly to him when he wakes screaming and staring into nothingness with haunted eyes that should never live in the body of an eighteen year old. The words don’t seem to help much, James doubts he even hears them, but the warming charms do. He casts them on the blankets piled atop Regulus, he casts them on the sofa he lies on, he casts them on the much too large borrowed clothes Regulus has on. Anywhere Regulus touches, James funnels warmth into it. Anything to keep Regulus from shivering into tens of millions of tiny pieces right before his eyes.

Regulus will never talk about what happened that dreadful December night all those years ago. He will never speak of what he saw or what he did or what happened to him, but James doesn’t need him to. He knows enough to form his own ideas, and he knows enough to know that when Regulus’ eyes go glassy and void, that warming charms, hot tea, and a warm muffin will bring him back to the present. He knows Regulus will burrow into his side, as though he wishes he could crawl inside James’ rib cage and even then it might not be enough, and James will wrap his arms around him, holding him close for as long as he needs. Never tightly, Regulus fears being trapped more than he fears being touched, but firmly enough that Regulus knows he is held together, kept whole. Regulus will shove his feet under James’ leg, and even through his trousers he can feel how cold they are. He won’t complain, ever, about Regulus’ cold, he just bundles him up, encases him in the warmth James can provide, and soothes the cracks and aches and edges as much he can.

Regulus accepted long ago that he is a weak, weak man. He knew the second he recognised the source of the warming charms he’d been hit with back in school that he would become an addict. James’ warmth is intoxicating. He gives it so freely, completely surrounds Regulus with it, and never tries to take it away. Regulus is a weak, selfish man, and he can’t bring himself to care that he must scald James’ sweet, rich skin with his frigid cold. He can’t bring himself to care when James wraps his arms around him and bleeds his warmth directly into Regulus’ very soul. He feels alive for the first time ever while he’s surrounded by the feeling of James’ heart beating against his back, the smell of a blueberry muffin in front of him, a book he’s not even really reading open in his lap, piping hot tea cradled in his hands, and the hum of a familiar warming charm pulsing around them. He understands what is different between Barty’s flame and James’ warmth now. Barty and Regulus only had one language they could speak. Violence was how they understood each other. James, though? James knew love. He knew kindness. He knew gentle. Years down the line, James is still teaching Regulus new words in this foreign language with the same amount of patience he had when he started. Barty was fire. James is sun. Both similar to each other, both with the capability of destroying Regulus, but only one with the ability to put him back together.

He may never understand how to love another person, but James has enough warmth for the both of them. Perhaps, one day, he may even stop shivering.

[intermundia]

Hi! I saw ur post about your birthday, so first off, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Second, thank you so much for sharing your fics - they are genuinely so damn spectacular! I can’t really pick a favourite so in lieu of that I’m just going to rant about some favourable mentions :)

I’m a huge philosophy nerd, so your Symposium fic is the chefs kiss of fanfic and academia! I’ve reread it so many times now and, each time, I find another platonic element or link to the philosophy, and I basically scream with joy. Also mixing the Jedi with Plato’s philosophy is such an interesting and well-fitting mix! Like the realm of forms parallel to the force, obikin and the ladder of love parallel to their relationship, and obv the master apprentice dynamic so central to the symposium. Even the cave allegory in one way, like, once they start talking about love, obi wan can’t unhear it - he can’t go back from the light, in that regard. It’s so amazing to read a fic and keep on finding new things to love; reading it just brightens my day, and because I can’t send you an exorbitant number of kudos on ao3, please let this stand in their place <3<3<3

and don’t get me started on lex talionis! It’s such a gripping narrative!!! Like, for the first half/three quarters, there’s this slow decline in everyone’s mental state, relationships, and in general wellbeing. And it felt like I wanted to climb the walls, almost shouting at my screen, because if they would just TALK or THINK, but it’s like a tragedy because the CANT or at least as they are at the beginning they can’t, and that was so wonderful to read. A huge part of that was that I was already invested in the characters, so the stakes were raised from the get-go, but also it was the way you mirrored the drama of canon’s breakdown, and you managed to do that on a completely different playing field. And THEN you made them CHANGE!!! And it felt plausible! It felt in character! And all the hope and joy that they lost was returned, but it wasn’t the same, and that was okay!!! And to me, it felt like that decline and rise mirrored the way you integrated Roman history (I could very well be wrong lol); fall of the republic, rise of the Augustan empire - things are irrevocably changed, but they’re still standing! They’re alive! It’s so deeply moving and emotional, I can’t even articulate it as well as I’d like! Also, I was wondering, in LT, did u base any particular characters’ arcs on actually folks from Roman history? And what would you say is your favourite ancient person in general? It’s so interesting to see how ur Classics background informs your writing. In the most complementary way I can say it, it’s giving off ancient history Tolkien vibes, which is genuinely so inspiring to me as someone who wants to find their own writing niche

