#he is not in the market for vessels he hasn’t made for himself. is the thing. so instead that’s a weird thing they never talk about and

[quietwingsinthesky]

Been thinking about Millie and her bones, would she arrange Gabriel's hand bones to wrap around one of her hands like Deadpool did with Wolverine's claws in the first fight scene of Deadpool and Wolverine but held in place with clear gel string found in any tween girl's bracelet-making kit rather than difficult-to-preserve tendons? Or would the resulting skelly-hand be a little too close to 2010's mall emo aesthetic?

🥺🥺 millie engagement.

oh see she absolutely would. look if there was a way for her to just fit all of gabriel’s skeleton around her, she would. which is a totally normal impulse for a winchester that was not-quite ever a vessel. anyway. i think the thing preventing her is not either the fact that it would be socially unacceptable to wear someone’s hand bones or that it would be too cliche or something, i think it would be that that’s the point where sam goes Okay, Whatever Is Happening Here Needs To Stop Before You Get Worse.

the carrying them around and even the necklace is. weird. but easy to ignore. the knife is not but we’re talking about people whose arsenal includes ‘the magic demon-killing knife from sam’s ex-girlfriend’ so stones in glass houses. trying to make a bone glove is just outside the realm of acceptable enough for sam to step in. not dean, dean’s dug a hole for himself of ‘i haven’t mentioned it up till now so if i do i have to acknowledge All of it’ but sam can. and she’ll listen to sam, too, is the thing. she adores sam; she’ll listen to him.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are Weird: Soldier without a war. Part I

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

 “You sure the speks don’t patrol there?”

“If they did do you really think I’d bring this rust bucket along for a job?”

Melp strapped himself into the copilot’s chair and looked over the console readings one last time. All systems were showing minimal operational capacity which normally would have been setting off alarm bells but with how things had been going for him and his captain lately it was the best they could ask for.

Melp was part of the salvage company “Outlying Star”, co-owner in fact with his partner and current captain Galem. When the war against humanity had started the two had thought it was the best idea to make a fortune with all the wrecks floating between star systems from fleet combat and had went all in on a converted freighter to pick through the bones and sell what they could.

At first Melp and Galem had made a killing, bringing in semi functional sub space drives and salvaged fully automated hard shell loaders from human ships. They made enough to fund a fleet of five ships and live the good life back on Valfha without a care in the world; for a little while at least.

Galem thought it was because of the government’s restrictions on salvageable items that had hampered their business but Melp believed it was because they were just too good at it that and had inspired countless others to take up the salvage game. Soon markets, both legal and black, became flooded with salvaged goods and people willing to undercut each other to make a quick buck. Neutron cannon went from 3.5 billion credits in value to just under 300 million credits in the span of six months. As a side effect of the sudden influx of salvage parts the government began taking notice and cracked down hard. Salvagers were called “Scavies” and deemed criminals by the government and the military would all too happily fire on any scavy ship they spotted. Seems they weren’t too happy about people rummaging through the wrecks of ships that once held their friends and the government would turn a blind eye if a scavy ship was destroyed during “Live Fire Exercises”.

Soon the jobs became even riskier and Outlying Star lost three ships after they were caught and destroyed. Another had to be sold for parts and salvage and now the final ship, the Morning Gale, was the last hope for Galem and Melp to make back some money.

“How do you even know this site hasn’t been picked clean already?” Melp asked over his shoulder as Galem entered the cockpit and locked the door behind him. “We could be wasting our time on a fantasy.” Galem shook his head which did little to ease Melp’s concerns.

“I got it from a reliable source that there was a big fight in the Glipi Cluster that we lost to the humans.” Galem began as he took the controls and slowly pulled back on the engine throttle as the ship ascended. “It was so embarrassing that the navy wiped all records of the battle and said the destroyed ships were lost in a freak transition from sub space into a rogue comet cluster.”

“If the data was wiped how does your source know about it?”  Melp quipped as the ship breached upper atmosphere and exited the travel lanes for the jump point.

Galem smirked as he engaged the sub space drive.

“They were there.”

 As the salvage ship exited sub space Melp let out a gasp. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes yet when he opened them all he could see was a shroud of purple. Galem saw Melp’s confused expression and chuckled.

“It’s the color of the gas filtering through this entire cluster.” He said calmly as he flicked on several scanners and filter units. “Try looking now.”

Melp looked again as the shades of purple faded away and let out a startled gasp. Upon gazing out of the cockpit window he could see why the navy had wanted to cover up this place so badly.

Floating around them were dozens of lifeless wrecks of Mibari warships ranging from light destroyers to several cruisers. Compared to their tiny ship it was as if Melp and Galem had entered the realm of giants. Melp was transfixed by the wrecks and became utterly enthralled when a massive shadow draped across their vessel.

“Is that what I think it is?” Melp spoke sheepishly as his blue hands trembled and changed to a soft orange color. Galem leaned forward in his seat to look out the window and whistled as his eyes caught sight of what had terrified Melp.

“A galaxy class troop carrier.”

The massive ship spun slowly in place like a top that refused to stop spinning, the metal interior exposed in several places from weapons revealing a dark interior of metal supports and long dead hallways. Melp looked towards the front of the ship as the command deck slowly spun into view and he was surprised to see the name of the ship had survived the damage it had taken.

“The Vault of Ohya…” Melp softly spoke. He reached out with an arm and shook Galem who was smiling like a hatchling on birthing day. “That’s the Vault of Ohya!”

“A piece of her hull to the right collector would be enough to refurbish this little dingy,” Galem said as he playfully smacked the command console, “into one hell of a floating casino.”

The two of them broke down into fits of laughter as if they had just been driven mad by their findings; but it was not of madness that now drove them but the sheer joy of their discovery.

These dozen ships floating lifelessly in the cluster were more than enough to bring the two of them back into the life of luxury they once held and keep them there until their dying days.

Melp was still star gazing at the shattered troop carrier when something else suddenly grabbed his attention.

“What’s that?”

Melp tore his gaze away from the Ohya and saw what Galem was looking at.

A new vessel slowly drifted out of the shadow of the troop carrier and came into view. It was clearly a human vessel of some kind; the lack luster design a clear give away. The body of the ship was missing sections of itself, but rather than appearing as if it had been damaged in the battle it looked more as if the ship had not finished being built. Sections of the body were lacking armor showing a complex network of pipes and corridors. The hull was painted in a soft grey color that stood out sharply among the ever shifting gas cloud surrounding it. Rows of gun ports ran along the sides, their openings revealing nothing of the pitch black interior giving them the appearance of small gaping mouths ready to consume Melp and his ship.  

The more Melp looked at the ship the more he felt something was just wrong with it. Galem must have felt something as well as he pulled up the virtual display and began interacting with it.

“Not sure what that thing is but it’s not listed in the records.” He said as he closed the display and leaned over the controls to get a better view of it. The tingling feeling at the bottom of Melp’s three stomachs was starting to grow stronger as his uneasiness did not subside.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there’s no record of that ship variant from the entire war with humanity on any recorded file.” He popped open the virtual display again and flicked it over so it was hovering in front of Melp to view while he fiddled with the controls again. “Which means it’s worth a whole lot more than anything here.”

“How do you figure that?” As a response to Melp’s question he waved his arm across the scattered wrecks.

“Out of all the ships here the human ones are all clustered around that one as if they meant to protect it.” Galem said as he began moving the ship closer to the strange human ship.

“They could have bugged out and ran, but instead they all fought and died just to protect that thing; which means something on it must’ve been worth defending.”

Melp knew what Galem had some merit, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still very wrong; but before he could raise his concerns though a loud shudder ran through the scavenger ship.

“Get your suit on,” Galem said as he exited out of the cockpit, “let’s go find us some treasure.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If the exterior of the ship had uneased Melp, the interior down right terrified him.

No sooner had the airlock door opened the two scavengers leaped back in shock. Standing at the entrance was a humanoid looking figure. Galem screamed and grabbed hold of a nearby cutting tool and swung it at the figure before Melp could even say anything.

A shower of sparks eradiated off the figure’s body as the plasma torch cut into it, all the while Galem was continuing to scream, and cut a decent size hole through the beings torso.

“Shut it!” Melp shouted at Galem, forcing the scared halfwit to calm down some while Melp inched closer and retrieved the still burning plasma torch. The figure had not moved and inch even as the torch had melted away his exterior and as Melp moved closer still he noticed why.

“It’s an automated drone you idiot.”

Melp motioned him forward and the two of them inspected the machine.

It was human shaped but it was entirely of metal and wires, a mindless drone used for menial tasks such as inventory handling or maintenance. It wore a human uniform for some reason which clashed with its blank reflective visor face.

“Why’s it standing here?” Galem asked as he nervously tapped the drone. The touch pushed it off the ground and the dead drone slowly lifted off the ground in the zero-g environment and floated back into the ship, bouncing off the back wall before continuing to silently float away.

“Maybe it’s here to greet us?” Melp chuckled as he activated his mag locks and his feet latched on to the metallic floor. Galem followed suit and the two began entering the derelict ship.

“Can’t be,” Galem began as they reached the airlock secondary doors and began slowly opening them, “these tin cans would run out of power in a day and it’s been years since this tussle went down.”

With several loud grunts as the two strained with the manual release the inner airlock to the human ship finally cracked open. The two entered slowly, not knowing what to expect, and took stock of their surroundings.

They entered a long hallway that seemed to stretch out far into the distance passed the reach of their head lamps. Melp could see side corridors scattered every few dozen feet no doubt leading to other sections of the ship, but likewise they too were pitch black.

Something about Melp’s comment made him pull out his data scroll and do a quick scan. The device beeped rapidly as the scan commenced before ending with a loud “DING” and displaying a waterfall of information.

Melp read the data as the two continued to hover by the airlock entrance.

“It says here that somethings still giving off a power signature here.” Melp commented as he ran he scan again to be sure.

“Give it here,” Galem said as he turned to Melp with his hand outstretched, “you must be reading it-“

When Galem didn’t finish his sentence Melp looked up and saw something akin to a mixture of fear and surprise on his face. He was staring at something over his shoulder so Melp slowly turned in place , his magnetic feet latching heavily to the decking with each step like two magnets smashing together.

When he finally turned around he let out a yelp of surprise and tried to jump back, but his magnetic feet kept him firmly locked to the floor leaving him in an almost comical off balance state.

Standing directly behind him was another of the drones, this one dressed in what appeared to be some sort of security uniform even including an empty weapon holster at his side.

Neither of the scavengers knew how the thing got there as it most certainly hadn’t been standing there a moment ago. Before either of them could respond the drone’s visor lit up and displayed a pixelated face.  The visor was damaged with a deep crack running the length of it making the display flicker in and out on half the screen giving it an eerily ghost like visage.

“The captain,” the drone began as it stepped to one side of the hallway and extended a hand into the darkness, “requests your presence on the bridge.”

[thotsforvillainrights]

~Getting Back on the Market (1/2)~

(It’s a 2-parter baby!!!!)

Au: Nemoto Family

Part: Five

Theme: Fluff/Comedy

The clock ticked away on the wall but he hardly noticed with the speed he was working at. A few minutes from now and he would be finished early. If he finished early then he would have time to pick up dinner instead of cooking it before he needed to pick up Naki from school. In fact, Shin began to almost get lost thinking of all the things he really had to do both today and tomorrow. Perhaps for today the best thing to do would be to play it safe and stick to the plan of picking up the dinner. Then tomorrow he’d grocery shop and-

“Excuse me, Mr. Nemoto?” A familiar voice rung out, effectively pulling him from his own thoughts. He looked up to see her. Kay, a woman with a sweet smile and fairly dazzling curves. Not to mention the entrancing curls that framed her head like a crown almost. Oh great...he was certainly distracted now. “I’m sorry to bother you with all this but I really have no idea  where to find this customer’s statement sheet for the month and they seem to be getting antsy.” She nervously pointed behind her. He curved to discreetly look around her at the grumpy customer sitting in front of her desk. “Ohhh...he looks like he might bust a blood vessel any moment now.” He quietly joked with her, helping to loosen the tension she must’ve been carrying. “Lemme me handle it, okay?” He reassured her as he stood up and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She hesitated for a moment before complying and letting him handle it. 

“Well it took a little longer than I intended, but he’s finally out of here. Good thing too because I thought I was gonna have to call security.” Nemoto joked with her and she laughed. “Thank you so much Mr. Nemoto for your help. I really owe you one.” She smiled at him and he could feel his world shift just a bit. “Oh it’s no big deal, don’t worry. Oh and you don’t have to call me Mr. Nemoto yknow. We’re the same age haha. Just call me Shin.”

“Okay...thank you Shin.” There she goes again with that damned smile. He watched Kay walk all the way to her desk before he gathered himself enough to clock out. “What was that Shin?” He talked to himself once he was outside in his own car. Time passed to quickly while he was in there helping out. Now he had to get Naki from school BEFORE he picked up dinner instead of after. He sighed and started up the car to head towards her school. By the time he got there, she was waiting outside on the steps next to that boy she keeps bringing home. Nemoto glared for a second before gathering himself with the memory that the young man hasn’t crossed the line just yet. “He’s in the green right now Shin, just relax...” He mumbled to himself as he gripped the steering wheel. Finally Naki looked up and noticed her father was there. “Alright Senzu, I’ll try to talk him into it but there’s no guarantee that he’ll let me go. Wish me luck.” She winked at the boy and he blushed hard as she walked away. Once inside the car Nemoto immediately pulled off, not even offering the boy a ride home in case he needed it. “Naki you’re still talking to that boy?” Shin furrowed his brows while his daughter groaned in annoyance. “Come on dad, he literally took me on a date last week. You’re not getting rid of him that easily, he’s been dating me for at least 2 months now.” Shin sighed and kept driving. “Well I suppose so. Anyway, I hope you don’t mind if I head to the grocery store real quick. I was going to pick up dinner and grocery shop tomorrow, but things ended up running over at work. I might as well cook tonight.” Naki nodded and began typing on her phone until they made it to the store. Once inside, Nemoto pulled out his grocery list, coupon booklet, and his pen. Naki knew the drill as she just walked alongside him, scrolling through her phone. “I’ll never understand how it’s possible for you kids to just scroll through your phone without looking in front of you. How can you see where you’re walking?” Naki sighed and kept scrolling while Shin chuckled. “Sheesh, dad doesn’t even get an answer anymore? Cold world. Teens are cold, cold people.” He joked when suddenly his cart slammed into another. 

“Oh no! My apologies!!!” 

“Shin?”

He looked up and his eyes met with that sea of gold he couldn’t dare look away from. “Kay?” Naki looked up from her phone and slowly smiled mischievously. “Oh shit...this is way more interesting than Snap Streaks...” She whispered to herself as she slipped her phone into her pocket. “I’m sorry I ran into you like that!” Nemoto apologized again and Kay simply rubbed the back of her head and laughed nervously. “Oh no! It’s mostly my fault! I wasn’t really looking where I was going haha.” Naki continued listening intently on the conversation before her. “Well I’d call that a simple mistake but someone else might ask for your shopping cart insurance ha ha.”

“Wow dad that joke was lame.” Naki leaned up to whisper in his ear, and he blushed from embarrassment. “Ha insurance! I certainly hope not!” She laughed until she snorted a bit and Nemoto’s lip turned up into a smile. “Listen Shin...I uh, I’m glad I got to see you again today. I was thinking about how to repay you for work earlier. Even though you said it was no big deal, I still want to repay your kindness so I was thinking maybe we could go get lunch at a deli downtown on me?” Kay scratched her arm and looked away shyly. “Oh I...I uh...well I...”

“HE’D LOVE TO! Say this Sunday even?” Naki butted into the conversation. “Sunday is a perfect day! Well...see you then.” Kay bid them a sweet goodbye and Shin slowly turned towards Naki to glare in annoyance. “Dad?! What? Oh my God, she’s totally got the hots for you! I mean, she laughed at your shitty joke and everything!”

“Okay Naki, One: That joke was not shitty. Two: Watch your language. And Three: I didn’t see that as a date and I won’t accept it as one.”

“Ugh oh my God dad why???” 

“Now you’re being the annoying one.”

“Dad!”

“BECAUSE OF YOUR MOM! ...because of your mom okay? I feel so bad when I think about ever being on the market again. I loved her so much and I could never cheat on her.”

“Dad no offense, and I love mom so much by the way, but she’s gone. She’s never coming back and it hurts me deep...just as much as I know it hurts you. At the same time though, I’ve never seen you even look at a woman the way you did with that lady earlier. It was like that face I make when I see my favorite band member go up on Instagram Live. You’re definitely in love with her.”

“I’m more in love with macaroni, now go to aisle 7 and get a box for me.” He grumbled and Naki rolled her eyes.

“Fine, but only if you actually consider the date.”

“Ugh...very well. Now please cooperate Naki so we can get home and I can start dinner please?” Nemoto asked in a defeated tone. Naki did a little victory shuffle before heading to aisle 7 and picking up dinner ingredients, leaving Shin alone to instantly regret his decision. 

