#high tech sail

[solarpunkbusiness]

Freight sailing as high-tech solarpunk

Urgently sought: Alternative to conventional goods transportation by sea. Container ships, general cargo ships and tankers are responsible for almost three percent of global CO2 emissions. A look back could lead to a step forward from the climate Saul to the climate Paul: Why not ship goods under sail again?

The current cargo sailing movement uses old ships(Avontuur, Tres Hombres), builds new ones according to old plans(Ceiba) or plans new ones according to new plans(Veer Voyage).

Within this movement, the French organization Transoceanic Wind Transport/TOWT is one of the best organized players. As a brokerage agency, it arranges sea transportation with sailing ships that it does not own itself – such as the Avontuur or the Tres Hombres. After more than ten years of experience with old ships, TOWT has come to a drastic conclusion: Freight sailing needs to get out of its romantic niche.

If cargo sailing is to establish itself as a robust leg of maritime transportation, it must not remain confined to antique ships such as the Avontuur or the Tres Hombres. There are also no more trucks on the road whose engines are started with a crank. Transporting goods under sail is a high-tech task.

TOWT is tackling this task by building two of its own cargo sailing vessels with aluminum hulls and carbon masts. Two years ago, they placed the order with the French shipyard Piriou. The identical ships are being built at the Piriou shipyards in Romania and Vietnam. 

Grain de Sail, also a French company, is implementing a very similar project. Their cargo ship Grain de Sail II is a little smaller at just over 50 meters in length, but is very close to the two TOWT ships.

[evilwizard]

Hey, Happy Last Day of 2024! We made it! 🎉

My New Year’s gift to myself is casting a malicious spell that makes you all HAVE to watch AMC’s Pantheon. It’s required.

It drives me crazy how few people know about this gem of a show. The characters are endearing and relatable, and the story plays with the boundaries of tech, fantasy, and AI anxiety with a lot of skill. One of the best sci-fi shows of the best decade, and AMC gave it absolutely zero advertising.

You can find it on Netflix, or by sailing the High Seas (if you know what I mean).

Good luck, and make sure you go into it blind! (TW for a few scenes of animated gore in the first couple episodes, and for themes of unreality and depersonalization.)

[heck-theo]

Okokokokok- ignore how rough and messy some of these redraws/sketches are - but it's apparently also dinosaur month?? (WHY did no one ever tell me it's Jurassic June? I love dinosaurs) And like. What if Rise but dinosaurs?!

I don't often post such loose sketches but I wanted to show these off cause I really like some of this.

Design choices and dino species + the reasons I picked them bellow (looking for potential Donnie dino suggestions):

Clothes: Without the shell they really need clothes. They'd all have pretty much the same pants to keep some unity, except maybe Mikey (I decided they should all have the same pants after I finished the Mikey sketches, not sure if I'll keep the shorts or change to pants). Accessories are a mix of pre and post finale.

Raph - I think would keep it simple and practical but would also wear nice jackets and stuff when in casual situations. I need to work on giving him an alternative outfit and tweak his accessories a bit.

Donnie - An oversized pull-over hoodie cause we already know he loves that shit. We see him wearing it all the time. Easy enough. He wears a comfortable singlet underneath so the straps of his battle sail don't rub. Nice soft fabric, tight fit so it doesn't move around, tucks it into his pants, etc. When he wears the battle sail he won't overheat so he can wear hoodies basically all year round.

Leo - He's in one of those shirts with obnoxiously large arm holes and make it cropped cause 1. I think he would 2. I want it to be different from Raph and Donnie's singlets. He usually wears the shoulder strap off his shoulder but pulls it up when he needs to. He has some of the black bandages over his mid drift atm but I might just make his pants super high waisted in the final version. He'd probably wear a bomber jacket (also cropped?) over the top for cool weather, but doesn't like to hide his feathers.

Mikey - I think he'd mostly wear hand me downs when he's younger. He definitely goes through a stage of rebelling and wanting to pick his own and would find a middle ground of appreciating sharing some of his brother's clothes and modifying them, as long as he has the choice of his own available. Not sure if that would be before or after this design. At the moment he's got Raph's old shorts (from a loooong time ago), Leo's old shirt, and Donnie's old zip up hoodie. He does have his own accessories though, including pins instead of stickers.

Dinosaurs: I kept them all as non-avian dinosaurs, AKA not including animals that are colloquially considered dinos but aren't (like pterosaurs). I wanted to keep an even split of herbivore vs carnivore just so one wasn't the odd one out. I wanted to keep most of their body structure, colours and distinguishing features the same as canon. Obviously I added tails cause, yeah, of course haha. I did want them to be recognisable as different species of dino using distinct characteristics that their species is known for. I did ignore a lot of differences though, like size and bipedal vs quadruped (although the quadrupeds might be more likely to go to all fours, especially when fighting or afraid). Leo and Donnie are carnivores so have sharper teeth and claws.

Raph - Some kind of Ceratopsian (likely Triceratops or something very similar) and he was the first idea I had for this and I'm really happy with it. I think it just suits him. Trike Raph just came to me in an unprecedented moment of genius. His spikey frill replicates his spikey shell. His sturdiness, protectiveness and willingness to kick ass when needed, all scream trike to me.

Donnie - Spinosaurus but looking for other species recommendations. More details below: So I wanted to figure out a way for him to have tech with a similar function to his battle shell (in the sense that it's something that helped him in day to day life) and so I went with spino cause one possible theory about a function of spinosaurus' sail is temperature regulation. So his battle sail has heating/cooling systems as well as other tech. A spino's sail was probably not fragile but the battle sail would also help protect it from being targeted during fights or crushed during extreme impacts. It was also thought to be used for display, and what's more of a display than a battle sail? The only problem I have with this is that it's lacking part of what makes Donnie's battle shell so great, which is that it is essentially a prosthetic. Not quite the same as how prosthetics are used in people of course, just in the sense that it is replicating the functionality of a body part that he doesn't have (I can't think of a better word). Well he does have a shell but it doesn't function in the same way that his brothers shells do, which leaves him with less defense than they have, hence a big reason for the battle shell (I hope I explained this well, it was hard to try and word properly). I can't think of a good way to do this with dinos. I was thinking of a carno or something with tiny arms, then Donnie could have tech enhanced arms but I'm pretty much ignoring body structure in the others so it would be weird to have just Donnie be affected by a difference in limb structure/functionality. I was thinking prosthetic tail but every non avian dinosaur had a pretty substantial tail. Except therizinosaurus but even they hade pretty obvious tails. I'm open to suggestions for this one if anyone has ideas. It does have to be an extinct non-avian dinosaur (anything not in Avialae), preferably carnivore but if someone suggests a really good herbivore or omnivore then I can try and swap Mikey for a carnivore. I want there to be an even split. I also wanted to give him something different on his face, like his brothers, and that could only be a little spino crest and it crowds the top of his head but I can't put it anywhere else...