thank you so much for your writing, and I hope your next year ‘round the sun is filled with joy 🥳🥳🥳

yesss augustus was definitely a central inspiration for me for my fall of the republic story!! just as i think he was for lucas, with his ascension to supreme executive power and institution of an empire, the way he participated in and then brought a devastating period of civil war to a close, offering up long desired peace and security under his autocratic rule. he's a popular leader whose figure looms large as an example still after thousands of years. i wanted obi-wan to 'win' in the same way he did, usurping palpatine's claim to being that leader who took advantage of chaos to seize power.

i just think obi-wan would be such a devastating sith lord, brilliant and charismatic, who could outplay sidious at his own game, very much in the tradition of augustus's strategic decisions. obi-wan lies to himself about it, but his corruption is to always seek ever expanding circles of control. anakin and the clones have strong personal loyalty to him, echoing the loyal legions in civil war that swept octavian into power. padmé has shades of cicero and other republic figures who lost out and were removed from public life (i let her keep her life though ofc).

basically the whole political aspect was modeled on the fall of the roman republic haha you got that exactly right. i'm just so thrilled that you've engaged with the classical influences that i both consciously and unconsciously include in my stories. that's such an unbelievably kind analogy with tolkien, thank you!! there are just so many greek and roman figures that have fascinated and compelled me: homer and hesiod of course, pythagoras and heraclitus among other presocratics, aristotle's virtue ethics, and the moral philosophers of rome like epictetus and marcus aurelius are very dear to my heart.

other favorites are thucydides and herodotus, euripides and aescylus. pericles and alcibiades are fascinating figures. in terms of rome, cicero and catiline, catullus and horace, lucretius and seneca, virgil and ovid, tacitus and plutarch. the lives of antony and cleopatra especially are fascinating. so is alexander ofc, but i spent most of my time on archaic greece not the hellenistic period. i could keep going saljkdlkfdjsa but i will stop, thank you for the excuse to geek out!!!! it's always fun to think about, so i invent as many excuses to do so as possible haha

[bugcatcherwill]

I heard a record going off tune and stop when link told Robbie and Zayl that Gibdo can regrow limbs thus shutting down their ideas

Also if only link knew what awaits him later by the TOTK events

Also the poor cross finding out why people are Abit scared of it due to its looks

Also why would the monsters change their species name? Zora were once enemies with hyrule but still called zora, I understand horriblin sounds terrible but what would you call a race of blins that live and work in caves? Maybe caveblins? But what of moblins or bokoblins? I know people in hyrule also call hinox giants (shown in Age of Calamity) but still monsters are called what they are called for reason and how could you change that

But also why does Rezek wanna try and change all monster species names? If so what would they be called?

It's because of the whole connotation behind the name, itself. Obviously we can't pull up the rich naming history of Hyrule because it doesn't exist, but in most cases I've shown that most naming conventions are neutrally bound. And this entire sub-plot has been to try and highlight how silly it is that we see names as just this universal fact that we can't change, when they can be changed near effortlessly at the snap of a finger.

To quote Rezek:

“Once you learn more about the Hylians, you will learn about how imaginary their rules are, and the same to the rules we were forced under.”

Rezek knows more than anything that the whole idea that names are meant to be rigid and unchanging is completely made up and serves only to protect the status quo. It wasn't born with the name Electric-14, nor Rezek. It was assigned a name and was ordered that the given designation was what it had to respond to, and any deviation would result in punishment. Changing its name was "against the rules", but those rules were rooted in subjugation and disdain.

It's like how Rezek didn't like that the Gerudo word for Wizzrobe "va'savoe" translated to "man-like thing of the wind". Not because it was referred to as a "thing", but rather "man-like". The naming convention of the Gerudo forced it to conform into this rigid gender binary, so it asked instead to be referred to as va'orre since that was much more neutral. And like how it talked with Riju, it didn't mind being referred to as a "thing" because monster language refers to everything as things.

Language doesn't exist in a vacuum. Words don't come up from nowhere. EVERY single word we use has historical or cultural significance. So it's only natural for Horriblins to have this aversion to their own species name as it was used exclusively to berate their very existence. The type of "well it's ALWAYS been that way so why should we call them anything else?" thinking is exactly what the status quo wants, and historically has been used for some pretty nasty rationalizations.

Didn't mean to get on a soapbox, but my fic is drenched in so much political and queer allegory it's hard not to LMAO