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

Instagram: @pastelbattydraws & @pastelbattystore

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRNMJH7vHL7APNobUykhK4w?view_as=subscriber

[ericsonclan]

Stymphalian Shenanigans

Summary: Louis invites Clementine on a scavenging mission to get some quick coin.

Read on AO3:

It had been about a week now since Clementine and A.J. came onboard Ol’ Kickass and were informally inducted into the Ericson Pirates. Nothing was official yet, but Clementine could tell that the crew was expecting her and A.J. to stay. Apparently that was their recruitment method: run into a stranger and invite them to join the crew, no questions asked. Oddly enough it had worked for them so far: Every member of the Ericson Pirates was intensely loyal and swore that joining the crew was the best thing that had ever happened to them. The whole thing was utterly confusing for Clementine. This wasn’t how pirates operated.

When they reached the nearest port, Clementine had considered leaving with A.J. and not looking back, starting a new life with a clean slate and leaving piracy behind. Louis, the captain, had said they were free to do so if they wished, though Clementine could tell from his expression that he hoped they would stay. In the end, Clementine had decided to stick with the Ericson Pirates, at least for now. She was utterly destitute; running away with nothing to start their new life was folly. The Ericson Pirates had promised her a fair share of the wages if she helped out on the ship. She would build up a nest egg first before deciding where she wanted to go.

They were heading for a new port town now, Tanshire. Walking across the deck, Clementine saw that everyone was getting ready to pull into port. With such a small crew, it was rather chaotic work though everyone seemed to know where they needed to be. Clementine helped Violet pull a sail into place, getting a quick thanks from the blonde pirate before she scurried off to another task. Clementine spotted A.J. working with Willy and Tenn up in the rigging as well. The boys seemed to be having fun together, running back and forth and laughing as they got their work done. It was good to see A.J. with other children. He’d never really had that before. Spotting Louis at the helm, Clementine made her way over. She should probably check with him for assignment.

Louis’ tailcoats blew in the breeze as he manned the wheel, his dreadlocks swaying with the rush of salty winds. Noticing Clementine, he looked to her with a smile. “Hey, Clem! What’s up?”

Clementine paused for a second at the prematurely familiar nickname but decided not to comment on it. “Anywhere in particular you need me, captain?”

“Oh, Louis is fine. That’s what everybody else calls me,” the young man grinned, his freckles prominent in the bright sunlight. “And as far as where you should go, I’d say check with Aasim. He’ll know best what stations need the most help,”

Clementine glanced at the wheel in Louis’ hands then back to the port. They were drawing awfully close. “You’re coming in crooked,”

“What was that?”

“The wheel. You should turn farther to the left if you want to avoid hitting the dock,”

Louis squinted out ahead of them. “Ok, so like 45 degrees or…”

“Like this,” Clementine’s’ hands came to rest beside the captain’s, adjusting the wheel accordingly. Louis watched intently, his eyes flitting between her hands and the water in front of them. After a few minutes they had docked the ship safely in the harbor.

Louis whistled appreciatively. “That was some smooth steering! You do it way better than me! Think you can teach me your tricks?”

Clementine shrugged. “It’s just years of experience and muscle memory at this point,” She paused when she saw the disappointment in Louis’ eyes. “But I can try to show you more later if you like,”

“That would be awesome! Man, I can’t believe we have a real pedigreed pirate in our ranks now! No more crashing into piers for us,” Louis pulled on the lapels of his coat proudly.

Clementine quirked an eyebrow. “Just how many times have you crashed into the pier?”

“Well, they’ve been more like light collisions really, just barely brushing the pier on occasion. Lost a few planks from time to time, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t repair,” Louis glanced down the deck at the sound of a faint voice. “Looks like Ruby’s calling me. I’ll see you later, Clem,” With that he was off, leaving Clementine confused and just slightly impressed that this crew had managed to survive this long.

Ruby had called Louis over to deliver bad news: several of their crates of jujube fruit had gone bad. Apparently, a storm they’d run into a few days before finding Clementine and A.J. had knocked them off course and made their voyage longer than expected, hence the rotten produce. This meant there was far less money to be made at market though. The crew gathered round, waiting for Louis to make a decision.

Louis stood deep in thought, a hand upon his chin. At last he spoke. “We’ll salvage what we can. Marlon, Mitch and Violet will take what we can trade to market. Ruby, Aasim and Brody will collect whatever supplies we can on the funds we have. The boys can go with either group.

“And you?” Aasim questioned.

“I have some business to attend to, hopefully a venture that will refill our coffers,” Louis turned to their newest member. “How about it, Clementine? I could use your dazzling presence and expertise on this one,”

Clementine considered it, looking over to A.J. He stood between Tenn and Willy, excitedly picking through the crates of fruit and tossing the bad pieces over the ship’s edge. She didn’t like the thought of leaving him alone, but she should prove herself useful if she expected to get paid. “Will it take long?”

“We’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,”

“OK…” Clementine turned to Ruby. “Can you keep an eye on A.J. She knew if anybody could be trusted with that task it was the ship’s doctor.

Ruby nodded, determination in her eyes. “Don’t you worry about nothing, Sug. I’ll make sure he comes to no harm,”

Louis spun round with a dramatic flair. “Then let’s depart!” He headed over to one of the ship’s rowboats, Clementine following closely behind. It only took a few minutes before they were lowered into the water and rowing off for places unknown.

Clementine matched Louis’ speed, eyeing the young captain warily. “So, what exactly is this business venture that has us headed into the middle of the ocean?”

“Well… it’s not exactly a business venture. More like an adventure,”

“Oh?” That piqued Clementine’s interest.

“According to what I’ve heard, there’s a flock of stymphalian birds nesting on a little island not too far from here. At first I thought it would be too risky considering the rumors about the birds-”

“Such as?”

“Oh, you know: bronze beaks, metal feathers they can hurl at you, poisonous dung…”

“Poisonous what now?”

“I’m sure that last one is false,” Louis said, waving a hand dismissively. “Monster tales are usually wildly exaggerated. Point is, the feathers are worth a lot of money if you can get your hands on them. I figured it would be a big risk going in blind and given how my crew would handle things it might be best to steer clear,”

That was a fair point. Clementine hadn’t been with them long, but she could just imagine Mitch trying to throw his bombs at the birds and getting himself blown up in the process or Willy gagging on a mouthful of dubious dung.

“But with all that fruit going bad, we need fast cash if we’re going to make it to the next port. Buying the jujube fruit was my call and I flubbed it. Should’ve gone for something with a longer shelf life, but I got greedy and impulsive and now thanks to a freak storm, things are tight. So as captain I’m paying the price for my decisions and righting my mistake myself,”

“And you have me along because…?”

“Figured it would be smoother as a two-man operation. One person distracts the birds and the other grabs the feathers. Besides,” Louis have a playful smile, “I’ve been wanting to get to know you. Figured this would be a good bonding exercise,”

Was he… flirting with her? Clementine eyed Louis suspiciously. It was hard to tell with him, he was so friendly with everyone. Best to let it slide. She didn’t want to say something presumptuous and insult him, although from what she’d seen Clementine figured that would be pretty difficult to do.

---

It was about a half hour of rowing before they reached the island. It was a small, sparsely wooded, rocky mass. There were no birds in sight yet, but according to what Louis had heard, the birds would be a bit further inland. They picked their way carefully across the rocky beach, walking side by side. Louis kept glancing over Clementine’s way. She could tell something was on his mind.

“What is it?”

“Back when we first met and I asked you what had happened to you and A.J., you said it was a shipwreck and you were the sole survivors,”

“That’s right,”

“But that’s not true, is it?”

Clementine’s gut twisted within her. So he had caught the lie. Why not bring it up then? “It’s not,”

“I figured you had your reasons for hiding the truth. Just wondered if now that we know each other a bit better you’d be willing to share,”

Clementine looked at Louis. His gaze was open, trusting. Would it stay the same if he knew the name of the crew she’d been with before? She couldn’t risk it, not while separated from A.J. “I don’t think we’re there quite yet,”

Louis nodded. “Fair enough,”

“It’s not really fair after turning down your question, but can I ask one of my own?”

“Ask away,”

“I heard that you became a pirate after stealing your father’s ship. It’s quite a nice merchant vessel,” Clementine paused, unsure how to word the next part. “You had what most people dream of: a plentiful, stable life. Why give all that up?”

Louis shrugged. “I was unhappy. All of that isn’t worth much if you’re unhappy,” He noted the doubt in Clementine’s eyes. “You’re unconvinced,”

“It sounds like someone who never had to want for anything would say,”

Louis nodded. “Fair enough. This past year at sea hasn’t always been easy, but I’m sure it doesn’t hold a candle to what you’ve been through on the high seas. Still, I don’t regret walking away from that life,”

“But why?”

“Because it wasn’t my own. All my father wanted of me was to follow the plans he had laid before me without question. My whole life was mapped out and he didn’t care at all whether I wanted it or not,”

Clementine shook her head. “Maybe I’m overstepping, but a future as a merchant doesn’t seem like that bad of a fate,”

“It went deeper than that. After my mother died, my father… he wanted control. More than anything. Every moment of my life was monitored, every action I took carefully planned to mold me for success. I stopped being his son; I was simply a project, something he wanted to mold into stronger stuff than I was made of,” Louis looked somewhat sad at those words.

“There was one time Marlon and I snuck out to the market for a day off. Nothing big, just wandering round the city, visiting the marketplace and the docks. My father had servants hunt us down and drag us home. Marlon was beaten for helping me shirk my duties. I wasn’t allowed to see him for a week. After that I knew I had to get out of there. Whatever my father had become, I didn’t want to become that, no matter what. So I stole one of my father’s ships and decided to make my own way in life. And that’s how I find myself here, spending a pleasant day with you,” Louis smiled brightly at Clementine who nodded thoughtfully.

“Maybe no one’s happy, not the rich or poor. We just trick ourselves into thinking there’s something better out there to keep ourselves going,”

“Now that wasn’t the point of my story at all!” Louis scowled. “The point was to take your life into your own hands. Whatever hand you’ve been dealt, you can change it. This may not be the life I expected for myself when I stole that ship, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Each day, each moment, I get to be myself. I couldn’t ask for more,”

It was such a simple desire, to be oneself. Looking back over the years though, Clementine realized it hadn’t been a consideration that even crossed her mind. Survival had come first and foremost, and she’d never been able to get far past that. Who did she even want to be? Someone who kept A.J. safe. Beyond that though, Clementine wasn’t sure.

“We’re here!”

Clementine followed Louis’ outstretched finger to where a flock of birds sat nesting together on the rocky shoreline. They had the appearance of gulls, but somewhat larger. Their beaks shone dully, like metal that had a thin patina from the constant spray of saltwater upon it. Their wings too seemed almost to glisten in the light. Long, pointed metallic feathers gave off shimmers from underneath the cover of softer, regular feathers. There seemed to be at least a few dozen of them, not counting the young that squawked needily from their nests.

Louis gestured for Clementine to follow. They paced along the edge of the tree line, getting as close as they could to the nests without betraying their position. “So I’m thinking one of us serves as a distraction while the other runs among the nests and picks up as many of the bronze feathers as we can,”

“And I’m guessing I was brought along to be that distraction?”

“What? No. It’s me,” Louis gave a broad grin. “After all, I am quite distracting. Charming, theatrical, charismatic…”

“The list could go on and on,” Clementine quipped, smirking at his bravado.

Louis winked playfully before looking back at the flock. “It’s pretty close to the edge, but I figure I can circle round, keep them guessing where I’ll go next before booking it to the woods. We can just keep that up until we have as many of the feathers as possible,”

Clementine nodded. “Be careful,”

“Always, m’lady. Then without further ado…” Louis dramatically stepped out of the woods. Grabbing a coattail in each hand, he began to flap them behind him as he ran forward, cawing loudly.

“Bkaw! Bkaw! Yo birds, over here!”

Clementine couldn’t help but chuckle. Leave it to Louis to come up with a distraction so dramatic. She scurried out while staying low to the ground, keeping an eye on the stymphalian birds above.

The distraction was certainly effective. All the adult birds flew in Louis’ direction with angry cries, causing him to pick up his speed as he circled round the rookery, still flapping his coat wildly. “Woah! Didn’t know we were playing chicken here! Guess it’s a race then!”

Clementine smiled to herself, entertained by Louis’ commentary as she picked through nest after nest, steering clear of the squealing babies within each one. She was peeved by her haul though. Each nest only contained a single bronze feather if any at all. They must not fall out often. They wouldn’t have much to show at this rate. Would they have to capture one of the birds and pluck it themselves?

A started yelp from Louis had her looking up from her work. Clementine followed his gaze to the ground where to her horror she saw a series of feathers embedded in the ground mere inches behind him. When Louis had mentioned the birds could throw their feathers, she’d thought they would be small feathers, only an inch or two long. The ones dropped in the nests were about that size. But these appeared to be almost half a foot in length. If one of those feathers hit either of them, it wouldn’t be an injury they could walk off. “Run!” Clementine called to Louis, cupping her hands round her mouth.

Louis had already circled about halfway round the rookery. It would be quite some distance before he’d reach the safety of the woods. Saving his breath for running, he circled the edge of the nesting ground as quickly as possible, teetering dangerously close to the edge. More feathers came flying his way, falling into the sea as he bent in half to dodge them. As he was about to lift his head, Louis noticed one stymphalian gull flying particularly close overhead. It dropped a load of its own, but this one wasn’t feathers. The poo didn’t come that close to Louis, instead joining the flung feathers in the sea. Louis’ felt his stomach drop though when he saw a dead fish float to the surface, covered in the sticky white substance. “What the shit?!”

“What is it?” Clementine called softly, circling toward him and picking up the feathers strewn along the way.

“Their dung is poisonous after all! Everything’s true!” Picking up his pace, Louis scampered forward, sidestepping nest after nest. “We need to book it!” Louis’ path through the nests seemed to further anger the birds. They began to take turns diving toward him, their sharp beaks snapping at his dreadlocks viciously. “Make for the trees, Clem! Save yourself!”

“Fuck that!” Picking up a rock, Clementine threw it toward the flock of angry gulls. “I’m not gonna leave you!” She picked up another rock, lobbing it at a particularly large bird. The projectile simply bounced off of that animal, not seeming to injure it in any way. It did draw its attention though. The gull turned with an angry look toward Clementine, diving her direction.

“Clem!” Louis called, leaping over nests to try to reach her.

“Caw, caw!” Clementine called, jogging backwards as she kept her eye on the stymphalian gulls. “Come get me, cowards!”

“No! Caw, caw! I’m an imposter, get me!” Louis cried, leaping up and down as he flapped his coat wildly.

Now the gulls were after both of them. It was utter chaos as the pair ran amongst the nests, trying to reunite and reach safety while the flock continued to chase them. The chase continued round and through the rookery till Clementine spotted an opening. “Louis, now!” She sprinted toward the woods, hoping he was close behind her. Reaching their safety, she turned around to see Louis with a squadron of birds on his tail. He leapt into the woods just as a barrage of metal feathers flew through the air. Some hit the trees while others flew past into the woods. When Clementine looked down, she saw Louis collapsed on the ground, pinned in place by several feathers that had cut through his coat and embedded in the dirt.

Clementine ran forward, pulling the feathers out and helping him up. “Keep going! Don’t look back!” The two continued to sprint through the woods and back to the opposite beach, the calls of the stymphalian gulls echoing in their ears and causing their hearts to pound heavily. Racing to the rowboat, they jumped in, tossing in their cargo and beginning to paddle desperately out to sea. On the other side of the island, they could see birds rising above the tree line. The sight made them row all the faster. It was only when the island became a blurred smudge on the horizon that they both collapsed upon the floor of the rowboat, gasping for air.

“That was- way worse- than expected,” Louis managed, his arms spread eagled across both sides of the rowboat. “Sorry,”

“ -‘s fine,” Clementine replied, using her bandana to wipe sweat from her brow. “Definitely a story to remember. And look at the haul we got,” She smiled down at the base of the rowboat, full with over a dozen of the massive feathers. “Can’t believe we grabbed so many,”

Louis whistled appreciatively. “Way to go us, thinking about the moolah even as we fled for our lives. We make quite the team,”

“That we do,” Clementine smirked. “Never thought I’d say that to someone who does such a spot-on impression of a chicken,”

“Um, excuse you, I was a stymphalian gull,” Louis replied, rolling his eyes in mock injury. “True theater isn’t appreciated these days,”

Clementine giggled, her smile hidden behind her hand. “My apologies, good sir,”

Louis smiled back at her. “Y’know, you’re pretty fun when on adventure. I bet you’ll fit right in in no time: a true Ericson pirate,”

Clementine’s face fell at his words.

“Is the welcome premature?”

“Maybe… if you knew the truth,”

Louis’ brow furrowed at those words. “And what’s that?”

Clementine rolled up her sleeve, displaying a large brand on her arm. Louis recognized it immediately: New Frontier. A particularly notorious and bloodthirsty crew of pirates. “Figured you should know before getting too friendly,”

“Oh. Shit,”

“Yeah,” Clementine’s eyes were locked on one of the feathers in the pile, watching it as the rowboat rose and fell with each gentle wave. “I can leave as soon as we get back to the boat. Me and A.J.”