Leo - A type of Dromaeosaur. I was tossing up between this and a dilophosaur where his red stripes were part of the dilo's crest, cause I wasn't sure about giving him feathers. But dilo Leo was so plain compared to the rest and the crests were hard to get looking right so I went back to raptor Leo. I can definitely imagine him literally and metaphorically preening his feathers too. You can't really see it but he does also have that big raptor claw. Raptors were smart, tactical and worked in packs so I think that suits him. I wasn't specifically referencing how some artists draw Leo's stripes coming off his face (I was just trying to replicate his stripes somehow, even though it doesn't make a huge amount of sense) but I realised afterwards that it kinda looks like that and might have been subconsciously inspired by it.

Mikey - Is an Ankylosaur. I'm pretty happy with the species but I need to work out the design of his armour plating so that it looks interesting, cool and protective but isn't too chunky, too pointy or super lumpy looking. I went with an anky cause Mikey is often hiding in his shell and he can't do the same here but he could curl up in a defensive ball. Plus I could imagine him using his tail club in his razzmatazz fighting style. A little like his kusari-fundo or nunchacku/nunchucks (not sure on proper wording).

[emacrow]

Siren song of Space by emacrow/the og prompt creator

The assignment has gone all type of wrong for the justice league.

They were investigating a mass sudden disappears of a town called Amity Park after finding out a neglectful person(*cough cough* flash*cough*) thought they were prank calling about ghosts and some group called GIW until John Constantine heard one of the voicemails.

The area where Amity Park was now a Mass ocean that looked like galaxy was dipped into it even if it was daytime and fog covered the greenish tint sky inside the Barrier.

This was deep world ending shit, but unfortunately, none of the adults could even enter at all nor high tech ships not even John constantine could pass through, but old wooden ships with food supples can easily slipped through, along with the except J'onn.

Who tried float a foot deeper in without gripping his head from the pure mass empathetic overload and pushed back out by an unknown force, going through an internal shock until one curious Robin tried stepping a foot in and successfully went through, stepping on the ship easily.

Seeing that only kids and teenagers could go leads to mass arguments between the Justice league until John cut in that the abnormal sea space dome is expanding, sucking in more ground until the very earth itself is swallowed whole.

Grumbly, internally, Batman called in the young justice league, teen titans, and a few robins to find what had happened and come back in 1 hour.

Now, the entire young justice league, main teen titans, and robins were on a wooden ship sail into the space like sea.

Cyborg and blue beetle had to stay behind due to being mostly technology along with miss Martian who might also had the dame reaction as J'onn earlier as Red Robins pulled the sail with a compass, Starfire, Raven, Super girl, Super boy and Tranformed eagle Beastboy flies around as the scout.

Aqualad couldn't get in the water the moment he tried to stick his head only to immediately pull away gasping for air. This water was too dense yet suffocating like space itself submerged in it.

Kid flash helps around with arrangements, tying up knots and untying when the wind blown hard with the help of bat girl, robin, and Artemis

The only sound they could hear was the sea roaring, the ship creaking with each wave they sail over, and an odd electric sound buzzing around, as the ominous greenish fog seemed to roll in.

Starfire, Super Boy, Super girl, Raven, and Beastboy flies back onto the ship the moment their vision was blurring by the Fogs. Super boy and girl couldn't detect any other elses' heartbeats others than their group, and that alone sent chills of what could have happened to the Amity Park residents.

The sense of danger was shivering up everyone's backs as they could hear a voice, low and quiet, that began to grow louder.

Beautiful like yet haunting young male voice that nearly pulled their attention towards as Raven yelled at them to cover their ears with ears plugs from one of the wooden boxes now.

Something massive white was swimming in the star filled sea near their ship.

There couldn't be anything alive in this sea, but their eyes couldn't betray what they have saw.

It was humanoid, with multiple arms with webbed fingers with white massive hair longer then foot ball station, a large slender body that had thousands upon thousands of green spots and hundreds scars too neat and professional align to be normal cut and a very long tail with shredded fins.

Super boy and Girl eyes widen seeing that the green spot weren't for show as they were bubbles with people sleeping, encased, young and old, most of them were green colored or off color humaniod while the rest were living human people asleep.

They all kept their ears shut with the ear plugs, But super boy and Girl could still hear the most beautiful yet haunting voice that sound like a Siren enchanting his next victim.

Red Robin could see Super boy swaying in a dazed like state while Super girl looking enchanted nearly floating, motion the others to help tied the two to the pole with lightly laced Kyptonite rope to stop them from going over board toward the Entity.

Raven could see that this was likely the Entity that trapped the Residents of Amity parks, but the questions remains as how it got here and why this space dome was here.

Bat girl was signing that this creature seemed desperate, hurt, confused, traumatized, hopelessly scared, yet dazed in some typed of trance like over protective like state.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Bats in the Web (Spider-Man!Batdad x Batfam)

What if batfam meets a version of Batdad who is Spider-Man in his universe??

"We can't interfere!" Bruce growls. "I know you want to help, but after the last world we jumped into, we can't take chances."

Dick sighs. The last world they went into, they nearly ruined everything because Gotham had no Batman yet.

But luckily, something descends upon the mugging in progress.

But it isn't Batman.

A strange silver cable zips into view and slams into the assailant's back, spreading in a strange geometric pattern. He stumbles forward at the force of the blow, before the cable springs taut, and the mugger is flung into the air.

Someone lithe and graceful sails through the air, trailing more silver cables and quickly wraps the stranger up in them, robotic arms emerging from their back to assist - almost like a four-armed... spider.

The mugger dangles upside down from a traffic light, completely mummified in silver, and the figure, in a black bodysuit with light-catching silver filaments in a web pattern shining along the whole thing, and what appears to be a yellow hood and short jacket, crouches atop it.

"You get home safe, you hear?" they call. "We'll just be... hangin' around."

The would-be victim grins up at them. "Thanks, Spidey!"

But the Bats are looking shocked.

Because that was clearly your voice, only slightly altered by a voice changer - the voice you use when you broadcast to negotiate with people while they're on patrol.

Before they can speak, though, you've flung yourself through the air, opening your arms to reveal the gliding wings attached from your sides to the arms of your jacket so you can sail through the air.

"Pops is... Spider-Man?" Dick yelps.

From what they can surmise, in this universe, Bruce still lost his parents at a young age, but he didn't develop the desire to become Batman.