“I’m guessing you joined them out of necessity?”

Clementine’s eyes looked up to search Louis’. There was no judgment there. “Yes. I had nothing left,”

“And you escaped?”

“I was kicked out. Punishment for stealing,”

“What did you steal?” Louis’ gaze was steady, searching.

“Medicine. A.J. was sick. He’d have died without it,”

Louis nodded thoughtfully. “You stuck by him,”

“I would do anything for A.J.”

“You stuck by me too, back at the rookery. I told you to run and you didn’t,”

“I knew I could help,”

“Before they joined my crew, Violet, Mitch, Tenn and Willy were thieves. I met Violet when she was trying to rob me. Only figure that out later though,” Louis gave a rueful chuckle. “We met Aasim in jail. He’s been put there for running dozens of cons. Ruby was our jailer. Helped us escape and wrecked all future job prospects in the process. Brody’s a runaway and Omar… honestly, I’m still not sure why Omar decided to stick with us. The point is, everybody in the crew has a past they’d like to forget, someone they used to be but aren’t anymore. So, Clementine,” Louis extended his hand. “I want to offer you that same thing. Whatever’s in the past, you can leave it there. Would you like to officially become an Ericson pirate?”

Clementine’s mouth was dry. He was seriously offering this after what she had just revealed? She could tell from the look in Louis’ eye that this was genuine though; he meant what he said. A second chance at life, a new start… could that really happen at sea? Clementine wanted to believe it was possible. If Louis was willing to give it a try, then so was she. Clementine took his hand in hers, shaking it firmly. “I do,”

Louis smiled brightly, a laugh escaping his lips. “Then welcome to the crew!”

[serialreblogger]

just finished watching the Mummy (Tom Cruise edition) and i have Some Thoughts

I knew it would be racist going in. I knew that. But it’s just such a dumb premise for a movie, like. Egyptian Zombies, but they’re extra scary because they’re èxötique

and of course the people destroying antiquities are Rebel Egyptian Insurgents and the white opportunists (who’re explicitly stated to be stealing and selling artifacts on the black market) are actually rescuing them from the violent natives. just. so dumb, so racist, so unnecessary

also why is Ahmanet (the mummy, pictured above) so white? Like. i know this is kind of a case of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” (if she’s white it’s whitewashing, if she’s accurate it’s hoo boy with the symbolic Dangerous Exotic Women), but frankly if you’re in that situation you’re already doing it wrong. and they’re clearly going all out with the racist vibes (we’ll get to that more later) so like. why is she white. the producers were presented with two evils and chose both, is what i’m saying

*Oh, and it’s not bc she’s undead. there’s a really good post i saw recently explaining how to properly colourize undead POC, and friends, this isn’t it. (i can’t find that post back because tumblr is the worst, but if anyone has it on hand PLEASE send it to me and i’ll add the link here)

“I’m scared,” Blonde Love Interest confides to Tom Cruise in a moment of crisis. Hey, that line was progressive! Sixty years ago on Star Trek. And Uhura, who said it first, actually had some character. 

the ENDING. friends. the ending. Spoilers below, just fyi (it came out in 2017, but still)

the! ENDING! i know i’m an english major and i tend to overthink things but I CAN’T DEAL WITH THAT ENDING

so Ahmanet is an Ancient Egyptian Princess who was set to inherit the throne, but then her father had a son so she decides to go evil because she really wanted to inherit, you know? as you do

of course it didn’t work and for her crimes she was “mummified alive” (someone should probably have looked up what mummification entailed. but whatever) 

tom cruise disturbs her resting place and consequently becomes Ahmanet’s Chosen Vessel. he’s now set to be possessed by the Egyptian god of death, who is also apparently Satan, because white people suck

[insert an hour of bad zombie effects]

at the end, the blonde woman tom cruise knows from a one-night-stand and is apparently now in love with?? dies. she’s drowned by Ahmanet and her skeleton army. 

tom cruise then decides to use this evil magic knife to stab himself, thereby inviting Egyptian Satan to possess him so he can have “power of life over death”. Cruise then uses this power to:

Slam Ahmanet, the Beautiful and Seductive Exotic Woman (a common trope in the 1600s, fyi, always juxtaposed with the Good and Obedient White Woman. which is also the case. in this movie. which came out. in 2017) into a wall

Drags Ahmanet onto a stone table and traps her beneath him

Kisses her on the lips, sucking out her life force and reducing her to a dried-up corpse.

...

The symbolism here is breathtaking. (No pun intended, for once.) 

Tom Cruise, the white man, is forced (“forced.” actually even within the movie he had the option. he very clearly chose to do this instead of just destroying the means of god-summoning. it’s framed as a sacrifice on his part) to physically conquer and molest the woman of colour, in order to halt and reverse her monstrous deeds. He reduces her to a husk of herself, and transfers her life force into his dead blonde love interest. The Good and Obedient White Woman comes back to life, rewarded for... she didn’t even do anything. She’s rewarded for being white and attractive to Tom Cruise’s character.

The only difference between this ending and literally any moralistic seventeenth-century literature characterized by its preachy dialogue and thinly-veiled lessons is how Cruise’s character is treated afterward. 

Where, historically, the male hero would be celebrated for his actions, Tom Cruise is labelled “a monster” who had to become something society reviled in order to do what had to be done.

I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS. THIS IS WHAT THEY’RE SAYING:

“Women who try to recover the rights/honours men have taken from them are monsters.”

“POC are monsters.”

“Women are only saved by men’s love for them.” 

“If a woman does not receive a man willingly, she must be forcibly taken, in order to reverse the life-sucking effects of the monster she’s become.”

This is a narrative straight from early colonialist Britain. 

This is a narrative that apparently hasn’t changed! except that now Hero Men who show women their place are unjustly vilified, made to become monsters by doing what had to be done.

I AM NOT OKAY WITH THIS, FRIENDS

anyway

this has been Movie Reviews with Linden

thanks for reading and, uh... try not to write horrifically racist and misogynistic plotlines? i guess?

[fyexo]

191010 SuperM Aim to Conquer America By Staying Korean

A monolithic coliseum, intimidating and gleaming in the sun, materializes in the desert like a mirage. Inside, seven men clad in black and metallics stand tall in its center, facing the thousands gathered to watch them.

The scene that opens South Korean supergroup SuperM’s debut music video, “Jopping,” is an apt metaphor for K-pop’s most buzzed-about new act — donning their armor, the gladiators prepare to take on one of the most intimidating contenders of them all: the U.S. market.

In August, Korean music juggernaut SM Entertainment, in partnership with Capitol Records and its subdivision Caroline, announced that it would debut a new K-pop supergroup featuring the cream of the crop, pulled from some of SM’s most popular active groups. These acts combined (SHINee, EXO, NCT 127, WayV) have sold more than 14 million adjusted albums and garnered nearly four billion views of their music videos. Though SM has experimented with a few supergroups in the past, this announcement was especially mind-blowing to K-pop fans, as it promised to take a cross-section of some of the very best dancers, singers, and rappers in the business — an Olympic-level performance team.

Taemin, 26, is the industry vet, who joined K-pop darling SHINee as its maknae (youngest member) in 2008. Along with a successful career in the group as its charismatic main dancer, he also has made a name for himself through his popular solo work, dramatic and often androgynous looks, and sultry vocals. From EXO — a group so revered they were chosen to perform at the 2018 PyeongChang Olympic Closing Ceremony — is SuperM’s leader Baekhyun, 27, known for his killer sense of humor and soaring tenor. Then there’s Kai, 25, the ballet-trained dancer whose secret weapon is a combination of long, sharp lines and arresting looks.

From subunits of the 21-person umbrella group, NCT, is NCT 127’s bright-faced Canadian rapper Mark, 20, and its 24-year-old charismatic leader and rapper Taeyong. And from the Chinese-language unit WayV is the quadrilingual Thai triple-threat Ten, 23, as well as 6-foot-something, 20-year-old striking Hong Kong-born rapper Lucas.

While the announcement garnered a monsoon of excitement online, it was also met with a hefty dose of skepticism and criticism. Some were upset that the activities of NCT 127, EXO, and WayV would be put on hold, and felt bad for the remaining members. But the most vocal faction seemed to float somewhere in the middle, unsure of what to make of the all-star lineup. One thing was sure: the sheer talent would be next-level. But SuperM was notably announced as group aiming to appeal to an international audience and debut in the U.S. — would that mean stripping it of its K-pop identity to make it palatable to the American mainstream?

That fear was all but quelled with one word: “Jopping.” The lead single off of SuperM’s self-titled seven-track EP is a bombastic, genre-bending dance track that blends English and Korean, and even samples the Avengers theme — apt for the self-proclaimed “Avengers of K-pop.”

K-pop can now can add “Jopping” — a blend of the words “jumping” and “popping” — to its lexicon, joining the ranks of “Boombayah,” “Dumb Litty,” and “kitty-incidence.” Not only is the title very K-pop, but the song is classic SM. In fact, it evokes a specific company-coined sonic style called SMP, or SM Music Performance, which is choreography synced with a mix of rock, R&B, and hip-hop beats.

“It's our debut single and first appearance as SuperM, so we knew that we had to do something that shows off all our best sides — whether it be our style or each of our personas and characters,” the affable Mark tells Refinery29 following SuperM’s debut Los Angeles showcase. “We knew that ‘Jopping’ had a large feeling to it and we knew that only something that big could contain our performances, our raps, our singing, and our dancing.”

It’s a bold move. Many K-pop acts looking to make it in the U.S. have opted to collaborate with big-name Stateside artists, or even release straightforward pop/hip-hop English-language songs that do everything to hide even a trace of a foreign accent. But SuperM deliberately chose to take a risk.

“Now that we’re entering the American market, we could have released a song that suits the American taste better, but that’s not what distinguishes us as a group,” says Kai, a silver Rolling Stones necklace adorning his graceful neck. “We chose ‘Jopping’ because we wanted to show something that hasn’t been done in the States. Also, given that we’ve pulled together all these great members for this kind of performance, we saw a potential in this song to captivate the world and show our identity.”

“It gives us an opportunity to show fans a variety of styles, and prove that we can pull off anything,” adds the purple-haired Taeyong.

Dig deeper into the EP, and the tracks reveal a roadmap that winds even deeper into the group’s Korean identity. Take “I Can’t Stand The Rain,” an immense electro-pop song that opens with echoing traditional Korean drums and whose chorus is cradled by a classic haegeum melody. The synthy R&B B-side “2 Fast” features a classic K-pop tempo change halfway through, slowing down during the bridge before picking up the beat and adding undulating trills of vocal distortion.

“We’re from Asia,” says cotton candy-haired Baekhyun, who's taken quickly to his leadership role. “We wanted to emphasize the harmony between Western and Asian music. That’s why the drums and haegeum are on that Westernized beat [in ‘I Can’t Stand The Rain’]. With ‘2 Fast’, the sudden change within the track is very K-pop because K-pop itself changes all the time. There’s no limitation and it takes on many different forms. This song is just another representation of that, and how we try to differentiate ourselves.”

“I’m honestly constantly learning from these six people how we can best represent SM’s history and show Americans what K-pop is,” says Lucas, who palpably relaxes when he speaks in Chinese, his native language. “I’m learning how, through this music industry, to be a vessel for spreading culture, thought, and happiness.”

And people are certainly noticing. After releasing their EP, SuperM delivered a blowout debut showcase in LA. Hundreds of roaring fans gathered to watch their first performance in Capitol Records’ backlot, which was streamed live around the world on YouTube. The group has since sat on Ellen’s couch, and announced a 10-date North American tour that includes New York City’s Madison Square Garden. It’s a promising beginning for the septet, and something that Mark didn’t think he’d ever see growing up.

“Growing up in Canada and being in the West, nobody really knew about K-pop unless they were Korean,” he says, his expressive eyes growing contemplative. “To see a Korean group like SuperM that’s so powerful, making an impact on America and sharing their energy and story, and to have Amercian fans come and run to us to see our synergy, is something I’d never thought that I’d see, nevertheless be a part of. I always try to remind myself how lucky I am to bridge two cultures together. It’s a cool moment.”

Though the EP is rumored to make a strong debut on the Billboard 200 next week, it seems unlikely that the average American will be "jopping" anytime soon. But it’s not about simply putting out songs that can dominate charts or airwaves right away — if that were the case, we'd be hearing a much more Western-sounding lead single.

It all comes back to an ethos instilled by SM’s founder and K-pop pioneer, Lee Soo Man. “I love what I heard from him yesterday,” says Ten with a quiet confidence. “Be humble, and learn from other people. Don’t put yourself above other people. Then, if you do that, you’ll rise higher without knowing.” It’s about promoting cross-cultural understanding, and hoping to change minds enough for the world to make room for what Korean culture has to offer. “K-pop itself is not just a music genre, but a whole cultural phenomenon,” says Taemin warmly. “It includes fashion, music, and so much more. When other people look at K-pop with a more traditional Western lens, or when people listen to it, it may sound like a combination of all different genres. Although it might sound unfamiliar at first, I think it's in the process of being blended into the mix of U.S. culture. Hopefully, SuperM can also make a contribution.”

source: Natalie Morin @ refinery29

[kyogre-blue]

Nanowrimo, day 12 (wc 1568)

“A trading company?” Alibaba repeated.

“That’s right. I’m going with Hinahoho and Rurumu, and I’ll take the chance to negotiate with the national chief to give us exclusive trading rights.” Thinking for a moment, Sinbad added, “And a fleet. Since we picked up so many people, we’ll need a bigger ship.” 

“Planning to scam him quite a bit, aren’t you?” Alibaba noted dryly. 

Sinbad grinned unrepentantly. “What, do you think I can’t?” 

“No, you’ll definitely do it,” Alibaba said. The level of charisma required was just unfair, but he knew that Sinbad would succeed. After all, the kingdom of Sindria had been born out of the Sindria Trading Company. 

It was kind of exciting to witness it himself.

Satisfied, Sinbad nodded. “Then once we have the goods, we can head back to Balbadd and open our first office. We’ll be counting on you for the local contacts.” 

“Hey, when did I agree to join?” Alibaba protested — nevermind that all of his supposed contacts would be a decade too early to use, and even his knowledge of the local trade laws wouldn’t match up exactly. However, as a merchant, he couldn’t help considering it. “Well, it’s a good idea to set up in a trading hub like Balbadd,” he said slowly. “But the distance will be prohibitive, especially if you want to ship anything perishable. Also, Imuchakk is not known in the southeast, so you will need to do additional work to build up interest.” 

“...” Somewhat at a loss over this sudden lecture, Sinbad could only lean back and listen. 

“Compared to that, starting in Reim might be a better choice,” Alibaba mused. “Napolia on the coast is no less of a trading hub, but it’s much closer. Reim is a major market in its own right too. And it’s much more familiar with Imuchakk… although maybe not in the most flattering light. On the other hand, you’ll need to find out what their trading requirements are and probably get a license. ...And you won’t be able to see Madam Esra for a while. What do you think?” 

“...Reim, huh? I admit, I’m curious about that place,” Sinbad said. “Why not? Let’s start there. Since you’re so knowledgeable, we’ll be counting on you!” 

“And I’m telling you, I don’t remember joining,” Alibaba shot back. 

“You don’t want to?” Sinbad asked, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “You don’t think it’s exciting? You love this merchant stuff, I saw you haggling and doing those investments at Balbadd. Think about it, we’re creating a whole new trading company. There hasn’t been one like ever before! And I don’t plan to stop with just Imuchakk, you know. I meant what I said — I’ll connect the world. This is just the first step. You don’t want to be part of that?” 

He looked infuriatingly sure of himself as he gestured with one hand as if holding it out to Alibaba. He really did have a way of pulling people along in his wake, making them believe in the shining dream he spoke of. Alibaba wasn’t sure whether it was better or worse knowing that he really would succeed in everything he claimed. 

It was very tempting. 

He really was very tempted. After all, it wasn’t like he had a way of getting back. So far, it seemed like it had been some kind of freak chance that landed him in this dimension. Maybe he was stuck there forever anyway. Maybe it was time to give up and accept it. 

...Like hell he could just accept it! 

He still needed to settle his debts in Balbadd, his Balbadd. He still had a promise with Aladdin to fulfill. 

And, frankly, he was tired of wondering whether he was messing up Sinbad’s legendary adventures. This wasn’t where he belonged. It wasn’t his place. 

“There’s still things I need to take care of,” Alibaba explained vaguely. 

“Mm-hm. So where are you going after this?” 

Alibaba thought for a moment, then had to make a face. “...Reim, probably,” he admitted. That was one of the two remaining leads Yunan had given him — a girl named Scheherazade and the Musta’sim magic academy. 

“Oh, what a coincidence!” Sinbad gave him a smug grin. “At this rate, I’ll start thinking you’re just looking for excuses to stay close to me. There’s no need, you know, my Sindria Company will always have a place for you.” Leaning in close, Sinbad tried to trick he had learned recently. “I need you. We can’t do it without you.” 

“Ha ha,” Alibaba said dryly — because he knew that Sinbad very much did not. Grabbing the side of his face, he pushed the troublesome future king straight into the nearest snowbank. 

~.~ 

Chapter 7: Napolia

There was no blockade around Napolia. That was the first thing Sinbad noticed. No navy ships patrolling every approach, no catapults and ballistas lining the entrance to the port, just a few watch towers that were barely distinguishable from the surrounding buildings. 

It was nothing like his old home. 

Perhaps it wasn't a fair comparison, since Contastia had never been hailed as the second most prosperous city in Partevia. But thinking about it, Sinbad wasn't sure if such a place even existed in Partevia to begin with. Everywhere had been drained dry by the war. Any ship going in or out of the country needed to pass through security checks so tight it was almost infeasible, and the few merchant vessels Sinbad had accompanied from one internal port to another had sailed with half empty holds. 

He'd heard once at the tavern after a job that it hadn't always been like that. Partevia had once had a bustling trading port as well -- an island, in fact, dedicated to trade with every corner of the world. But it had been judged indefensible and forcefully abandoned when the war intensified, before Sinbad was even born. 

Napolia wasn't very defensible either, and yet here it was, prospering.  

It took considerable effort for Sinbad to remain standing proudly at the prow without craning his neck at every passing ship, the buildings along the shore, and the tiny figures of the people in every imaginable garb and style. He didn't want to look like the small town hick he was -- because he was representing the Sindria Trading Company now, because looking lost and wide eyed was a good way to become a mark, and because Ja'far had already mocked him plenty on the way -- but it was very hard. 

“My goodness, it’s quite busy,” Rurumu murmured. “In all this, will we be able to dock safely?” 

“We’ll be fine. In a place like Napolia, they will have ways of managing it,” Alibaba assured her. “The port authorities will send someone over. Look, that’s them over there.” 

He pointed to a small ship sporting several rows on either side, quickly cutting through the waves toward them. A man waved a bright flag toward them and, receiving Alibaba’s acknowledgement, made some kind of gesture, which Alibaba appeared to also understand. 

“Okay, head toward that dock there,” Alibaba told the others. “We’ll be in the fifth spot from the end.” 

As Hinahoho and Mahad guided their ship toward the right dock, he and Rurumu began a quiet discussion regarding the management of major ports -- something that was apparently not entirely standardized, but there were certain conventions that could be expected. Part of it was to avoid any accidents and better manage space along the docks, but part of it had to do with politics and avoiding putting vessels from unfriendly countries next to each other of slighting a foreign delegation by leaving them to dock at a less used pier. 

Sinbad listened in with half an ear. There was still a lot that went over his head, no matter how much ground Rurumu had managed to cover in her merciless training during the journey. And there were things like this that even Rurumu didn’t know. Although the national chief Rametoto had given her an extensive education, international trading had not been widely covered for obvious reasons. She had made do while teaching them by combining economics and diplomacy, but certain things would naturally fall through the cracks. 

Now that they were getting closer to shore, the unique design of their Imuchakk vessel was beginning to draw attention from the masses rushing along the docks. Sinbad could imagine their whispers of interest, and he did his best to look even more dashing. 

Ah, he couldn’t wait to explore everything... 

Alibaba’s voice trailed off distractedly in mid-discussion, and his head turned as he stared, frowning, at a docked ship they were passing by. 

“What’s wrong?” Sinbad asked. “It’s got a Balbadd flag, but that shouldn’t be a problem, right?” 

“It has a coat of arms too. It’s an official vessel of the court,” Alibaba said, finally tearing his gaze away. He shook his head as if trying to get rid of some troublesome thought. “It’s fine. It’s probably just an ambassador or something. There’s no way it could be the king himself, he can’t travel this far...” 

For some reason, he laughed nervously and repeated, “There’s no way.” 

Sinbad exchanged a look with Rurumu. She shook her head. 

“Do you want me to buy a new headscarf?” Sinbad offered judiciously, and very seriously mimed wrapping up his head like ‘Ali’ had done in Balbadd. 

The flat look he received was completely undeserved. 

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence, Counterpoint, chapter 11

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It seemed to grow piercingly cold all at once. The next day they ended up having to go to the market for warmer clothing. Four days had passed, between sleep and trauma. Ienzo found himself dreading to return to the research, which was unusual. He wanted to help Sora, desperately, but at the same time, he’d been experiencing so much--good and bad--lately that he wasn’t sure he could have a clear head.

He would just have to try his best, and, if need be, ask for help. He’d finally started to make some progress, after all.

The day passed quickly and relatively peacefully. Ienzo did feel a lot better, no longer plagued by the headaches and dizziness that had no doubt been a result of sleep deprivation. His anxiety, too, was much more manageable, though he guessed this might be because he was spending so much time with Demyx.

Ienzo was in love.

As a teenage Nobody, he’d read some romance novels, mostly to try and gain some insight as to what this all meant in the world, especially for the Somebodies he’d been put in charge of observing or manipulating. He’d always found such descriptions of love melodramatic and overblown, lacking grounding in reality. Of course, the fact that most of these novels were written for heterosexual couples might change things too.

He felt the precise opposite of that dissociative, codependent infatuation. He’d hardly ever felt more awake, and more himself. Maybe that was why he was so afraid to leave the safety of this week. This stability and peace was so very tenuous.

Demyx helped him make dinner. He tried to take the instructions Ienzo gave him, he really did, but his knife cuts were not very clean or uniform. Ienzo couldn’t help but wonder how Demyx had been raised. With some things he was so practical and capable, but yet he couldn’t dice onions.

“Why’d you learn to cook?” Demyx asked him.

Ienzo checked the recipe. They were making a sort of bouillabaisse. He measured out a few different spices. “Perhaps you’ve noticed, but we apprentices tend to view our bodies more as vessels for the mind more than anything else. The meals I were raised on were nutritious, but bland. It frustrated me when I was younger, so I did research.” He shrugged. “It’s something I enjoy doing. Objective. Harmless.” It was the closest to artistry he could get.

Demyx pointed to the still-fading scar on his hand.

“ Largely harmless,” he corrected. “More so than my other research. Are those carrots ready?” That brought him, inevitably, to spiraling about Sora. He had to be careful. But wasn’t time of the essence? The more time Ienzo spent away from his work, the farther Sora was drifting from all of them. Ienzo reached over and corrected Demyx’s cuts before mixing them into the pot.

“Are you beating yourself up again?” Demyx asked. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You always ask questions about me. That doesn’t seem fair. Tell me more about you.”

He started slicing down the potatoes in front of him. “There’s not a whole lot to know,” he said. “You know about as much about me as I do.”

“...So you haven’t remembered anything else?” Demyx’s heart should be complete by now. This amnesia was concerning. Was it all trauma and repression? Or had Xehanort’s heart done more damage to him than they’d originally thought? But then Even’s memories should be scattered too, and by all accounts they weren’t. Worry tightened in his throat.

He sighed. “There is one thing,” he said. “Um, it’s kind of a doozy though.”

Ienzo looked up. Really it had only been a month or so since Demyx’s return. Did he just need time? “Pray tell.”

Demyx set down the knife.  “Well. Don’t freak out. But--”

Ansem’s voice broke the moment. “Oh, boys, that smells absolutely incredible.”

“Ienzo did all the work,” Demyx said without making eye contact. “I’m just moral support.”

“That’s not true. He’s trying,” Ienzo said. “It’ll be ready in about an hour. I hope you’ll be joining us?”

“I shall.” He paused slightly. “You look much improved. Perhaps I shall take a page out of Demyx’s book.”

“I am… feeling rather better.” This was the first time Ienzo had spoken to Ansem since he’d found out about the relationship. He couldn’t pretend it wasn’t awkward. It had been all too easy to avoid him, lest he feel the need to give his two cents, or worse, try to feign parenting. When it came to something this personal, he did not need unsolicited advice.

“And you were both able to find good things for winter?”

“Yeah. Thanks again,” Demyx said.

Ansem smiled. “Like I said, I wish for you to be comfortable here. Winters in Radiant Garden can be… bracing, if one is not used to it. I can feel it even now. Perhaps, Demyx, if you wouldn’t mind, you can help Aeleus light the boilers sometime in the next coming days?”

Demyx blinked. “I don’t know why I’d be the right one for the job.”

“He needs assistance. I’m afraid with all of us tied up in our work, and Dilan still acting as guard, we’re one pair of hands short.”

“I’m happy to help,” Demyx mumbled. He turned back to his potatoes.

Awkwardness aside, Ienzo wanted to ask about the state of the research. No doubt Ansem had been investigating as well. It took a great deal of restraint not to ask. The model's face, so alive, so like the real thing, flashed behind his eyes. He felt recovered, but that didn’t mean he was. Still, his hands trembled.

“I shall see you in an hour,” Ansem said.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Ienzo said. He added some thyme to the soup. “Well. What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“...Nothing. It can wait.” He smiled.

“So you’re happy to help,” Ienzo said. Flirting was new to him, but he liked it. A new and unexplored use of wit. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to talk up Master Ansem, or if I’ve been a good influence on you.”

He seemed to hesitate, but really only for a fraction of a second. “Neither. It really is cold as fuck in here!”

“I’m afraid even with the heating it doesn’t get much better. This place is very old, poorly insulated. You’d better brace yourself. Though admittedly… it occurs to to me there is one way to keep warm.” Before he could lose his nerve, Ienzo kissed him. Part of him wondered, briefly, if he was only doing this to distract himself; warmth and want chased off the anxiety. Humanity was so manipulable. He'd always wondered why.

“Ienzo!” Demyx gasped in surprise.

He felt his face warm. “When this week ends, we won’t have that much time together,” Ienzo said.

He brushed a finger against Ienzo's lip.  “I’m not going to let you overwork yourself like that again. You can’t get rid of me.”

“Is that a promise?”

Demyx kissed him back equally as deeply, pulling his fingers through his hair and trailing down to his throat. The only thing that interrupted them was the loud sloshing as the pot boiled over. Ienzo swore and dropped the burner’s heat to “low.” “Later?” Demyx asked.

Another surge of anticipation, stronger this time. “Later.”

After all that, dinner was a bit of a fiasco. The food came out alright, despite the cream overheating. The apprentices’ old hierarchy was still very much in place; thinking nothing of it, Demyx had sat next to Ienzo, not realizing it was Even’s place. Nobody really outwardly commented, though Dilan did smirk. He’d always been a glutton for drama. Seeing them all here, gathered together, Ienzo felt something akin to embarrassment. The truth of their relationship had already been revealed, but to have it acknowledged added a strange layer of tension to the air. This sort of thing had never happened before.

“I see you’re feeling well, Ienzo,” Even said sweetly. “What is it you’ve both done to keep yourselves busy?”

The impudence of this made the blood rise in his face, but Ienzo replied pleasantly, paring the truth down to something palatable and non-incriminating.

“I am sure we’re all glad to see you back in good health,” Even said to him. “I just hope that this new development does not cloud your judgement going forward. To be young and… caught up in such matters, can no doubt impede your critical thinking. However natural it is.”

Demyx’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

Ienzo set down the cup of tea he was drinking. “Clearly you have thought on the subject, and I appreciate your concern. But I feel as though I am just as able to take on my research as I ever were. Not that I have asked for your advice. Should you have more to say on the matter, please let us discuss it in private.”

Even turned faintly pink.

“You needn’t worry about me anymore,” Ienzo said, a bit more gently. “I… I’m not the little boy I was.”

Even shook his head. “I will always worry about you,” he said. “After all, I’ve so much time to make up for.”

After a rather pregnant silence, Demyx cleared his throat. “Anyone want seconds?”

They both did the dishes. Ienzo was extra cautious to make sure that no knives were lying around. They returned to his room, though the mood from before had been spoiled. Demyx sat on the bed.  Ienzo turned towards the window, looking out at the town wreathed in fading light. “I must apologize for Even. It was incredibly rude for him to be so suggestive.”

Demyx joined him. “Why? Everyone knows.”

“They used to be… quite protective of me,” he said, with a shake of his head.

“I think it’s nice they care so much about you.”

“They don’t… dislike you,” he said. He flinched at the double negative.

“They think I'm not good enough for you. And they're right."

Ienzo took his hand and sat down next to him. “I don’t think you understand the impact you’ve had on me,” he said quietly. “If it were not for you, I’d still be there, miserable and working myself to death, unable to find any value in myself aside from needing to atone. I… I know the mistakes I made cannot be undone, but I… I’m better. Destroying myself isn’t going to fix what I did. You’ve… brought me back to reality. And if they don’t realize that, then they’re worse off. I wish they could see what I see in you. Your kindness, your patience, your emotional intelligence.”

Demyx shook his head.

“Healing is a slow, tedious, constant process. You can’t allow yourself to get caught up in moments like these. They don’t matter.” He touched Demyx’s face. “You do. We do.”

Demyx blushed. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” he said.

“I… still have a few things to learn.” He kissed him gently.

Intimacy was still new and shocking to him, though at least he had somewhat of an idea of what to expect. Ienzo didn’t want to be so passive this time. He pulled his legs around Demyx’s waist and kissed him along the throat, along the soft spot that always made he himself feel weak. Demyx responded by pulling him down on top of him.

"I admit," Ienzo whispered. "All of this is... very new to me still. But I think I'm starting to understand."

Ienzo wondered if he should tell him, if he should say it out loud. But he had to know already. Everything he’d just said meant ten times more. He felt Demyx reach for the buttons of his pants and figured maybe now was not the time for talking. Clothing having been dealt with, Ienzo touched him, rivers of veins and muscle and bone, and scars. He kissed them and found that he’d been right about it also being pleasurable for Demyx, if the reaction he felt meant anything. He could feel it too, heavy and delicious and impermanent. To a degree, what Even said about this muddying thought was completely accurate. But was it such a sin to try and stop thinking for a few moments? The hand he'd been propping himself up with tightened against the sheets. "I want to..." Ienzo's voice sounded strange, a little like someone else's. "I want to do this for you. I--" His experience with such frustration was minimal, but he couldn't imagine it was easy.

He bit his lip a little and brushed Ienzo's hair out of his eyes. "If you're not ready--"

His face burned feverishly. He could only imagine how ridiculous he must look. "I am ready. And I want to. I just... I'm not, technically speaking, sure how?" He should probably try it on himself one of these days, if only to know the difference in sensation, but the thought was so jarring he pushed it away.

Demyx laughed a little. "Do you remember what I did to you?"

He nodded. The memory of it almost made him gasp out loud.

"Something like that."

He smiled shakily. "This isn't really something you read about in books."

"I guess it wouldn't be."

This shouldn't be difficult. He wanted to do it, to make him feel good as well. Yet finding the nerve took some time. Ienzo kissed him. He tried to will the trembling in his hands to stop. His hand brushed against Demyx's waist and hip and thigh. The scarred skin was warm. Demyx kissed him harder, his hand tangling in Ienzo's hair. This distraction was enough for him to touch his (what was it called in such moments? Wasn't "penis" too medical?) dick. The skin there was softer than he though, more natural. At least it was somewhat familiar in terms of structure. He stroked it gently and heard a small sound catch in Demyx's throat.

Ienzo pulled away from the kiss. "Was that alright?"

He nodded, unable to catch his breath. "Just a little bit more towards the--"

He tried to oblige. There was a sort of pleasure in doing this. He felt Demyx start to touch him too and tried to copy that. The awkward self-consciousness began to fade, replaced with the same lovely thoughtlessness as before. It was amazing that the body was capable of such pure joy. Little waves of it broke over him, heightening the tension within. He wove the trust and love into his touch and felt the same in return. The vulnerability did not feel so much like a weakness as a strength. It was okay. The rising, tightening feeling in him was recognizable now. He tried briefly to hold it back, but the need for release was just too tempting. He heard Demyx gasp as he came against him.

“I see,” Ienzo said softly, pressing a kiss into his sweaty brow. “It really is simpler than I thought.” The stress had been for naught.

Demyx lay back. “I swear this is not indicative of how long I usually last.”

Ienzo laughed. He shifted off of him, onto his side. “So do you feel better?”

“ So much better.”

He did too. The utter lack of anxiety was intoxicating. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He leaned against him. “You’ve been so patient with me.”

“It wasn’t all for you. Everything feels so different than it normally does. Plus I… I’m not used to the emotional part of it.”

“The sense of connection is… certainly unique. If I’ve learned anything, emotions are always capable of becoming more overwhelming. No matter their strength.”

Demyx hummed in response. For few minutes, or however long they remained knotted up together, he felt perfectly at peace. If there was anything to worry about, there was a later in which to do it.

“What the hell is that?” Demyx asked.

“My gummiphone. Though I have no idea who would be calling.” He got up and pulled on a robe, then reached into his lab coat pocket for the phone. “I’m sorry. I have to see who it is. Hello?”

“Ienzo? Are you busy?” Roxas’s voice, garbled.