Instead, while on a field trip, you were exposed to some kind of radioactive spider, and Bruce did what he could to keep your secret and develop his technological aptitude to help you.

It was Alfred's death that convinced you to become a hero - his last words to you being that with great power came great responsibility.

You and Bruce are still very young in this world, barely old enough to have adopted a young Dick Grayson. It's probable that Damian won't be born, and Tim won't be adopted by you.

You're so much more cheerful than Batman - Gotham's Spider-Man quips, sometimes with dark humor, and inspires her citizens to fight back against the oppressive darkness of their city with good humor and clever tactics.

The Bats make their way to Wayne Manor, only to find the harsh brickwork and traditional architecture has made way for modern-quality of life improvements, fiber optic light fixtures, glass bay windows, and high tech at every turn. It barely resembles their Wayne Manor.

In fact, the caverns beneath the estate aren't even utilized, with there instead being a high-tech laboratory on the grounds with a launchpad to fling you over the bay and into the city.

It's a shock to see them - Bruce Wayne, his body in shape but much softer: he obviously works out hard but he's clearly not a fighter. His movements are relaxed, even sluggish compared to the constant vigilance of the Bat. And he wears an unfamiliar expression on his face - a genuine lazy grin.

Meanwhile there's this world's you - lithe and strong, battle-worn and with the at-rest tension of a vigilante.

Alt-Bruce and you have an easy banter, a love very much like two young people - you're only a little older than Dick, after all, which he finds weird - especially when he and Tim babysit his younger version.

Jason is utterly touched when Alt-Bruce asks about all the kids, so he can make sure to adopt them - he wouldn't want them going homeless in this world. All Jason knows is that young Jason Todd in this world might just be saved from years of trauma.

You're still the strategist, but Bruce is your mission control and the gear/science guy - he helps with upgrades and is the one to suggest a way to get the Bats back to their world.

But you'll need their help.

You fly through the city that night accompanied by five gliding shadows. Shadows that brutally subdue the henchmen of Black Mask as you soar above their heads, connecting some power towers with a filament web, forming a major circuit Alt-Bruce can use to power a tachyonic collider, which should launch them back into their world.

They return to their world, but Jason pulls Bruce aside.

"B... you owe him."

"Owe him what? Who, Jaybird?"

Jason sighs. "Pops. You owe him a chance to see that smile. On you."

Bruce looks at him. "You think my face can still do that?"

"Hey, I was surprised that you were actually funny! But... yeah, I do."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe you're right..."

[ckret2]

This is an earnest question - it came up in one of my fics and I'm curious how other people interpreted it.

I know that the Westmore-Backupsmore dichotomy is supposed to be a joke. It's a kids show, the depth of Ford's disappointment and failure has to be made obvious in the span of a few seconds, and hyperbole is funny.

However, it has always pushed my suspension of disbelief that Ford was being evaluated for a place that was supposed to be in-universe Stanford University or something, and when he didn't immediately get a full-ride scholarship to one of the best universities in the country, his alternative was a place with such a poor reputation that it was literally marketed as a backup plan.

I've seen several explanations for this. I've seen it suggested that he was just too arrogant to apply for a wide variety of schools, and by the time he realized he couldn't do Westmore he was scrambling for the only place with a long application window. I've seen it suggested that Backupsmore was actually a pretty good school, and that its poor reputation was unearned and due to classism because it made an effort to cater to lower-income students. The one I personally went for is that his family was skeptical about his academic aspirations, and as a result Filbrick would only pay the application fees for a small handful of schools.

Do you have an explanation?

When the principal calls the family in to tell them that Ford's a genius and has a shot at getting into West Coast Tech, they're all surprised and thrilled—including Ford. This isn't a case of "I just won't bother applying anywhere but WCT." All evidence suggests he didn't apply to WCT at all... since it seems like he'd never even imagined going until then. It sounds like, until then, Ford's post graduation plans really were sailing around the world with Stan.

I think it's the complete opposite of arrogance: I think he didn't apply anywhere because he assumed college just wasn't in the cards for him.

His family's poor. His family's also Jewish, which probably wouldn't actually impact anything in Friendly Disney Channel Show For Children but in real life it would be a reason for a lot of colleges to quietly turn down his application in the 60s. His family probably also knew that Ford was smart, but unless someone else told them, none of them—Ford included—had enough of a basis of comparison for just HOW smart he was.

They probably thought, sure, Ford's a bright kid, but, HOW bright? Yeah, brightest in the school, but that could be a "big fish in a little pond" deal, this doesn't look like the preppiest high school. Bright enough to be accepted into the fanciest schools in the country? They're not sure—until he's told he has a shot at West Coast Tech. Bright enough for his education to be worth the strain on the family that paying for a college education would be? DEFINITELY not... until that education became worth potential millions.

Bright enough for him to apply to the in-universe equivalents of Harvard and Yale and Columbia and Brown etc? Why bother? West Coast Tech was only interested in him when he had an amazing science project, and lost interest when he didn't. His stellar grades clearly didn't matter to them without that science project. No point in applying to the other equivalent schools now.

Or, hell, maybe he did apply—and, without a big flashy in-your-face wow-worthy science project, all they saw was a poor kid who got good grades from a mediocre school. Unless a poor kid is something really special, a 1960s Ivy League college would rather accept middle-or-upper-class kids with equally good grades—those kids will actually pay their tuition fees.

Or maybe they even did accept him! ... But, didn't consider him quite impressive enough for scholarships, and were too expensive without them.

Sure, we know Ford was a super genius—but a college would need some kind of proof he was a super genius rather than just Really Smart, and he didn't have that proof.

He didn't even consider going to college until probably late in the school year (assuming their science fair was probably in the spring). Within a couple of days he suddenly had WCT offered ("you're worthy of the greatest schools in the country!") and snatched away ("nvm you're not worthy"). Now suddenly, possibly for the first time in his life, college is on the table, and he's been told that he could be REALLY successful if he goes to college... but, the big fancy colleges won't take him. What does he do now?

Backupsmore might have been the best school that 1) he thought would take him (or actually WOULD take him), 2) he could still apply to, and 3) his family thought they could afford.

[nowimjustastranger]

How Stcmo!Ford would deal with the situation of a Stan that was kicked out by Filbrick because his Ford literally framed him for breaking his machine?

Like, a version of Ford who realized Filbrick only cared about the fact that he could be a millionaire to make the family rich and decided that he couldn’t live with that kind of pressure on him all the time, so he sabotaged his own entry in West Coast Tech by making sure that ‘perpetual’ part of his perpetual motion machine no longer applied.

However, Ford still wanted to discover himself as a person and, knowing that Stan would likely still want sail away with him after graduation, left a Toffee Peanuts wrapper near his exhibit, so he could use this a ''prove'' that Stan sabotagaed him, then being able to mad at his brother and don't want to talk to him, being free to going to a college.