“No, I’m not. What is it?”

It was hard to tell exactly what he was saying. Something about “worldlines.” Anxiety, or panic, made Roxas speak quickly.

“Slow down. The signal is not very good.”

“Are there universes other than this one? Like parallel universes? Xehanort mentioned something about worldlines but when I tried to ask Ansem about it he didn’t answer.”

That was so like Ansem. He probably hadn’t even heard the phone ring. “Well I do suppose it’s possible but I’ve had no insight this past week as to what he’s been up to, I fell ill and was resting--” He only knew about the Worldlines Theory vaporously--because it was just that, theory.

“Are you sick?”

“No, I’m alright now. And yourself? You sound distressed.”

“I mean I think I am? And then Riku went over to Yen Sid to ask more about it, and well, he said it’s possible, especially with the power of waking. They said Sora broke the rules of the power and walked between worlds. So they think that, if he’s done that, he’s in another worldline. Ienzo, do you know anything?”

Yes. Yes, it was all making sense. How had he not even taking the power of waking into account? He’d assumed it had all to do with hearts. He’d been wrong. “I understand,” he said woodenly. “I’m afraid if that’s the situation then… I’ll try my best, but you must realize the prognosis is not good.”

“Can you check in your research? See if anyone knows anything?”

“Yes, I’ll let you know. Try and take care.” He hung up. His mind was spinning but no good thoughts came from it. He sat down on the bed.

“What happened?” Demyx asked. “Who was that?”

“It was Roxas. They think Riku’s got a lock on Sora’s location.”

“But isn’t that… good? Then why are you both upset?”

Ienzo was wringing his hands. “Because he’s not in this reality. We’ve no way to get him back. Wherever he is… he’s there, alone. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

[kjaneway115]

Star Trek Voyager: In the Flesh

5.4 “In the Flesh”

Stardate 52136.4

We see “Earth.”  Admiral Bullock gives out crew assignments to junior officers. Chakotay is watching them.  Chakotay runs into “Boothby.”  Chakotay sits down at a cafe and is accused of sitting in a woman’s seat and reading her book.  She introduces herself as Valerie Archer; he introduces himself as Jason Hayek.  Another man in the cafe starts to “revert.”  Archer asks Chakotay if he’s ever reverted.  She tells him she doesn’t like sleeping, bipedal locomotion or breathing oxygen.  “Think human, talk human, be human,” she reminds him. She offers to be his “guide” as Tuvok arrives and tells Chakotay they have work to do.  Valerie offers to meet him at 1900.  An ensign finds them, Tuvok does a Vulcan neck pinch, and all three of them beam up to a shuttle where Tom and Harry are waiting.

The ensign they’ve apprehended awakens in sickbay.  Janeway asks him who he is and tells him they know he’s not really human.  The Doctor tries to take a sample of his DNA, but he becomes violent and kills himself by releasing a cellular toxin into his bloodstream.  Chakotay shows Janeway the holoimages he took on the surface.  Janeway says Boothby used to give her roses for her quarters when she was a cadet.

The Doctor triggers a genetic reversion in the body in sickbay.  It is Species 8472.  Tom suggests that they may have already infiltrated the Alpha Quadrant. Chakotay says he’s going to keep his date with Valerie to gather intelligence.  

Janeway finds Chakotay in astrometrics.  She approaches him.  “Last minute preparations?”  CHAKOTAY: Just planning my big night out.  JANEWAY: I can recommend a nice Japanese replimat on the Embarcadero.  CHAKOTAY: I was never very good with chopsticks.  JANEWAY: Starfleet headquarters. Brings back memories, even if it is just a re-creation. I remember my last visit there. I was given my general orders for Voyager's first mission. Proceed to the Badlands and find the Maquis.  CHAKOTAY (smiling): The orders that brought us together.  JANEWAY: What about you? When was the last time you were at Headquarters?  CHAKOTAY: Before today? March 3rd, 2368. The day I resigned my commission. I can still remember the look on the admiral's face.  JANEWAY: Which one?  CHAKOTAY: Nimembeh.  JANEWAY: He taught at the Academy, didn't he?  CHAKOTAY: That's right.  JANEWAY: Interspecies Ethics, wasn't it? CHAKOTAY (he gives her a look): Tactical Analysis.  JANEWAY: Of course. CHAKOTAY: Kathryn, you think I might be one of them. You're testing me. JANEWAY: You and Tuvok were in the alien habitat for nearly three hours. Anything could have happened down there.  CHAKOTAY: True. Why don't you have Tuvok meet us in Sickbay. The Doctor can perform a microcellular analysis.  JANEWAY: Tuvok's already there.  CHAKOTAY (slightly expasperated): You could have just asked me to report to Sickbay.  JANEWAY: Given Ensign Gentry's reaction, I thought I'd be a little more tactful. CHAKOTAY (smiles): Not taking any chances, are you?  JANEWAY: Don't feel singled out. I've asked the Doctor to examine the entire crew. There's no telling how 8472 got their information about Starfleet. From the Borg? Earth? For all we know there's been an impostor on board.  In sickbay, after finding out that Chakotay and Tuvok are exactly who they seem to be, Janeway warns Chakotay to “be home before midnight.”  Tom and Harry joke with Chakotay about how he’s a true explorer for dating the 8472.

Seven is trying to improve her nanoprobes ability to combat 8472.  

Chakotay meets Valerie.  Harry paces, worrying about Chakotay, who has been gone 4 hours.  Tom tells him not to worry.  Harry remembers his last experience with 8472.  Tom assures Harry that Chakotay can take care of himself, “and if he can’t, who better than us to come to the rescue.”  Valerie brings Chakotay home.  He refuses her offer for a drink.  Valerie tells Chakotay she thinks humans hate them and despise anyone who isn’t a part of their Federation.  Chakotay downloads information from Valerie’s computer console into his tricorder.  Valerie is in her robe, asks Chakotay how he likes the view.  They go out onto her balcony.  She tells him that the planet Earth simulation will be real soon enough.  Chakotay questions whether their mission makes sense, but Valerie tells him he’s been “human” too long.  He tries to leave.  She stops him, saying it’s customary to kiss goodnight.  “Just think of it as part of our training,” she says.  He is reluctant at first, then kisses her passionately and leaves.  She looks at her own hand where he has touched her and analyzes the DNA. “Boothby” has realized that Chakotay is truly human.  It suddenly becomes daylight.  Chakotay is chased through the courtyard and apprehended.  

Janeway is concerned that their defenses are not adequate.  She tells Seven that she can’t stop thinking about the Starfleet directive ordering captains to seek diplomatic solutions first.  Tom and Harry contact Voyager and tell Janeway that Chakotay is in trouble.

Boothby asks Chakotay how many vessels they have in the Delta Quadrant. “One,” he replies.  Boothby thinks that there’s a Starfleet fleet on its way.  Voyager arrives at the planet.  8472 still thinks that the Federation is planning an invasion.  Janeway tells Seven to target the weapons array.  She argues that they should target the power supply as well, but Janeway wants to end the conflict with no casualties.  Chakotay argues with Valerie, trying to convince her that they’re not planning an invasion.  Valerie has been reading Federation literature.  Boothby hails Janeway.  She says she’s there for her first officer and an explanation.  Like Chakotay says to Valerie, Janeway tries to convince Boothby that they should meet.

Boothby, Valerie, and Admiral Bullock arrive on Voyager.  Chakotay is back on Voyager, too.  They sit at the negotiating table.  Boothby says they have a dozen more recreations scattered over the quadrant.  Janeway says that Starfleet has never even heard of 8472.  Boothby and the other 8472 are about to leave the table.  Janeway orders Seven to disarm their warheads.  Janeway tells Boothby that Voyager is alone in the Delta Quadrant and hasn’t had contact with Starfleet for four years.  Boothby asks about their alliance with the Borg.  Janeway explains she hadn’t known that the Borg started the war. Valerie is the one who is willing to talk.  She tells Janeway their mission is a reconnaissance mission, not an invasion.  The 8472 argue amongst themselves until Boothby tells Chakotay to keep talking.  Chakotay says they need to set aside their preconceived notions about each other.  They agree to exchange tactical information. Janeway and Chakotay exchange a glance.  Then Chakotay and Valerie share a smile.  

Seven recognizes that Janeway made a choice that she wouldn’t.  Bullock shows Neelix and Tuvok around.  Janeway talks with Boothby; she asks if they recreated a coffee shop on Market Street called the Night Owl.  Boothby tells Janeway that his superiors aren’t as forward thinking as he is.  She says she hopes they can keep the peace process alive.  “Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” he jokes.  He hands her a rose, just the way he always did at home.  She smells it and smiles.

Chakotay tells Valerie that she made a terrific human.  She says if their species weren’t so different, she’d ask for a second date.  She kisses him.  “I’ll never get a chance to do this again.”

Original Airdate: November 4, 1998

Production Number: 198

[aroundtheworldinsearchofcoke]

Day Thirteen: Dynamos

Charles Lightoller was something of an expert in maritime calamity by that fateful week in late May.

He had been shipwrecked four times, the first at age 15. He had rammed u-boats and fought zeppelins in the Great War. He'd been an innkeeper, a chicken farmer, a property speculator - as a young sailor, he'd pranked Sydney into believing the Boers had landed. All this without mentioning that he just so happened to be the highest ranking officer to survive the sinking of RMS Titanic.

Now, aged 66, the retired Commander Lightoller and his son Roger, plus a scout named Gerald Ashcroft, sailed into a war zone on the tiny yacht Sundowner. Their mission; to help evacuate the thousands of men of the British Expeditionary Force. He was among hundreds of vessels participating in Operation Dynamo; Admiral Ramsey’s audacious plan to evacuate the embattled BEF, alongside whatever French and Belgian forces they could.

On that shore stood Major General Bernard Law Montgomery. ‘Monty’ was a career staff officer - he'd been wounded in 1914 and never returned to the front. This battle made him - his cool command of his division secured him a promotion.

Also on those sands was Major Gerald Lathbury of the 48th Division, born to a military family in India. Brian Horrocks, another officer, commanded a battalion. These were low ranking officers today, but the campaign in France had effectively finished the careers of the old hands - Field Marshal Ironside and Lord Gort. When Britain returned - and it would return - they would be in command.

Over in Britain, a young lad in Stoke-on-Trent named John Baskeyfield was trained as a butcher. A career officer in the Irish Guards named John Ormsby Evelyn Vandeleur was serving in Palestine. Stanislaw Sosabowski, a Polish officer determined to avenge the defeat of his country, awaited deployment behind the frontline in France - he would soon find himself evacuated to Britain. In the United States, Carwood Lipton attended Marshall University, while James Gavin worked at West Point.

None of these men were especially connected - yet, in the September of 1944, they would be brought together to participate in the largest airborne operation ever attempted. This would be the combination of Operation Market - the paratrooper portion - and Operation Garden - the ground component.

Together, this made Operation Market Garden.

----

We left Bedford early this morning, meandering down the A1 and then the M25 towards Kent. We rolled through the winding country roads towards Tenterden, the main station of the Kent and East Sussex Railway.

The KESR was one of a number of small light railways in southern England, opened in the late nineteenth century and closed in the 1950s. It was reopened by enthusiasts in the wave of railway preservation that followed the Beeching Cuts, and today operates between Tenterden and Bodiam in East Sussex with a number of small tank engines and diesel railcars.

Today’s engine was GWR 1600-class No. 1638, and though we didn’t go on (prices were a tad steep), we did look around Tenterden station and get a goodly amount of photos, so all was good.

Some people don't like trains. They are bad people.

Following this, we travelled down to Dover to visit Dover Castle. You may remember it as that place I got hit by a bus once. It hasn’t changed since that tragic day – it remains built by Henry II, it still has the WWII tunnels and the fire control bunker, it still has a regimental museum. There’s a new audio bit where they describe Henry II as one of England’s greatest kings, so I’m pretty sure I can safely say that it’s not Thomas Beckett approved.

You know, Thomas Beckett? Famously hacked to death because some knights got really overzealous when the king badmouthed… oh, never mind.

Lapis wasn't hit by any buses and really that's the main thing.

Anyway, that was it for the day – we headed back down the road to Ashford, where I write this tonight. Tomorrow we cross under the Channel to the continent, where we hang around on a beach, look at a small bridge, and get on the highway to hell…

[ganymedesclock]

I think one of my biggest issues with a certain amount of fanon around Lotor is that even if you count Lotor as an antagonist- which you can make a good argument for- he’s clearly measured with a different standard than other antagonists.

For example people really like to use the term “murderer” when they’re trying to shut down any insinuation that Lotor could be a good person. In my experience this often involves ascribing kills to Lotor that he didn’t actually do or that are very shaky.

For example? Zethrid’s comment that they tried to send ships into the rift, and the vessels exploded, which was “fun for me, not fun for your pilots.” I’ve seen this interpreted as “Lotor sent people into the rift to their deaths.”

We have to consider with very rare exceptions, the smaller fighter ships that both the empire and Lotor uses? Are piloted by robots. And what we see of Lotor’s subordinates in s4e3 shows us mostly drones- maybe a handful of actual flesh-and-blood galra. And it’s fair to assume it’s not those galra who are being sent out in fighter ships by Lotor- otherwise in s3e2 the paladins committed a massacre and they are our Y7 show heroes so that’s not a thing.

And even if I was a fan of your conclusion, you have to recognize that “these ships that we have a single line of reference to definitely contained real people when it’s very likely in this setting they didn’t, and Lotor definitely sent a large number of those people to their death when he’s not known to attempt the same thing futilely over and over and he doesn’t appear to have that many followers to sacrifice.”

You could make a much better argument for the two fleets that Acxa called in at the end of s3e3 to cover Lotor’s escape, which we know were manned by living people, but even then, given Voltron was the killing weapon, I’d hesitate to make that your triumphant stand of “this proves that Acxa’s a rotten person and by connection, Lotor”.

Yes, Lotor has killed. Raht, Narti, and Zarkon. (it’s also possible that he killed his first opponent in the gladiatorial ring in s3e1) All three individuals, to his understanding, posed an immediate threat to his own life.

The most ambiguous and nasty case in this one is definitely Narti- there are other ways Lotor could have handled that situation. Narti was not a willing spy- Haggar set her up and Lotor cut her down. S5e6 analyzes this thinking, however, and frames it as:

Lotor tends to self-sabotage...

...Via his incredible difficulty trusting others and tendency to assume that anything opposing him at the moment must hate him and want him to die...

...Which is almost definitely rooted in the trauma he disclosed to Allura that would mean he doesn’t have healthy emotional connections to draw from the idea that people don’t all inevitably hate him.

As an audience, a certain amount of us do have a reflex of “C’mon dude, Narti is your friend. She wouldn’t do that to you. Can’t you see that she needs help, not your sword in her chest?” because we’re detached, we have more information than he does, and we have an emotional investment in seeing Narti get that help.

And the white lion is used narratively to show us that it’s not an isolated incident and it had nothing to do with Narti personally- it’s Lotor’s problem. When the point of the lion trial is you have to realize the attacking beast won’t hurt you and isn’t your enemy, Lotor literally can’t win because everything he has ever known has taught him that he doesn’t have friends. At best, he has people who he’s useful to, and as soon as he’s not useful, they will turn on him.

And I feel like this is about the point people’s eyes glaze over because “come on Clockie I don’t care about Lotor’s sad backstory I care about the fact that he killed someone” but my point is these things are relevant.

Because otherwise it sure looks weird and inconsistent how after Narti and Zarkon both, Lotor goes really quiet, nearly unresponsive, and in the case of Narti, spends a long time genuinely not planning for his future at all that we can tell.

For me, the entirety of s4e5 and s4e6 is a huge red flag that Lotor didn’t want to do that. He did it, yes, because see the three points that are clarified for us in s5e6- but there’s a lot of difference between Lotor killing Narti and the way that Zarkon has Prorok disposed of in s2e1.

Lotor versus Narti, the team is in danger, he has seconds to make up his mind because if he’s wrong they’ll never shake their pursuers and any safe haven they seek out is going to be compromised, they’re on a ship under attack and everybody is panicking.

Zarkon versus Prorok, nothing is going on, it’s an ordinary Tuesday at the office, there is no pressure besides the vague, if he doesn’t catch a spy it might happen again, and there’s also no misunderstanding- Prorok immediately and clearly protests, and by the time Haggar’s carrying out his execution in s2e3, they know that Prorok isn’t even the guilty party. And Haggar makes it clear she just really doesn’t care.

And I mean there’s also the fact that we can list three people that Lotor killed (or had killed, in Raht’s case, the torn edge on his severed prosthetic suggest to me that Zethrid was at least involved) by name.

It’s flat-out disingenuous to insist Lotor’s three-man kill count is directly comparable to, oh, say, the two different inhabited planets Zarkon has been attributed with razing and conducting genocide on the inhabitants of (Altea in s1e1, the unnamed colony in s5e6) and his policies of torture, imprisonment in awful conditions, extended slavery, and carelessly disposing of his subordinates for, again, crimes they didn’t commit, would tell us that there are a huge number of other deaths on Zarkon’s head.