And then, when Filbrick kicked Stan out, Ford choose to keep the act of hurt brother and don't stand up for Stan, because he saw this as an opportunity to free Stan from his father's expectations too and since Stan probably would not graduate in high school too, he being kicked out would give him the perfect excuse to drop out school and don't go through the humiliation of having to repeat the last year of high school.

He genuinely believed that Stan always was able to succeed alone, being far better equipped to survive in the world on his own than him, since Stan has charisma, the ability of charming people, excellent social skills, being always good with people, getting to read them like open books, what they wanted and how to talk to them, and being capable of making the best of things, always able to find and bargain what he needed, being very clever. Stan could talk his way into or out of anything, blowing off trouble like it was nothing. Stan also was the normal one after all. Once he was on his own, he surely would flourished, being finally free to be whatever he wanted.

Ford thought that Stan would reach out for him if entered in trouble and then he would be able to apologize to Stan about accusing him of sabotage. Then he would explain were his plan to him and how it was for the best, since they were able to find themselves as separate persons and learned who they are individually, being free from their father's expectations and from their codependency.

Watchdog Ford would consider that Ford irredeemable; a lost cause. Watchdog Ford would approach Stan with the intention of relocating Stan, bringing irrefutable evidence that Ford had set him up (if Stan didn't already figure it out for himself, he ain't dumb). I feel like, in these circumstances, Stan would feel betrayed enough to agree to relocation without the need for the usual amount of coaxing and reassurances from Watchdog Ford.

Best believe he'd be paying Ford a visit after Stan has settled down in his new dimension with a brother that would rather slit his own throat than hurt Stan so deeply.

[justbelievinginmagic]

MIRAGE - part 1: paradigm shift.

pairing(s): ot8 ateez x reader, focus on hongjoong x reader & wooyoung x reader series summary: Your life aboard the airship, the Illusion, with the Ateez Crew wasn't any fantasy. As rebels against the Android Guardians, as no-good pirates to society, life was full of running, lying, and fighting. It wasn't the dream life you had imagined when you had met the charming young Kim Hongjoong in the port of Aurora years ago. When an enemy unexplainably caught up to the airship, you made a choice that shattered the universe, sending you hurtling back to a time before the Android Guardians, before the Illusion, and even before Ateez. warnings/tags: for mature audiences!, inspired by Illusion MV, inspired by Ateez's lore, inspired by the Treasure Albums, Pirate AU, Sci-Fi / Technopunk vibes, Dystopian AU, Time Travel AU, 3rd person POV, fem!reader, use of YN, polyteez, too much sci fi universe lore, violence, gore, mature topics, angst, fluff, weaponry (they're pirates), death, blood, canon divergent Cromer, canon divergent Android Guardians, distant love, strained love, obsession, magic, very lightly edited lol, let me know if there are more tags needed. word count: 8.6 k -> next chapter series masterlist

Somewhere high above the smog-covered, tech-invested cities, a floating ship soared through the clouds. Pastel-blue and soft-purple skies encompassed it as it sailed under, around, and above cotton-candy clouds. Wind rustled the large white sails, tickling over YN’s arms as she walked across the deck of the ship. A shadow cast over the main deck, shielding them from the bright star of a sun. A damp chill clung as the cloud dispersed lightly through the sails.

It felt like a perfect day. It had been a long time since they sailed throughout the clouds rather than above them. Too often than not, Hongjoong ordered them to sail above the clouds, away from sight. But when they sailed through soft cotton-candy clouds like this, it threw her back to the beginning of it all.

Memories of the mischievous then-sailor Hongjoong, a younger and more naïve man with his soft-feathered brown mullet, flickered to the surface. The way he had met her on the stacked upon stacked docks of Aurora. Aurora was once a beautiful port with its sherbert pebbled shores. But even when he and her met, those shores had become faded with pollution. The skies were still pastel soft despite the layer of smog that grew from the air-ships and few remaining water-ships that found their home there. But that day… his face could’ve rivaled the sparkling sun; it was so bright. He smiled so sweetly as he introduced himself boldly, stepping into her way on the busy docks.

“I’m Kim Hongjoong.”

And she had been so wary, despite his good looks, despite his near-glowing smile. She hadnt shaken the hand outstretched to her, instead glanced at it and back at his coy smile. Her arms crossed. His smile grew.

“No need to be careful. I can tell we are going to be good friends.” He proclaimed, hand dropping. “Will you be my friend?” he added, stepping forward, as if he knew the answer.

It was an arrogant statement, and it had her pushing past him to fall into the crowds once more.

She had seen him day after day. Each day he’d chime out a different nickname.

“Hello, Star.”

“Hi again, my Horizon.”

“How’s your day going, Starlight?”

“Have a moment, twilight?”

It was funny that each nickname only made her brow raise until finally she turned on her heel and faced the young man perched on a barrel. He leaned his cheek against his curled knee as he smiled his charming grin her way.

“What does ‘twilight’ even mean as a nickname?” she half-laughed incredulously.

He bit his lower lip as he shifted his head to look at her straight on.

“Have you ever seen twilight from an air-ship?” Hongjoong prompted; he leaned back on the barrel casual. 

YN shook her head. She didn’t specialize in ships – despite coming from the port of Aurora. She’d come and go to the traveler ships – the last few oceanliners and the more common air-cruises that docked. And she’d draw for them. Little caricatures or pictures of the shores of Aurora in its prime. Tourist things they could pay a few spare credits for with the hover of their phones and cards. Yet she had never flown in an air-ship and it had been a long time since she sailed on a water-freight.

He smiled. “It’s the most magical time.” He admitted. “There is an energy at twilight. Purple, blue, orange, and pink. That’s how I feel about you. Twilight.”

She laughed a bit.

“Poetic,” she commented.

“Maybe,” his stare hadn’t shifted from her as he smiled, tilting his head. Hongjoong pushed off the barrel to stand in front of her. “But it caught you, didn’t it?”

The smile that came to her lips was like a wild-fire, uncontrollable and bright. His grin grew at its spark.

“I’m Hongjoong,” he reminded, hand outstretched.

“YN.” She finally introduced.

“YN,” he breathed out like he was starstruck. Her hand in his felt electric.

Only a week later, he had taken her by the hand, that same spark going through her bones, as he tugged her along.

“Hold my hand,” he encouraged, excited. “I got to show you something.”

Running between the crowd felt freeing, winding through the multi-leveled docks, they climbed higher and higher until they were at the base of an air-ship. The thing looked new, shiny, and pristine. Its carved name, the Illusion, was freshly shaped on its rear. It reeked of new wood and new linens and new everything.