When, surprise surprise, all of those systems are things that Lotor would either have no need of the way he operates, or is shown to actively dislike. Taking new planets? He’d rather talk to them and even if he’s taking what he wants at swordpoint, he genuinely didn’t want to hurt the Puigians any more than bare minimum necessary and his soldiers went in under orders to kill no one. They didn’t even cause any property damage.

The system imperialism which relies on the galra owning everybody else? Lotor wants to dismantle it by giving power back to the occupied people (s3e1 and s3e2). 

(I have. seen too many people call Lotor an unapologetic imperialist when the one time he confesses he was interested in keeping a colony, he was put in charge of it by Zarkon and did everything he could to familiarize himself with the local culture and create good diplomatic rapport and not hurt their planet for his own exploitation. 

And Zarkon said “no” and burnt it down and didn’t put Lotor in power again, in which case it doesn’t matter how sincere Lotor is, the reason why Lotor hasn’t made progress dismantling the empire in the last ten thousand years was because Zarkon was using his much greater influence and power to make sure Lotor had nothing to show for his work)

Even the racism at the heart of the empire’s destructive policies, a point is made time and time again that Lotor very strongly lives and perceives himself as a mixed-race galra first. Most of his public appearances to the empire’s elite (s3e1 and s5e4) come with people hurling slurs, racist rhetoric, and death threats at him.

Even Lotor’s interest in the rift has a very different context than Zarkon and Honerva’s fascination with it if you consider the latter were experimenting with it in the heart of a populated planet that withered and died because of their work, they not only left it wide open but worked to make it bigger, and ignored the dangerous creatures living in there as well as the averse effect that it was having on, again, the heartland of the galra empire.

Lotor’s interest in the rift is as a way to decisively break the imperial system once and for all by basically flooding the market with so much quintessence nobody will ever need to forcibly take it from other planets and Zarkon’s system will be financially worthless. Which might sound callous unless you consider Lotor is going to need a callous argument since you can’t take someone like Throk and sit them down through the annotated power point of “Today, I will explain to you why you should care if other people are suffering.”

And the first thing Lotor does with the rift is basically put such a dense mechanical lock on it that he can’t actually figure out how to get in there himself. He’s building countermeasures for things that he quite possibly doesn’t even know about (the rift creature) with this.

But not only does Zarkon have a massive kill count, if you look at Zarkon killing Alfor, Trigel, Gyrgan and Blaytz, and compare that to Lotor killing Narti...

Lotor struck Narti down quickly under duress, and when it became clear the other generals were also betraying him, Lotor specifically chose not to kill them as well even though that left him in a very bad place tactically- it ended up meaning that now Haggar has one of the two Sincline ships, the one that had tested and proven itself as able to hold off Voltron in single combat, and the generals know about the rift gate, and they’re all devastatingly powerful fighters.

Sure, Acxa and Ezor might have been able to fight him off, but Lotor could have at least shot Zethrid off the hull of the first Sincline ship and they wouldn’t have been able to do anything to stop him. But Lotor even basically tells them to take care of themselves before he leaves and has shown no interest hunting them down afterwards.

Because “hunting them down” is exactly what Zarkon did to his old team. Even when the only threat Alfor posed to him was that if he insisted on continuing to selfishly chase the rift that he didn’t need (Honerva was alive again, so even his initial reason wasn’t there)- and Zarkon’s basic first act of reanimation was to declare war on Altea.

Which is contrasted by this shot, which would sure seem to suggest that the reason why his people were still alive and there to hear him was because Altea took them in as refugees after the destruction of Daibazaal.

Zarkon planned, carefully, and made up his mind and went and hunted down all four paladins and killed them. If there’s barely a handful of living Alteans left after the destruction of its home planet, even though they were advanced spacefaring people, it’d suggest that Zarkon deliberately hunted down the survivors, and both his attitudes towards Allura in s1e1 and the way he talks about being able to wipe Lotor out in s5e2 would sure line up with that.

So like... can we not suggest that the three people Lotor killed when two of the three of them he’s shown to be unhappy about are somehow analogous to Zarkon’s multiple counts of systematic genocide?

Even if you think Lotor’s an antagonist, he’s not as bad as Zarkon and he’s definitely not worse than Zarkon. And when most of our main antagonists in the setting are much closer to Zarkon’s level (Haggar’s also a planet-killer via the Komar and her plan at Naxzela would have wiped out a large number of inhabited planets, Sendak makes a comment about invading Earth specifically because of the paladins’ resistance against him) Lotor stands out as a guy who’s moral enough that the paladins, including Shiro- a man of very potent personal morals- find him palatable company.

[warpedtourniall]

15 + Ziall ! :)

“Things You Said with Too Many Miles Between Us” 

Zayn’s been having the “nut up and leave the band” conversation with himself for about six months and it never quite seems to take. It’ll be after a rehearsal, or in the car being shuttled between promo events, just him and the lads, and he’ll have it all planned out: he’ll tell them how run down he is; they’ll understand; he’ll still be in their lives, just in a different way. He’s got a dozen potential scripts for exactly where to start.

And then just as he’s taking a breath to speak, something will happen: Liam will tackle Louis to the floor, laughing madly, and Zayn will be struck by how much they used to hate each other and his heart will go all tender for them; Harry will surprise them all by looking up from his phone and telling one of his endless, meandering knock knock jokes; Niall will reach across the car to bump his knuckles just under Zayn’s chin, and give him one of those gut-rot sweet smiles that he seems to save up for when Zayn needs them, and Zayn… Well he won’t want to stay in the band, really, but he’ll want to want to.

It had been enough to want to want to, for a while.

So this drive to get out has been closing around him like a fist, like when he moves or breathes he can feel its edges drawing closer and closer. And it was stupid, not to say anything before now, but at first he thought… It had been stupid, really stupid. He’d just hoped, the way a dog hopes it’ll be fed, that if he just waited long enough somebody would notice his needs and relieve him. Somebody from management would look at Zayn and see the gaunt, bruised face Zayn sees when he can’t avoid a mirror and they’d put him out to pasture, send him to the farm where retired boyband members go to live out the rest of their days in peace. He could make friends with Chris Kirkpatrick, or like... Peter Tork.

It hasn’t happened yet.

So Zayn waits, and he tries not to squirm because this need to get out is one of those dime-store finger traps where the more you struggle the tighter it goes. Maybe he can’t blame anybody for not noticing how miserable he is.

At the end of tour they’re all sat in Harry’s hotel room with a gratuitous amount of take-out curry on the table and Louis and Niall yelling at each other over a match on telly. Harry’s got his phone in one hand and has summoned a tumbler of whiskey from somewhere. He looks, as he always does on nights like this, effortless, tipping his chair back on two legs and frowning as he composes a caption for his Instagram.

Liam’s been asleep for about twenty minutes. Truly, the one of the lot of them who knows best how to live. Zayn’s just thinking idly how he might join him, nudge him over on Harry’s bed and just pass out next to him, when there’s a tug on the cuff of his jeans. It’s Niall, not even looking at him, just reaching back from where he’s sprawled on the floor to check in with him. Zayn takes a steadying breath.

“Y’alright, Zayner?” Niall does look back then, his expressive mouth twisted to one side, both eyebrows up. “Look tired.”

Zayn needs to get out of this band or he’s going to die. It is a complete surety. He has never felt a conviction so strongly in his life, and the urge to say it, now, to go wake Liam up and gather them together and just tell them is almost gagging him.

“‘M good,” he says instead. He should eat something. He should try to sleep this off. “Thanks, though.”

Niall looks doubtfully at him. “‘Kay,” he says finally, and turns back to the match, but keeps his hand just on Zayn’s ankle. It’s gentle, and so tender Zayn wants to cry. Wishes it was worth it to stay here, for these people he loves so much. Knows it’s rotting him.

-

They’re three weeks into break when Zayn makes up his mind. He hasn’t left his house in days. It’s partly the cloud of paparazzi lingering on the street outside, partly the sort of delirious relief of having nothing to do and nowhere to go, at least for the moment. That unfamiliar feeling of belonging entirely to himself.

Towards the end of tour, if he’s honest, he’d begun to doubt his own existence. He was a body, a vessel for a voice, and the people in charge of him kept him in repair and placed him onstage and brought him off again. And whatever bright thing that had once inhabited him, illuminated him from within to make him as animate and real as Harry, or Liam, had been taken out for repairs and misplaced somewhere. He was a bottle of wine, but he had been uncorked and emptied out, so the wind could blow across him, and he could sing.

His phone vibrates dully on the bedside table.

Zayn puts on Netflix in the background - it’s whatever Safaa had been watching last, he guesses, halfway through an episode of Orange is the New Black. He hasn’t seen the rest of it, doesn’t know the context, but having noise in the apartment is a relief regardless.

His phone vibrates again, not just the percussive blip of a text message, but a series of Morse code-like bleats that mean somebody’s actually trying to call him. A publicist, or a label representative - somebody who needs him to have an opinion on a subject he couldn’t care less about, fragrance marketing or magazine covers or promo for the album. 

He leans up and checks the call ID anyway, and is startled to find it’s later than he’d realized - after ten, already - and that the call isn’t from anyone who could possibly want anything from him. Nothing he wouldn’t willingly part with, anyway. 

“Niall,” he says into the receiver. He hasn’t spoken all day, it feels like. His voice takes coaxing to form the words. “Y’alright?” 

“Zaaayn,” Niall says. He’s got that over-bright burr in his voice that means he’s drunk, and pleased about it. There’s the unmistakable noise of a well-populated pub behind him. “Not been answering my texts, Zayn.” 

It’s true: Niall’s sent him his typical smattering of life updates - photos of the new driving gloves he’s bought himself, a blurry selfie with Bobby, stories about the Mullingar crowd reconvening for the holidays. Louis’ birthday has come and gone. Zayn’s, next week, draws up around his neck like a noose. 

“Been busy,” Zayn says lamely. He can almost hear Niall hand-waving it away. 

“Busy, busy,” he says. “Listen, d’you have birthday plans? ‘Cos I thought you could come out here, y’know, fresh air and all that.” 

There’s a noisy rustle that makes Zayn tilt the phone away from his ear, it’s so sharp. He can hear Niall breathing as he moves about, phone still pressed to the side of his face. The pub noise falls away, replaced by the staticky sound of a breeze against the receiver. Niall must’ve stepped outside. He’s probably not even wearing a coat, probably hasn’t noticed it’s winter no matter how drunk you are. 

“Niall,” Zayn says. “You’ll catch cold.” 

Niall laughs his hyena laugh and Zayn can imagine him on some twilit street in Ireland, his head thrown back so his throat bobs in the moonlight. The way his pale eyelashes flutter when he’s had too much to drink, and how his face goes ruddy and tempting. 

“That’s not an answer,” Niall says, finally. How he always can cut right to the point with Zayn, even when he’s raucous and drunk, even when there’s naught but a phone line threading them together over the expanse of the Irish sea. 

“I know,” Zayn says. He doesn’t have it in him, just now, to lie to Niall. It’s impossible to lie to any of them, really, but it pains him with Niall most of all. Niall, who values honesty in his friends over any other quality. Niall, who can be so guarded, still, that meeting him halfway requires a certain kind of radical honesty that Zayn craves and fears in equal measure. 

“You’re not doing well,” Niall says finally. It lances through Zayn. The relief he feels is enormous and terrifying. If Niall knows... this is the endgame, isn’t it. He’ll either have to change or leave, and he’s known for months now that only one of those is a real solution. “I wanted to say something sooner,” Niall continues, his giddy drunk voice being subsumed by his quieter, more thoughtful one. “I didn’t, like... I thought I was letting you work up to it, but.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says. It’s not going to change anything - no matter what he does, how long he forces himself to stay, it’s still going to bring down hell on the lot of them. They’d been so young, signing contracts without building in emergency exits. He won’t be free of this for years. 

None of them will. 

“Zayn,” Niall says again, quieter. He could be beside Zayn in the bed, his voice is so soft. It makes Zayn turn onto his back and remember, when they were first starting out, how he used to wake up with Niall wrapped around him like a sloth, a column of heat all along the side of him. How they’d clung together for wont of any other comforts. 

How he’d used to think about waking Niall up with a kiss, or a caress to the side of his face, before the lumbering machine of their careers had carried them further apart and made thoughts like that seem ludicrous. 

“I love you,” Zayn says, because it seems important. “Go inside, you must be freezing.” 

“Don’t -” Niall says, and Zayn sighs into the phone, a gust of static. 

“We’ll talk, okay?” he says, and he hears the rustle of Niall nodding against the phone, forgetting, for a moment, that they can’t see one another. 

Maybe they will. More likely, they won’t. Zayn rings off and plugs his phone in before setting it to do not disturb. He wonders if he’s going to die in this band.

[starberry-cupcake]

Extensive Les Mis fanon character interpretation Discourse under the cut, read at your own risk

I’ve been thinking about this for an embarrassingly long while and I know I’m not the best person to discuss this, because talking about Les Mis is like opening this huge box of things which you need to be a scholar to be prepared to back up fully. That’s why this is under ‘read more’, because I am aware and accept my own ignorance and limitations BUT I also think this is an interesting topic, so here we go. 

One thing that has been increasingly bothering me in what we can call “the current fanon interpretation” of Les Mis, namely the fanon interpretation that arose/became popular post 2012 movie and through tumblr/ao3, is this idea that Enjolras is a toxic person and he tramples selfishly over people’s feelings. 

This is something that escalates sometimes a lot, even to a point in which I had to one time witness someone on tumblr dot com saying that Montparnasse was a better person and preferable ship partner than Enjolras which made me just stop and stare at the screen for a long moment trying to comprehend where this was coming from. 

There was an escalating fandom acceptance of Enjolras being incredibly selfish towards people in the benefit of “his cause”, which makes him a sort of childish persona who is unable to take care of himself and who doesn’t understand people’s feelings in the slightest. 

This is 99.999999% of the time paired with Grantaire’s interpretation, which I think is a key to understanding why this happened in the first place and why it evolved into turning Enjolras into an unfeeling person who understands nothing of human emotions. 

And I think it’s a fascinating thing to think about and deconstruct, even if I’m not fond of the interpretation. 

I think that Grantaire is, to the current Les Mis fandom (more so than ever before, but I’ll talk about that in a bit), what Éponine was to the musical fandom (and creators) in the 80s/90s. 

A big problem I have with Éponine’s interpretation in the musical (and again, I’m in no way the most qualified person to talk about this and my word should be taken with a bucket of salt) is that she was taken as the victim in a made up “love triangle” that never was. The musical uses Éponine as a tragic figure whose love for Marius is depicted as wholesome and romanticized, whereas Cosette is reduced to a Cinderella story and a very shallow characterization once she becomes an adult (let’s remember her storyline is reduced to being an object to Fantine’s hope, Valejan’s salvation and Marius’s survival without much of an own agency since her entire plot and growth and storyline are cut after she’s rescued by Valjean). So the musical puts the two against each other as the two “options” Marius has, but doesn’t focus on Marius and Cosette’s relationship aside from a couple songs and moments, instead gives Éponine a solo on how much she’s unrequited and a death scene where the entire plot point of her wanting Marius to go to the barricade is erased. 

Éponine’s character complexity is reduced to the character people is meant to feel for and women are meant to root for because she is “the underdog”. And, most often that not, that’s what love triangles do, the underdog is the one people root for because they’re meant to identify with their unfair situation and their tough luck. 

This is a disservice to Éponine and to Cosette, who are much more complex than this and it’s something most people tend to let pass because the musical didn’t have as much time to expand, but it isn’t a matter of amount of content depicted but on which perspective to focus and what lens to see the story through. 

Ask anyone who was a fan of the musical in the 80s and who hasn’t read the book or seen any other adaptation who they prefer between Éponine and Cosette, if you don’t believe me. I mean, On My Own was adopted as the “anthem of the female friendzone” as cringe-y as hell as that sounds. 

Anyway, what does that have to do with Grantaire, you ask me? Well, first of, it’s very easy to see how modern fandom tends to interpret Grantaire and Éponine as friends, really really close to one another. This is a very common occurrence that results from the comparison of their situations and strengthens my point, but it’s not where I’m going with exactly.  

What I think that has happened with Grantaire, and here is the anthropological/sociological hypothesis nobody asked for, is that he became the embraced character for the current tumblr/ao3 fandom as Éponine was for that 80s/90s musical fandom, due to the interpretation he is given, to satisfy certain fandom needs that are current. Which isn’t wrong in itself, it’s what happens with archetypes all the time (and a subject of study for me, which is why this interests me specifically, I’m currently writing two projects that involve literary archetypes, but I digress). 

Grantaire’s drunkenness and confrontational nature were turned into coping mechanisms for a battle with severe depression, in most cases, or other underlying mental illnesses. Which isn’t that much of a long shot in itself, all things considered, it has a canon basis to stand on, but creates a complex case when it comes to the consequences of the things he does. 

Fanon transformed Grantaire’s confrontational nature into a constant cry for help, one which Enjolras most often, if not almost always, ignores. Sometimes out of being oblivious, sometimes out of selfishness, sometimes out of derision and contempt. Sometimes all of them at once. 

And one consequence of this was that it started becoming more and more often for Grantaire’s actions to be fully embraced by fandom because he was starting to be conceived as a vessel for a lot of self-reflection. It isn’t completely random that Grantaire’s characterization became more inclined towards the narrative of mental illness and conflicting coping mechanisms, because they are all subjects we talk about more openly now than ever before, especially in the platforms where this interpretation is more often seen, namely tumblr and ao3. Not that they didn’t exist before, but that they’re discussed more freely now, especially through the idea of safe zones that social media and the internet in general allow. 

What Éponine’s character was for the female fandom of the 80s looking for an underdog to root for, in a market filled with products about the female underdog who was unrequited and deserved to be loved, Grantaire somewhat became to a fandom needing to express this idea of existential emptiness and overall doubt about not only one’s state of mind but also where one is going with their life when others seem so certain about it. 

And talking about being certain about a life goal, what’s going in with Enjolras, meanwhile? I believe that, much like Grantaire’s fandom characterization having somewhere canon to stand on, Enjolras’s severity has some places where it came from which we can all clearly see. I am a little bit tired of how many times people use the “capable of being terrible” phrase at this point, and then there was the whole thing with Saint Just which I’m not getting into because this is already too long. 

But, much like characters written to be two sides of the same coin, Enjolras and Grantaire tend to be connected to each other’s characterization. They were like that in canon, they were written to be a pair which influenced, directly or indirectly, the other, so it isn’t strange to see that in fanon interpretations, the two also go hand in hand. Pun very much intended. 

The issue I have with Grantaire’s interpretation isn’t that his perspective is more directly viewed, or that fandom goes more in-depth with his underlying issues, but the fact that sometimes identification turns into idealization. It happens very frequently in writing (and not only in fic) that authors who see themselves reflected in a character tend to try to erase any blame from them in a way to channel a sense of embrace for their own actions, and that can be counterproductive to the character’s complexity. 

Because it isn’t really the problems and hardship what make a character relatable, it is their growth which comes from learning, which, in turn, comes from making mistakes. 

When Grantaire’s mistakes are characterized as reactions to things that are outside his capability to control, when they are seen as mechanisms of what anyone would do if they were in his place, Enjolras’s reactions to them turn not severe but unfair. 

Suddenly, all of Grantaire’s mistakes, jokes, derision and his unfavorable actions are seen as a product of an inescapable situation, out of his control, which, in turn makes Enjolras’s anger unjust and an over-reaction. Which, paired with the fact that Enjolras’s “cause” varies from interpretation to interpretation (especially in modern contexts, which are the most popular among this generation of fandom, where the “cause” has to be determined from social and political contexts that tend to be very vague out of the global state of the world and the intersectionality of issues, which overlay in every one of them), makes him unfairly distant and overall incapable of feeling empathy. 

Something that can be seen very clearly in the way in which, when it’s written as a ship, Enjolras often has to “choose” between Grantaire and “his cause”, whatever that is in each specific narrative. 

More so than making Enjolras too severe, my problem is with his desensitization. I feel that making Grantaire a constant victim (out of fandom willingness to grab onto him as a vessel of current issues of the generation he represents due to his canon-ish age) makes Enjolras desensitized to human emotion, especially because, most often than not, it is only him who is represented as oblivious or uncaring, while the rest of the group understands and sometimes even defends Grantaire, in stances even turning their backs on Enjolras for that reason, which always baffles me, truly. 

Enjolras is a very complex character and his actions are matter of many essays and interpretations, but one thing I don’t think he can be seen as is uncaring. Even less so uncaring towards human emotion. His constant inner turmoil during the barricade is something to behold and I always turn to his decision to execute Le Cabuc/Claquesous as one of my favorite parts in the entire thing, and the fact that he grieves his decision in the way he does is a proof of his emotional complexity and empathy. 

I don’t have a problem with Enjolras’s severity or Grantaire’s motives, I have a problem with the simplification of their narratives into a judge and a victim, which I think is what leads to these conversations of toxicity among them, opening another bag of complications. 

But even if it’s something that bothers me, it also fascinates me to see how these interpretations shift so much and how they change according to the audience that embraces the text at a certain point in time. How we charge it with additional symbolic value as we go, transforming it a bit with each read. 

I want to clarify, very strongly and vehemently, that these ramblings are IN NO WAY meant as derision of fandom interpretation or anyone’s particular writing. I too have written Les Mis fics and have fallen into interpretative conundrums that now, with experience, I judge unfitting to my current views, some which I have deleted, others which are still around. So this is in no way a call out of any form, not at all. 

It is also not to criticize Grantaire’s interpretation, as someone who suffers from mental illness myself, I find it not only positive but necessary the inclusion of these topics in writing, whether it is in fic form or in any other type. 

I find this a fascinating topic because, like Tournier said: “In some masterpieces - and that is why they are first among universal literature - there is an incentive to create, an infection of the creative verb, a way to put in motion the creative process of readers. I confess that, for me, that is the peak of art”. That is the magic of works like Les Mis, that we can use them to see ourselves, no matter how much time has passed, and if these characters still help to see ourselves and our reality in a way in which we can observe it better, I think Hugo would be glad. 

[story-of-lost-magic]

Chapter 106

Cross was the first off the ship, his baggage left behind in his haste to remove himself from the torment that the sea provided. One hand clutching his chest he stumbled down the pier before throwing himself unceremoniously to the ground.

 “Ground,” he breathed out, curling his fingers against the dirt and filling his palms. “I’ve missed you.”

 A hasty set of footsteps drew him to look to his right.

 Misa’s slim figure hurtled by him before launching into a nearby tree. Without so much as a glance back at her party, she quickly shimmied her way to the thick branches and tore off through the foliage. Cross watched her go without saying anything. He knew well enough that he wouldn’t be able to stop her and he doubted she would be able to get into much trouble.

 Probably.

 On second thought maybe he should have stopped her.

 “Right, then.” Cross pushed himself up and dusted off his clothes. “What can’t be helped, can’t be helped.”

 “Hmph, what a surprise. You’re still saying things like that.”

 Cross glanced towards the voice. An almost smile slipped onto his lips. “Oh, so they sent you. Quite the welcoming party.”

 “Cross?” Lexi stopped beside him, shrugging off his pack and handing it to him. She looked at the girl that was standing in front of Cross. She had straight black hair and narrow eyes with a delicate face that was set into a deep scowl aimed squarely at Cross. Lexi found her somehow familiar, but she couldn’t quite place how. “Do you know this person?

 “Of course,” Cross waved his hand towards the girl as the rest of the group arrived. “This is Tomo. Tomo Feng. The Feng family are the owners of the Tenchi temple and a few other ventures. ”

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I am Alexis Shadowhart.” Lexi extended her hand.

 “The pleasure is mine,” Tomo said, her scowl faded into a polite smile. Her voice was soft. “I hope you enjoy your stay here in Tejko. Jiana has arranged for a relaxing and rejuvenating stay while you are in our care.”

 “And I’m Romeo!” Romeo said, brushing Lexi aside and taking Tomo’s hand. He moved to bring it to his lips when he was abruptly sent stumbling back and fell to the ground. Confused he looked down at his chest. There was a small hole in his shirt and the skin beneath was beginning to bruise.

 Cross clicked his tongue “Right, I should have mentioned that she’s only shaking hands to be polite. The usual Tejkin greeting is to simply bow your head unless you’re extremely familiar. Tejkins consider personal space to be extremely important, almost scared. Especially for Tejko Tenchi practitioners.”

 “Why is that?” Lexi asked. She was not overly worried about Romeo.

 “Most Tenchi techniques rely on physical or near physical contact to be used effectively.” Tomo said, her eyes flicking to Cross. The scowl returned to her face.

 “Then you are a practitioner?” Lexi asked.

 “Yes,” Tomo said quietly. She tried to return the polite smile to her face, but seemed incapable of fully achieving the feat.

 “I see,” Lexi glanced at Cross. “So you two met through the temple?”

 “Something like that,” Cross shrugged.

 “Our familiarity is simply a burden that I am unfortunate enough to bear. Tomo said flatly. The dirt beneath her feet began to waver. “I’m shocked you can even bring yourself to return here.”

 “You’re going to burst a blood vessel again.” Cross said nonchalantly as he shouldered his pack into a more comfortable position.

 “You are an insult to the Tenchi style and if it were up to me…” Tomo went silent as Makina suddenly pushed her way to the center of the group.

 “This is all very interesting to you mortals, I am sure,” Makina blurted out. “But I have been standing here for what feels like an eternity and I shall wait no longer. Now Cross, you may take my things. You there, Tom or whatever, where are our accommodations for this stay?”

 Tomo seemed to remember where she was and exactly what she was supposed to be doing. The almost-polite smile returned to her face. “Of course, please, follow after me. It’s only a short walk from here.

 “Walk?” Makina balked. “Do you not have a carriage prepared? What kind of pathetic excuse for a host are you?”

 “You can’t hurt this one.” Cross said, sliding in front of Makina just as Tomo began to turn around. “Even if she deserves it.”

 Tomo glared at Cross for a moment before turning back forward. “As I was saying, it’s only a short walk from here. Now if you will follow me.”

 “Wait,” Lexi looked over the group. “Where is Banksy?”

 “Banksy?” Romeo touched his chin thoughtfully. “Who is Banksy? That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

 Lexi stared at him. “…Romeo.”

 “Oh come on, he’ll be fine. He’s the lock picker. Being locked in the bathroom should be a cinch for him to deal with. And by locked I mean someone pushed a very heavy container in front of the door. Lock Prank! Beat him at his own game!”

 Romeo threw both his hands up in the air. The fact that no one else was celebrating with him did not seem to bother him in the slightest. It was only the sound of a loud curse echoing from down the pier that caused his smile to fade.

 “Ah I guess he did get out. Damn, I was hoping the boat would leave first.” Romeo muttered as Banksy, out of breath and with a sheen of perspiration on his face, came racing down the pier to meet them.

 “You… Bastard.” Banksy heaved. “Do you know how heavy that was?”

 “Not heavy enough, I guess. Ah well. I guess we can leave now, lead the way Tomo!” Romeo called.

 “Oh,” Banksy grinned. “You sure you want to go already? Might want to reconsider that.”

 Romeo narrowed his eyes. “Why’s that?”

 “Dunno,” Banksy sauntered by him, his breathing coming back under control. “I hope none of your precious projects were taken out of your suitcase and are now stuffed down a toilet on the ship.”

 “You didn’t!” Romeo slammed his case on the ground and flipped the latches. It was only just as he began to open the case did he realize the mistake he may have made. “Oh, you son of a bitch.”

 A blast wave emanated out from Romeo’s case, lifting the Lightning Mage’s body from the ground and launching him high into the air and back towards the pier. An angry shout escaped his lips as he easily cleared the pier, passing by the ship, before he crashed into the ocean with a loud splash.

 “Boom!” Banksy cawed, pumping his fist into the air. “Concussion bomb combined with trajectory calculations to launch you into the GOD DAMNED ocean! Math and Bomb Pranked!”

 As Banksy did a very unfortunate victory dance, Lexi gave Tomo an apologetic look.

 “I promise they will be on their best behavior.”

 Stunned, Tomo said nothing, her month hanging open every so slightly before clearing her throat and nodding. “Then we should be on our way. A meal has been arranged for your arrival.”

 Makina tugged on Lexi’s sleeve as they followed after Tomo, leaving Banksy behind to continue his dancing. “Was it this bad before?”

 Lexi frowned. “We haven’t even begun, Maki. We haven’t. Even. Begun.”

 “Tch, what boorish behavior.” Makina pranced forward and matched her pace with Tomo and began to ask a series of rapid fire questions. Tomo did her best to answer with polite, yet curt responses.

 She was not well suited to the position of host.

 Cross and Lexi followed behind at a slower pace while Banksy waited behind, though it was not out of concern. He simply wasn’t finished with his victory dance.

 It was not a dance worth continuing, but no one had the heart to tell him that.

 “It has been a few years since you’ve been here, hasn’t it?” Lexi asked as they walked through a small market. A few of the locals shot them curious looks. “I remember how upset you were at the prospect of travel.”

 “Five.” Cross answered, his hand coming up to rub at his temple.

 “It seems you made a good impression then.” Lexi nudged him with her shoulder.

 Cross smiled lightly, though his fingers began to work against his temple at an even faster rate. “Oh, of course. Wouldn't want to embarrass the guild.”

 “Or your Leader.”

 “Or my Leader,” Cross agreed with a small nod. “Though, you weren’t my Leader then.”

 “I was and I wasn’t.”

 “Leaning more towards the wasn’t.”

 “I am now.”

 “Is that so?”

 Lexi flashed her ring at him. “It is.”

 “So don’t embarrass you now, right?”

 “I think that goes without saying.”

 “You’re not wrong,” Cross said softly. “Hey, we’re almost there. Could you hold this for me?”

 He handed Lexi Makina’s bag, followed by his own. Lexi accepted them with a curious look, but made no further inquiry.

 Cross moved to the front of the group, falling in step beside Tomo. She glanced at him before turning up her nose and pulling slightly ahead. Cross sighed and let her have the small victory.

 “Welcome to the Shin-Yan Temple. Birthplace of Tenchi.” Tomo raised her hand to the monstrous temple. Its peaks soared high into the sky, with gilded tips that shone brightly in the sunlight. Murals made of gold, silver and bronze stretched across the great walls, depicting battles of old.

 It was a breathtaking sight.

 “How wonderful,” Makina breathed softly before she poked Cross hard in the side. He ignored her and she poked him harder.

 “What?”

 “This is the type of Temple I would like. But more gold. A lot more.”

 “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Cross said, though he seemed distracted. His eyes stayed fixed steadily ahead with his hand planted firmly on his temple. While the others continued to marvel at the gorgeous architecture, stopping even inside the gate, including Tomo who fielded another series of questions from Makina, Cross continued forward through the gate and stepping into the courtyard.

 He reached the grand staircase alone and stared up at the temple entrance. A lone figure waited for him. She fixed her eyes on him and he met her eyes with an unreadable expression before bowing his head as she began to descend the stairs

 “Hello Cross.”

 “Master Miaodao.” Cross replied, the Tejkin language slipping easily over his tongue.

 “I see you arrived safely.”

 “Yes. The trip was brief.” He raised his head up.

 “I see. And your companions?”

 “They will arrive soon.”

 “Shall we wait for them?”

 “I… do not believe that is necessary.”

 She tilted her head. Her eyes shone with a glint that Cross was well acquainted with.  “Are you sure?”

 Cross nodded.

 “Very well.”

 Miaodao was in front of him faster than his eyes could process. Hand curled into a claw, she swiped at his head. Cross leaned back and narrowly avoided the strike before lifting up his arm to block the next one. The force was enough to send him sliding back, but he remained on his feet.

 “Curious,” Miaodao took a step towards him and Cross took a step back, his hands rising up defensively. It was the right decision as Miaodao surged forward and thrust her hand towards him, palm open.

 Cross met the attack head on, slamming his own open hand against hers and interlacing their fingers. He felt pressure between the point of connection as Miaodao pushed a wave of Chi into him. His bones groaned and his very skin began to ripple as he fought to balance out the force that threatened to overwhelm him.

 Though he could not cancel out her attack completely, he was able to reduce it. His bones began to creak, but they did not shatter.

 At least not yet.

 “Ho, even more curious.”

 Cross moved to hit her with a low kick, intent on disrupting her concentration, but but she brought her own leg up to block him before pressing her heel against the top of his foot and slamming it back down to the ground. Cross’s eyes narrowed against the pain, but he did not release his grip on Miaodao’s hand. Locked in place they stood there before the moment was interrupted by a surprised voice.

 “Cross?” Lexi took a step towards them, her shadow beginning to dance hesitantly behind her.  “Wait… is that the…?”

 “Lexi don-” Cross warning was abruptly cut off as Miaodao sprung up and cartwheeled over him, never releasing his hand.

 In a single fluid movement she landed and kicked her foot towards Lexi. Though her foot never made connection with Lexi’s body, a force still blew through the young mage’s body.

 Grasping at her stomach Lexi dropped to the ground, a gasp of pain escaping from her lips.

 “Damn it,” Cross yanked Miaodao back towards him. She allowed herself to be pulled, using the momentum to launch into the air and slam her knee into Cross’s face.

 Or she would have, had he not already had his hand up and ready. The attack left his arm shaking from the force, but it wasn’t enough to do more than bruise his palm.

 Miaodao stared at him. For Cross the moment seemed to last an eternity, but in reality it was only a few seconds.

 “Very good.” Miaodao said, her stance relaxing and her vice grip on Cross’s hand loosening, though she did not release him completely. “I see Jiana has been keeping with your training. Your Chi negation was rather impressive, for a novice.”

 “Thank you, Master,” Cross said as his shoulders slumped. He always hated that part of the formal Tenchi introduction.