“An air-ship,” she stated. Her brow raised as she looked up at him.

“Mine,” he insisted. “Ours.”

She had learned in this short time that Hongjoong had dreams of grandeur that accompanied his arrogance. If he wasn’t so charming, it’d be a negative trait. But instead, it filled her with hope.

“Ours?” she repeated, doubtful.

He turned to her with stars in his eyes.

“It will be,” he chimed. “Once you step foot aboard my ship, you’ll never want to leave me.”

“Leave you?” she noted with a raised brow, a chuckle in her voice.

“I said what I said,” he replied coyly. “Let me ask you… will you join me?”

And something in her said to take the leap, to see if he was right. The way the sparkling sunlight up here haloed him made him seem magical, something special. Was she just going to stay here forever in the slums of a slowly polluting city?

She could live with him. Explore the world.

“Aye, captain,” it had been a joke as she took the first step up the gangplank, but it had led to where she was now.

And he was right. She hadn’t wanted to ever leave Hongjoong or the Illusion or the seven other men that had slowly joined them and made a home in her heart… at least not ‘til recently. Her gaze flickered from across the skies to the very man she was remembering. But, in front of her stood a very different Hongjoong. No longer was he a sailor, what stood before her was a pirate king.

Instead of a mullet of natural fluffy brown hair, he had taken to dying it and keeping it short. Between ink black to navy blue to vibrant blondes, he’s tried everything in effort to remain hidden. He sported a ruby-red color now – the shade had been fading like a sunset over the past few weeks until it was a soft honey-pink. His face was obscured by a dark mask, chains interlacing over its front as he leaned across the banister in front of the helm. He looked off onto the horizon, eyes piercing. His fingers, chipped in black paint, tapped out a beat as he stared off. His eyes were tired. When was the last time he slept? She couldn’t remember – and she shared a living quarters with him.

They were hiding once more. It had been weeks since they evaded their attackers, but still he insisted on wearing the mask. He had once ordered them all to do so, but pirates didn’t do well with commands. One by one, they tossed the mask aside in their cabins. He frowned, at least she thought he did (it was hidden by his mask) as he looked over his most-trusted members of his crew. Disappointed.

It wasn’t as if they were in the heavily-monitored cities again. Their ship was thousands of miles up in the sky away from the Android Guardians, away from the Initiative. But he was growing paranoid, she knew it. He was worried about something.

His gaze shifted from the open skies to her, looking her over with his cutlass-sharp brown eyes. Before they flashed away. Almost like if he stared too long, he’d fall into thoughts he didn’t want to think.

He was avoiding her. It was plain and simple. She used to think this was the ultimate freedom.  She wasn’t sure what it was anymore. Did he even love her? Did he tire of her? He held a distant sense of responsibility, but he was their captain wasn’t that his role. Is that all he felt for her? He made sure she was safe, made sure she slept, but when was the last time there was affection? YN couldn’t remember.

When it had been just them in this large ship, he had said to her, “Just be my companion, and that’ll be enough.” It didn’t feel that way anymore. Countless nights she had tried to tell him. But he shrugged her off, turning his shoulder as he looked over a pirate map. You have the others, YN. I need to figure this out. Even if the puzzle pieces of her heart were made up of eight, missing one piece still distorted the puzzle’s picture.

Shifting in her chair, one of the many mismatched kitchen chairs that Yeosang or San had hauled up from the galley and placed around a large crate, she let out a sigh. Things had been so different on the ship as of late. Reality was a sour taste to the few years of honeyed fantasy together. Her woe came out in her art. A sketch-book rested on the make-shift table; her own drawings decorated the page. It used to be full of her loves – side profiles of Seonghwa while he cooked, full body sketches of San while he tightened the riggings, shirtless, in the mornings, doodles of Wooyoung posing for her dramatically as they laid in bed. Happy smiles on their faces. It had become more and more full of restless scribbles instead.

Her heart ached. Alone despite the bustling crew around her. Men and women that they had picked up in order to outrun their hunters. It used to be different. It used to be a group decision around a shared dinner as they discussed how they felt about adding a new crew member. The Illusion used to just need the nine members of Ateez. 

“You alright, my baby?” The voice that interrupted her thoughts was a gentle one, deep but kind.

The dark-haired man’s plump lips were in a deep pout as he looked down at her. And while he had sharp features, sharp jaw, sharp brows, even a sharp swoop of hair, he was so soft. Mingi had always been a gentle creature – though he was the sharpest long-range shooter that ever flew the skies. Even better than Seonghwa.

With one hand, he pushed his bulky headphones off his ears, so that they rested slung around his neck. Something funky with a lo-fi beat hummed heavily through them. It just fit Mingi so much. He smiled down at her soothingly, a calloused hand raising to caress over her cheek.

This was what made her heart so sad. Because despite her melancholy, her depression Jongho had told her once while they laid alone in his hammock, she did love them. Even now.

She loved the ones she called the true crew of Ateez.

Mingi, her gentle sharpshooter who was shy around the ones he loved and yet confident and deadly around those who threatened them.

Jongho, their brilliant Quartermaster who worked to make sure all parts of the ship were ready for attack, but also taught the crew all he knew so that they would be safe if he wasn’t there to protect them.

 Yunho, their hardworking navigator who wouldn’t rest until they were set on a proper course and wouldn’t sleep until all of eight of the Ateez upper-crew were asleep and safe.

Yeosang, her sweet Bosun who oversaw the crew by his spot in the crow’s nest ensuring their freedom was never compromised but also would keep their spirits high with his gentle jokes.

Wooyoung, her rebellious wild Gunner who found a game in anything and loved to tease and sweet-talk each of his lovers until they flushed and fluttered.

Seonghwa, their mother-hen of a First Mate, loyal to a fault but would rather die than see his freedom or his loves stolen from him.

San, their strong Helmsman who could easily control the wheel no matter the weather but would cry if she ever mentioned how she was feeling – ever a sweetheart.

And, of course, Hongjoong, her Captain. Their Captain. Who found them, took them in, and loved them she knew. But he loved one thing even more – treasure.

Mingi’s ringed thumb brushed over her cheek once more, pulling her from her thoughts. “You are day-dreamy, baby,” he rumbled, frowning.

She flashed an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, princess,” she hummed out, nuzzling into his palm.

He pulled away with an embarrassed flush, glancing around. As if the opinions of the faceless crew meant more than her affections. It hadnt been like that before.

“Baby,” he whined lowly.