 “Has Jiana taught you redirection?”

 “I have learned the theory, but have been unable to test it in practice.”

 “Really?” Her eyebrow went up and Cross was reminded so much of his mother. “With a magic guild I would assume there would be quite an opportunity. If I didn’t know Jiana better I would assume you were slacking.”  

 Cross chose not the answer that.

 “Hmmmm,” Miaodao abruptly released his hand and cupped his face between both hers. “You’ve grown quite a bit haven’t you.” Her hands moved across his shoulders and down his arms before she came back up and gave his chest a firm push. “Your paths are quite muddied and you are out of alignment, more so than I expected. Did you suffer an magical related incident recently?”

 Avril flashed across Cross’s mind. “Something like that.”

 “We’ll have to have that remedied while you are here.”

 “Yes, Master.”

 “Master… Bah,” Miaodao pulled him into a tight embrace and in a single breath her entire aura shifted. Stepping back she flashed him a bright smile. “Cross, you don’t have to be so formal. Oh right, your friends! Of course, I should probably introduce myself and explain what is happening!”

 Cross sighed. “Please do.”

 Miaodao turned to the small crowd that now consisted of Tomo, Makina, Lexi, and the freshly arrived Banksy and Romeo. The latter of which was still dripping wet. Save for Tomo, not one of them had understood the exchange as they were nowhere near fluent in the Tejkin language.

 One of them could not even accurately point out Tejko on the map.

 “Oh dear, I hope I didn’t hurt you,” Miaodao quickly moved over to Lexi, completely ignoring the hostile stance Lexi had taken. “I only meant to push you back. As Master of this temple, I needed to adequately evaluate my pupils skill level and I could feel a significant amount of energy emanating from you. Had you interfered it would have been quite difficult for me.”

 “Oh,” Lexi gave her a puzzled look. “I see… I, uh…” She continued to stare at the woman. A look of pure confusion on her face.

 “She looks…” Banksy started.

 “… Just like the Mistress.” Romeo finished.

 And indeed she did. Though her hair was still black and her face held a few less wrinkles, she could have easily passed for the Mistress. But that as to be expected as….

 “Of course. Jiana is my older sister.” Miaodao gave them a broad smile. Please allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Miaodao Feng. You have already met Tomo.”

 Makina flicked her pale blue eyes from Miaodao to Tomo to Cross and back to Miaodao. “So wait. If your are the sister, then that would make him..”

 “My nephew, yes. I am Cross’s Aunt. Please, feel free to call me Mia.”

 “So then…” Makina pointed at Tomo. “That would make you two cousins?”

 “No a drop of my blood runs through his veins nor his mine,” Tomo hissed before she turned her eyes on Miaodao. “I have brought them, now I shall take my leave.” She bowed deeply before briskly walking towards the stairs.

 She paused as she reached Cross.

 “Do not let my Mother’s words of praise fill you with false confidence. You are nothing more than an outsider. Do not forget your place here.”

 She stormed off without another word. Cross watched her go with a bemused look.

 “Right, then. Good to be back.”

[welcometoels]

Session Nine - East

Time once again for the team to venture forth in pursuit of adventure, but not before they finish enjoying a spot of downtime.

While Kadis vibes in the Jaunty Skinner, and Talion and Freginald enjoy a hearty portion of porridge (baconated by Oddsock), Julius crafts a little sackcloth outfit for Rupert the weasel.  It’s a fairly shoddy job, but functional, so it matches with his own humble garb quite well.  Delightful.

As the team gets ready to leave, Jackie Face dashes out from the Dogwood Trading Post (Presented By Oddsock) with a business proposition for the titular hound.

Though he and his brothers know little about alcohol - rummaging in bins for sustenance and alchemical supplies makes one suspicious of anything fermented - they know that several of the workers in town are very keen.

With this in mind, Jackie is offering to take the remaining three bottles of Oddsock’s patron’s latest brew, to conduct some market research.  Oddsock agrees that consumer feedback would really help him drill down and synergize his paradigms, before wondering what any of that means, and why it feels like he has the wrong number of legs.

As the Face waddles away with a bottle in each forepaw and one in his mouth, the foursome head east to the mysterious mine that good ol’ Normal Leg Barty told them about a few days prior.

The journey begins quite uneventfully, broken only by an encounter with a butterfly that lands upon Oddsock’s nose and flaps its wings before fluttering away.  Somewhere in another plane of existence, a single tear rolls down Walt Disney’s frozen cheek.

As they travel further east, the trees begin to thin, before running out entirely. Before long, the grass too begins to look sparse, with the bare earth interrupted by the occasional unkempt clump of foliage.

The wind begins to pick up as they walk onward, and before long they spy the first landmark they have seen since the trees went away: a small stone circle, about 30 feet in diameter.

Most of the group members are wary, but Talion wades straight in.  As he crosses between two of the standing stones, the wind drops immediately.

An interesting discovery indeed, and not a moment too soon, as the wind is now howling with great ferocity, pelting the three remaining teammates with small stones.  They dash to join Talion, and to gain a moment’s reprieve.

Kadis rests a hand against one of the stones in order to see what he can perceive.  They exude a low thrum, though how much of that is from the wind buffeting against them is unclear.

As the adventurers take a moment to dust themselves down in the calm, they spy a figure travelling through the dust storm.  At first, they can only see that it is humanoid, silhouetted in the murk of dust and dusk.

Oddsock sends out a psychic message in greeting, and the figure responds after a moment with “Ah, there you are!”

As it grows closer, the team can perceive the figure more clearly.  It appears to be a human male, with no hands.  As it strides into the circle and immediately attacks Kadis with great ferocity, they also see that he is most certainly undead.

A gruelling battle ensues, while the figure demands the return of his lantern.  He attacks Kadis repeatedly, eventually knocking him down.

While Julius lays on paws to help restore his unconscious companion, Oddsock demands explanation of who this person is, and why he is attacking them instead of petting the dog.  The man responds that he is Aberraton Mortesque - great uncle and former guardian of their new friend Aberron Clutchstraw - and he needs his lantern back.

Oddsock wonders how this could be the case, since the person before them is certainly not Drow.  Aberraton claims that this vessel is merely a convenience, and refuses to engage with any further questions - particularly any regarding petting the dog (which was just rude under the circumstances, given his lack of hands).

While Kadis regains his feet, Talion casts Mirror Image, bamboozling the revenant into attacking an ersatz Elf.  Oddsock attacks repeatedly with Chill Touch, stymying the revenant’s undead healing, while Julius switches between healing, magical attacks, and good honest staff blows.

Kadis, back on his feet, slams staff and fist repeatedly into his assailant’s dead flesh, knocking him to the ground.  This gives Oddsock the chance to use his new Telekinetic abilities to push him outside of the circle, and for Julius to litter the ground around him with spiky foliage.

Aberraton strides forward, cutting himself to ribbons, but still strong enough to land a blow that almost knocks Kadis from his feet once again.  Keeping his balance, Kadis responds with a final staff blow that smashes the revenant’s jaw clean off, dropping him to the floor.

The group takes a moment to breathe, though Julius is not ready to relax just yet.  He inspects the body closely for signs of life, and though he does not see anything, he advises his teammates to set the dry flesh on fire, just to be absolutely certain.

Oddsock obliges, and the revenant immediately rises with a shriek, dashing from the circle and stumbling again through the spiked undergrowth.  Eventually he collapses again, buffeted by the wind but otherwise motionless.

The group watches the corpse roll into the distance like a fleshy tumbleweed, before deciding to make camp.  With the ground as sparse as it is, and the wind precluding any venturing out, Talion cannot perform his usual hunt for food, so they have to dip into their rations.

Having fed, they construct a makeshift shelter, which Oddsock immediately tries to occupy the entirety of.  Julius snuggles up to Kadis, telling him that he is the only person in the group that he hasn’t slept with so far.  Kadis opens his mouth to speak, and, with typical stoicism, closes it again.

Come the morning, the wind has died down to a casual bluster, and the team move on again, wounds healed and magic replenished.  After a short while they see a handless corpse by the road, and though Julius shies away from it, it shows no sign of pursuing.

Further along the road, a small mountain appears in the distance, with a few small wooden shacks before it.  This is a mining camp, as evidenced by a shed full of equipment, and a larger one seemingly for accommodation.

This larger shack is partially surrounded by some creatures resembling large cockroaches, which are taking keen interest in something on top of the building.  This something reveals itself to be humanoid, clad head to toe in metal, and perfectly happy to request assistance from the adventurers.

The team obliges and tries to converse with the creatures.  They are not domesticated, so Oddsock has no idea what they are saying, and they speak no formal languages, so Talion’s magic is no help.  However, Julius casts Speak With Animals, to much greater effect.

One of the large insects engages with Julius in friendly chatter.  They simply want some metal to eat, and they know that the figure on the roof has it.

Julius asks the roof dweller if they would remove their armour and throw it down to appease the creatures, but it turns out that this is not a simple request.  The lofty individual introduces themselves as Batch 38 Unit 12 - an artificial construct made largely of metal.  While they are happy to help - and helping is their raison d’etre - there is no possibility of them removing their own parts to feed some hungry insects.

Expanding further on the situation - seemingly unable to stop expositing once they get started - Batch 38 Unit 12 explains that they were on a quest into the mine ahead with a small group, but the insects chased them back out.  The fleshier members of the party pressed on, but since then only one has emerged, on fire, before collapsing at the cave mouth, seemingly dead.

The insects confirm this story during further questioning.  There is something inside the cave that has been attacking them with fire, preventing them from eating from the metal ores within.  They have to eat, and cannot return to their cave, so the metal person on the roof has presented their first best option for a snack.

Julius feeds this back to the team, and Talion, chest swelling with the spirit of adventure, draws his rapier and presses on towards the cave mouth, keen to find and slay whatever is within and resolve the situation for all affected.

That is his intent, at least.  From the insects' point of view, they see a man with a metal sword, a metal hat, a metal necklace and metal rings on his fingers.  This all adds up to delicious.

How will they resolve this conflict?  With sword?  Diplomacy?  Or something entirely else?

Find out next time.

[smoshvalentines2018-blog]

Contained Sunshine - Fanfic Exchange

​written for: @immayoutubebitch Part of the Smosh Valentine's Day Fanfic Exchange - please note this account is not the person who wrote this fic. Check back within the next day for the author reveal.

Title: Contained Sunshine Pairing: Courtney/Shayne, mentions of Noah/Keith Rating: E Keywords: dystopia au, dark, fluff Summary: When the world is overrun with water and mold, Courtney and her friends try to find their little bits of sunshine wherever they can in order to survive. Things are dangerous, but Courtney risks it all just for a moment to see Shayne smile.

- - - -

Courtney looked up the fire escape, sighing. It was climbing with vines and on the first step she felt it whisper, as if asking to give way into the graying green. She double checked the address that Olivia had scribbled on her hand and squinted, rereading the falling off paint on the side of the brick. It had to be the place, but she also wished she had told her that she’d have to climb the whole thing so she could have at least brought a hair tie so she could try to avoid getting tetanus from the rust without having to get her hair in her eyes.

It would be worth it; Courtney told herself as she swung her body up and began to climb. Seeing Shayne’s face when she brought it back would make it all okay. The fire escape moaned underneath her and she did her best to tread carefully, patting the railing to say thank you once she was at the top. She paused for a couple of minutes to look out over their decaying city. She missed the sun.

It seemed to be only a few weeks ago that they were all just housemates here. She could remember the way the sun looked, streaming in through the large bay windows of the penthouse she and the crew all shared. It was supposed to be a new beginning, not a death sentence. She remembered the face Keith had pulled when Noah had first suggested they move to a top floor in the midst of the Metropolis. “A penthouse is a bad shelter, y’all know that,” he had said. Noah had wrapped his arm around the other boy’s shoulder and leaned against him, giving him a devilish look.

The first week in the penthouse, Keith never left. He would stand on the balcony every morning and stare out into the sun, claiming that Icarus just didn’t know how to properly care for his skin.

But now, the sun was gone and the water never seemed to stop flowing. It had started with the rain, but then the rain had flooded the sewers and the tunnels under the Metropolis. It was fine at first, even a little bit beautiful. The earth was starting to retake the city, starting to tear apart foundations and replace them with plants and seeds. The water made everything spread and soon, it was all green. When it first started, the five of them had sat up on the balcony at night, trying to catch the rain water in bowls and buckets. Maybe if they could help things to grow, they would be rewarded. It was a silly and naive idea, but any silly and naive idea that Noah pitched always seemed to sound somewhat feasible.

Keith was right; a penthouse was a bad shelter for all of them and the government was less kind to a group of wannabe actors that hadn’t contributed the last four years. They were lucky they could find the Den at all.

Courtney blinked at the overcast sky, wondering how long the Den would last if the rain didn’t let up like the predictions had said. Turning away, she went back to the task at hand. The building must have flooded pretty early on. She could tell by the smell and the way her feet sunk into the floor like it was already collapsing into the marsh. She would have to move quickly.

Trying her best to ignore the smell, she explored quietly until she found the small parcel she was looking for. Tucking it into her bag, she escaped as quickly as she could, wanting to be out of the gray.

Once inside the Den, she shucked off her backpack, dropping it onto the cold, concrete floor. “Did you find it?” Olivia asked

Courtney nodded, sitting down next to her friend. “Yeah, but you could have warned me.” She took off her boots, groaning at the mud that covered her socks. It would take at least a week to get all of the wetness out of them.

“If I had warned you, you wouldn’t have gone.” Olivia gave her an apologetic grin. Courtney shot her a look in return but didn’t say anything, knowing she was right.

“Where’s Shayne anyway?” Courtney asked instead.

“He and Noah went into the tunnels to see what they could find.” Her friend stretched before turning back to her again. “Keith hasn’t left his room, of course, but I said I’d stay in case he did.”

Courtney was about to reply when the door scraped open, revealing two figures dressed in all black, hoods low over their faces.

The smaller figure pulled off a mask and Noah breathed a sigh of relief, tossing it to the ground. “The good news is the market seems to be swimming.” He grinned at his own joke, ever the optimist. He pulled a small jar out of the pocket of his bomber jacket. He placed it on the turned over dresser they used as a coffee table. A soft yellow light glowed inside and for a moment, all four of the friends seemed to be entranced. Courtney thought of butterflies and days outside, barefoot. She thought of her parents’ house and the old beech tree she used to climb.

Shayne sighed as he ripped off his own mask. He stepped forward and grabbed the jar, giving it back to Noah. “It isn’t fair that you always show them but never give them more than a taste. Either bring enough back for everyone or just say it was a good trip.”

Slightly hurt, Noah tucked the jar back into his jacket pocket. “Thanks for coming with me,” he mumbled to Shayne before he headed for the stairs to Keith’s room.

Courtney retreated to her room and heard footsteps following close by. Shayne leaned against the door frame, one foot up against the wood to keep himself stable. “Where were you today? You could have come with us, you know.”

“I was busy.” Courtney brought her backpack over to the mattress on the floor and sat. She looked up at him, patting the space next to her. “I had to get something.”

“Oh?” Shayne’s curiosity overtook him and he sat next to Courtney, hips turned toward her. He pushed a hand through his hair, moving the falling pieces out of his eyes. It got longer every day. Courtney understood that it didn’t matter anymore, but she wished he would shave or at least let her trim his hair for him. It was meaningless now but she missed the way her friend didn’t look like he was drowning in his own blonde locks.

Carefully, Courtney pulled the book out of the bag. She looked down at it for a moment, admiring the cover and the pages. Then, unceremoniously, she pushed it into Shayne’s lap. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Shayne looked down at the book and the entire conversation that had started it all replayed in Courtney’s mind. When the world slowly began to dismantle, Shayne had confided in Courtney that the one thing she would miss more than anything was a book that didn’t contain mold or water bound pages. He loved the cracking noise of dry pages, he had said, loved that enough physical touch could force the textured fabric of a hardcover book to nothing but a smooth vessel.

“It’s a book of poetry,” Courtney said softly, wanting to explain without pulling the other out of whatever happy place he had disappeared into. He hoped it was sunny there in his head.

“By Tennyson, I know,” Shayne said. His hand combed across the cover. “Have you ever read the poem Ulysses?”

Courtney shook her head no. “Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me—/That ever with a frolic welcome took/The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed/Free hearts, free foreheads-you and I are old,” he recited in a soft voice, flipping through the pages. They gave a lovely flittering sound, like wings beating in the air.

He looked over at her after a minute and grinned, his eyes brimming with tears. The world didn’t need any more water, but Shayne’s eyes were always a pair of oceans that Courtney never minded drowning in, night after night. “Do you want me to read it to you?” He asked gently.

Courtney wiped a few of his tears away with the edge of her sleeve, wondering why all of the water that flooded the world could have been tears from a friend that had simply been moved by a gift. “Yes please,” she smiled in return and laid back, eyes gazing out of the skylight. The clouds were heavy and gray.

When Shayne began to read, Courtney closed her eyes and the inside of her eyelids shone red and warm, like the sunlight that used to stream in through the windows of the penthouse.