He used to love being called all sorts of nicknames before they hired their first non-Ateez member. Because that’s what this was – Ateez and crew. Not just the crew, Ateez. She laughed softly, going to grab his hand once more to bring it back to her cheek. His bracelets clanked, and his rings felt cool against her skin. Mingi had always been one to love the reaping of their conquests. A main reason why he’d never fight out against Hongjoong’s crusades. His outfit was modern, sleek on his form; his headphones the newest brand stolen from a billionaire’s mansion they looted.

“Can Yunho only call you that?” she teased. “Princess?”

“You—how – How do you know that?” he whispered close.

“I hear all, babe,” she replied with a chuckle. That was her skill after all. Seeing things from a different perspective; she was often the one to figure out a way of attack. Her plans and observations weren’t what the others thought of in discussions. Observe, analyze, interpret. “I know everything about my loves,” she teased once again, squeezing his hand.

A yawn broke through her – making her shudder. He frowned, the humor of their conversation leaving when it came to their well-being. Mingi loved knowing things, too – or more so, loved eavesdropping. Sometimes she assumed his headphones played no music, and it was just so he could listen into other people’s conversations without them thinking he was paying attention.

“Are you not sleeping well?” he asked.

She offered a sleepy look his way. “Hongjoong’s been up-and-down most nights. He’s paranoid,” she admitted, glancing towards the red head.

Last night, he kept reading a notebook she had never seen, pacing this way and that as his eyes flickered to his Treasure. Not her, of course. He’d bite his lip and go back to his research. A chalkboard behind him – that one held their next destination mapping – now held scribbles of notes she couldn’t decipher. A fanatic’s raving about the Treasure.

Mingi’s brows raised curiously, following her gaze. His Captain showed no emotion; with his steely eyes locked on the horizon and the rest of his face blocked by the dark mask.

“He’s convinced something will happen,” she mumbled, her head shifting to rest against Mingi’s toned stomach. His hand automatically rose to stroke over her head. “With his Treasure.”

Mingi scoffed. Treasure. He didn’t know what was so special about a stupid hourglass. Wooyoung and Yeosang agreed with him, and he bet others did too but… they all knew how Hongjoong acted when it came to the Treasure.

It had taken priority over the last year.

“Go sleep in my cabin; you’re always welcome there,” he told her, scratching her head softly.

“I can nap out here,” she insisted.

They used to do that often, falling asleep on the deck while staring up at the clouds. When was the last time they did just that? She couldn’t remember.

“Seonghwa would hate if you got stepped on,” he commented.

“And you wouldn’t?” she joked.

Mingi shrugged teasingly. She jabbed his stomach. He dodged. Her head lulled to the side as she lost her makeshift standing pillow.

“Go on, pirate princess,” he insisted, gesturing towards the latch towards the lower decks. “I’ll let Captain and Seonghwa know where you are if they ask.”

She nodded slowly. Sleepiness ate at her. Maybe it was just the lack of something in her life. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was depression like Jongho thought. Maybe it was just her. She wasn’t sure – all she knew was she had felt wrong for days, weeks, months. Restless, exhausted, unenthusiastic. Unignited.

Maybe sleep was all she needed. So, when she curled up next to Yunho in Mingi’s small cabin covered in any and all music memorabilia he could find, it felt right. He wrapped her up in his long limbs and, while she didn’t feel better, she felt safe. Wasn’t that enough?

-

The ship rocked violently; the sounds of gunfire and ricochet thundering into the cabin. Jolting from sleep, she sat up in a panic. There was another explosion shuddering the wood of the Illusion. Without much thought, she hoisted herself out of Yunho’s bed; he was gone, bedsheets rumpled. There were records and music tapes scattered on the ground from the rocking and rolling of the fast-sailing ship.

Running throughout the lower decks, all she saw was destruction and chaos. Crew running this way and that. Yelling. Running. Smoke. Climbing higher and higher, she pushed open the main deck’s latch to be hit with pandemonium.

Explosions rang out all about her. Half-awake in her pajamas, the world she knew and loved looked less like a daydream and more like a waking nightmare. Yells cried out; screams of pain pierced the air. Small fires licked at the well-loved, graffitied hull, burning away drawings and memories etched into the yellow-heart and blue mahoe wood. Riggings were hanging limply from the masts; ropes decorated the floor like guts. A few lower crew members laid unresponsive, bloodied. Large chunks of the ship laid scattered about, making the large deck look more like an obstacle course than her home.

Her eyes darted from every unresponsive man she could spot. Not him. Not him. Where were they? Were they okay? Wood shards were flung into the air as she ran across the deck of the air-ship. Ducking behind a large wooden box, one they used often as a makeshift table but now she used as protection against the crash of chaos. Glancing around, she searched for a weapon, something in case the attack came onboard. But there was little weaponry lying about. They’d been alone for two weeks – the threat had been gone. Gunfire rang out, and cannons flashed. Her eyes shut tight as the bright bang blinded her for a moment.

The threat was here.

It could only be one entity.

Coughing through smoke, she tried to spot the highest members of the crew. She finally spotted one among the pandemonium. Ash blond hair was plastered back from his forehead, mussed and sweatied, as he pushed ahead. A cannon ram looked more like a scepter with how he wielded it. Commanding the gunners on how to reload and aim at their enemy. Rushing past the long-line of gunners, Jongho was a vision of strength; fury etched into his brow as he strode past, staring down the enemy ship.

“Fire! Now!” Jongho’s voice cried out. “Fire starboard!”

She stood then, aiming to run to his side before the piercing sound of their cannons went off. Senses burnt like a live-wire; her ears rang and her eyes felt blurred before there was a thud of sneakers beside her, a muscular arm going to press her down against the ground as something whittled through the air above their heads and slammed into the mast beside them. Wood debris rained down over them. YN huffed and puffed, trying to catch the breath that had gotten knocked from her lungs. His arm kept them pressed into the floor.

“YN. There you are – fuck, watch out.”

His breath was hot against her neck, sweat and cinders dripped down his face. Familiar orange blossom and light green apple wafted over her, giving a momentary comfort in the gun-smoke and destruction. Yunho’s hands shifted her against him, tugging her half-underneath him. Protecting her with his form as another cannon-ball whistled overhead. Their gazes met. Panic crossed over his face, ash coating his blue hair and colorful clothes making them look ghastly.

“Who’s attacking?” she asked, trying to shift from her lover’s protective embrace to peer over the hull at the other air-ship. Yunho yanked her back down as another crash of cannon fire rang out. The nearby cannon a fellow crew member utilized throttled back heavily on its wheels as it fired out its deadly weapon. His hand covered her head, over her ears and curling her into his chest. Cursing beneath his breath, he held her closer, wishing he could keep her safe in between his ribs. Beside his hummingbird heart.

“It’s the Guardians!” he told her closely, his voice as breathless as she felt. “Same frigate from Paradise.”

They could hear Seonghwa’s war cry from somewhere across the ship and the always-familiar bang of his rifle. Far from their ship, there was a scream.

“We can’t outfight them,” she told Yunho.

She knew better than anyone – except perhaps Jongho – about their stocks. They were low on ammunition; they hadn’t stopped long enough to restock.

“We need to get out of here. Before they hit the mainsail.”

Glancing upwards, she took in their large white-sailed masts. Three of them stood tall and proud, billowing with air as they guided them in their sail through the skies. Squinting, she could see Yeosang in his sunny-yellow sweater that he loved, high in the crow’s nest. There was a splatter of red across his face as he pulled binoculars away, pointing and yelling down to the crew below.

“Land! Portside!”

“He’s okay,” Yunho reassured. He had just come from climbing between the sails like a spider monkey.

Wreckage showered down over them as a cannon ball struck the mainsail mast with a shattering of wood, but it remained steady. Thankfully, it was a thick sturdy pole. But, before relief could flush through her and Yunho, the ship heaved to the side with a lurch. Yunho scrambled to keep them down against the floorboards. A cry tumbled out of the remaining crew as their shoes slid and their canons followed suit heavily rolling against them. Some sickening crunches were heard. Yunho dug his sneakers into the wood as his hand rose to cup the back of her head, ducking them down to take the brute of the slide – in case anything hit them. His back pushed into the side of the hull while she was cradled into his arms and lanky legs. Their head snapped at the sound of their Captain’s yelling.

“San!” Hongjoong’s sharp voice bit out from somewhere.

“Working on it, Captain,” San grunted out. 

She could see between fire and smoke San at the helm; his muscles rippling as he tried to control their ship. He pulled at the wheel, trying to take control of their ship. His teeth gritted as he finally righted their ship and snarled something beneath his breath as he looked back at the attacking air-ship.

Yunho stood quickly, hoisting her forward. His hands lifted her onto her feet easily.

“Get to Hongjoong’s quarters,” he breathed to her, hand on her cheek as he urged her to understand his intent. “Hide!”

As if that’d be any safer, she thought. But Yunho’s rough hands were already onto their next goal – moving from her face to encouraged her to go, go, go, pushing her towards the Captain’s Quarters. There was no room for discussion right now.

“Run,” Yunho said as he reached for a discarded sword, the metal shlinging as it was unsheathed. “Now, YN.”

So, she did. Running around figures and broken riggings, past Jongho who’s gaze flickered to her fearfully until he saw her path ahead. She was going towards the others; she’d be safe there. Stomping up the stairs, she finally caught sight of the large airship attacking them. The frigate overpowered their smaller ship, but it gave her some relief to see flames billowing out of its keel. There was hope that they could outrun them. They were smaller. 

Racing up the last few steps up to the quarterdeck, she felt an explosion burst beside her, sending her stumbling. Her ears rung as she was flung into the thick railings of the deck painfully. Her waist ached and she felt like she’s was going to lose her dinner. Dazed, she felt faint for a moment. The ringing and blurred smoke of the ship all she could process. Canon fire rung out again. She blindly crouched, her hand wrapping around the banister of the railing to keep herself steady.

“YN!” she heard San cry out distantly.

Everything felt far away. She tried to shake her head, tried to steady herself. Her face stung and burned uncomfortably, but all she had on her mind was to get to Hongjoong’s quarters. Someone hoisted her back to standing. Large hands held onto her shoulders as they peered into her face. He called her name again, a hand going to cup her face. A grimace graced his face as he came into a non-double vision view.

Wooyoung’s face was covered in smears of soot, hands a dark color from the gun powder he had helped a crew member load into a cannon moments ago. His squid-ink black hair looked grey with ash. Fingers went to the side of her face, prying bits of wood away from her new wound. A large collection of splinters dug into her cheek to her temple in a long gash.

“Are you ok?” he asked fast. His eyes were wide and fearful. “Baby!”

She nodded slowly, dazed, before shaking away her bewilderment. In her adrenaline rush, she truly didn’t feel much pain. It was all so fleeting – hard to distinguish amongst the chaos. Like when you can’t tell if something is burning cold or freezing hot to the touch. Her own hand went to feel the damage, coming away red. Wooyoung flinched at the sight.

“I’ll live; I’m fine. Go,” she encouraged, moving to push him with her hand.

Wooyoung was their best gunner with his accuracy. Her palm had left a bloody hand print on his colorful red-white-blue-yellow graphic tee as she curled her fingers into his fabric near pleading. He hadnt shifted an inch, his face drenched in agony at the sight of her pain.

“Woo, aim for their rudder; slow them down. So, we all can make it out alive.”

His face was stoney, a type of seriousness Wooyoung rarely got. He nodded firmly as he turned to observe their attacker. His hands firmly kept her in place – keeping her grounded. The Guardian’s grand white-painted frigate towered above them, not overtaking them yet. It seemed it wanted to cause more damage than board them as of now. They’d take that blessing. 

“Captain,” Wooyoung crowed out instead. “Any orders?”

Their Captain stood on the platform above his quarters. With his honey-red hair, he was easy to spot – even more so with his attire. He wore a vibrant red fur coat that barely stayed on his shoulders as he paced in battle, a white graphic tee, skinny jeans, and black Doc Martins. He wasn’t a picture of a sea-salted, wobbly old pirate. But his face surely held the power of one. His glare could strike someone down as he growled out.

“Prevent them from boarding!” Hongjoong bit out, reaching for his pistol on his hip. He raised it into the air, shooting at the opposing ship’s crew. “Protect the Treasure at all costs.”

The treasure, the treasure, the treasure. That was all he cared for now it felt. Even in the heat of battle, he was one-track minded. Wooyoung hissed through his teeth as he turned back. Wooyoung had been someone she had shared this feeling with before. Hongjoong and his obsession for his treasure. It was like a parasite sucking at his soul. But Wooyoung’s concern only grew as he surveyed the deck. Her head turned to look back at the ship soaring so close by. It was bad.

“Of course, he’d say that,” Wooyoung muttered before he moved away from her.

His hands leaving her arms left her wobbly, and he quickly tried to make up for his failure. He steadied her with both hands.

“You aren’t okay,” he muttered out, pressing her into her spot firmly. His hands went to her jaw, cupping it and directing her gaze.

“We don’t have time to not be okay; we are in a battle!” she replied.

Her head turned to glanced back at Hongjoong, at San. Yeosang was swinging down from the crow’s nest, a dangerous attempt, as Mingi cried up at him to watch out for this and that. They all were not okay – they all were in danger.

And all Hongjoong could think about was treasure.

“Go hide,” Wooyoung warned. “Somewhere, anywhere. Stay alive – this will all be over soon.”

She nodded firmly; Wooyoung returning it. He squeezed her shoulder, risking a kiss to her forehead, before running off. He’d hit their rudder; he had to. He was their best shot.

“Be safe,” she yelled to him, to them, as she continued her journey towards the Captain’s Quarters.

Flinging the stain-glassed French doors open, she ran inside Hongjoong’s room. Turning, she quickly locked them behind her with a flick of a golden lock. The familiar sight of Hongjoong’s sanctuary would be reassuring if there weren’t shattered glass from the exterior windows blown out across the cabin. The drapery around his space used to give it a soft look, now with torn fabrics and destruction, it looked like a mummy of itself. A cannon ball was embedded on the map-covered desk, a large splintering gash through the wooden desk.

Their safe space was half-destroyed; the ship was in ruins; and it sent a wave of fear crippling through her. That this was the end. But no, she couldn’t think of that now. She looked around. Could she hide in the wardrobe? Or the chest by the door? What if something hit it? No, she needed a weapon first.  

She rushed further into the space, going towards his king-sized bed alcoved into the wall of the hull. It sheets were still rumpled from last night. Tossing Hongjoong’s pillow aside, she grabbed the pistol he kept hidden there and checked to make sure it was loaded.

Feeling better with the heavy weapon in her palm, she turned back to survey the room only for something to blind her. A light flare flashed over her face, making her flinch back. Her hand rose to cover her eyes.

Follow me. It pulled.

Shining from within Hongjoong’ desk, something caught her eye like a lit-flame, like a burning guiding star. Through a crack in the wood, the thing glimmered and shimmered and she swore it called to her.

Into the light. Into that light. Beyond the light.

The temptation dragged her towards it. Her brows pursed as she felt something burn in her chest. Like a live-wire. Rounding the desk, she crouched down, pulling each drawer open. Some tumbled off of their tracks and onto the messy floor, others hung open lazily. Pearls, music CDs, credit cards. Empty snack bags, glass bottles, wires for computers and gadgets. A laptop covered in stickers, love letters, condoms, keys to the brig. No. No. No.

Find me.

Where was it? Where did he put it?

There was a loud lurch of the ship like a dog yanking on its leach and a horrible tearing sound. Like splintering wood and broken metal. The entire ship trembled and sagged at an angle. Glass, knick-knacks, and maps clattered and rolled towards the door. The desk was screwed into the planks (at the request of Seonghwa, she remembered) and didn’t move an inch. Her hands gripped the desk top. A commotion exploded outside and slowly but surely the ship righted. They weren’t leaning anymore, but they weren’t sailing. But YN couldn’t focus on that.

All she could focus on was that light. Where was it?

Find me.

The light gleamed from within the desk but after tearing out the drawers’ there was nothing within. Her fingers slide over the wood of the desk, carefully searching for a divot, a secret compartment, something. Hongjoong trusted them, obvious by the lack of locks on his drawers. But maybe he had thought ahead. Her Captain often did.

Her nails stuck into a fine line, a thin crevice finally found, on the wall of the desk. With effort, she pulled and tugged at the plank until it popped open to reveal the sparkling artefact. It was almost holy; the way the light sighed at her and hummed. Almost like it was saying hello.

Now, this wasn’t the first time she had seen the Cromer. They all had seen it before, but never before had it shimmered and gleamed like it held glowing stardust. Like something magical was happening.

It wasn’t large, no, it was just large enough to be the size of a small water-bottle. The Cromer was intricate and yet simple in its design. Gold-wrought wire framing held a delicate glass-blown hourglass. Sand forever trickled, not downwards but upwards, as if gravity didn’t exist in its plane. Something magical. Something precious. Something they had still yet to understand beyond it was a treasure that they needed to protect from falling into the wrong hands. That’s what Hongjoong had always said and she never understood why… til now.

There was a clash of blades from the deck, making her jump and look up. A shadow had covered the desk… The sunlight that had poured into the quarters from the blasted windows was gone. No, no… they were being boarded. That was the only reason there would be blades crossed.

She pried the Cromer out of its velveteen holding space. Even touching it felt strange. Like there was an electric hum running up through her veins where it touched her skin. She shoved the hidden compartment closed with a thud, pushing at the drawers to shut as many as could.  Already shifting from her crouched position, YN glanced around the room.

She had to hide.

Running towards the large oaken closet, she swung open the doors and shoved herself inside. Pushing jackets and fur coats aside, she nestled herself as far as she could wiggled herself into the closet, cradling the Cromer in her lap and reaching to slam the closet doors shut. One hand wrapped around the glass of the hourglass and the other around Hongjoong’s pistol.

YN shut her eyes, listening closely. Heavy footsteps, clash of swords, gunfire. She heard it all, and it made her stomach curdle.

How did the Android Guardians take them by storm? Everything had been calm waters recently. Itd been weeks since their last port. Yeosang kept careful watch. They were careful of their trails. How did they find them?

There was a loud thud on the doors to the Captain’s Quarters.

“Again!” there was a command muddled by an electronic-processor.

It was the Guardians. Her breath caught in her throat as she twisted further into the closet. From the smallest crack in between the closet doors, she peered into the room, waiting and praying that the doors held up as another BANG made her flinch.

Please, please, please, she repeated silently.

Don’t let them in; keep them safe. Don’t let this happen.

Please, please, please.

Bang, bang, bang.

There was a shatter of glass. A scatter of sea-foam and sunset-pink glass tumbled across the quarter’s floor. The carefully-cared-for colored glass was now nothing but shards of dust.

“Finally,” a voice barked; a strange mixture of robotic and animalistic tones made up his shout.

A clatter of locks chilled her. The clanking of doors shoved open.

She held her breath.

“Get in there,” the sound of flesh hitting flesh made her shut her eyes tightly.

The grunt was one she had heard before. Her eyes flashed open; fear flooded her body. Wooyoung huffed out; there was a jingle. Was he locked up? From her small crack, she couldn’t see much. YN didn’t move a muscle.

“Where is it? Hm?” The nearly inhuman voice croaked.

“Go fuck yourself,” Wooyoung exclaimed out.

A loud thud and low groan made her heart lurch. Wooyoung’s laugh was wet as he heaved and groaned from the floor. He spat blood and saliva out onto the leader’s shoes, the remaining of the spittle staining into the floorboards. He let out a low laugh and, despite him not being in her line of sight, she knew he’d been smiling cruelly. His laugh wasn’t a smidge humorous. He was heaved back onto his knees by the Android Guardian’s followers.

The doors to the Captain’s Quarters were shoved shut with a loud clatter, keeping all noise from the deck out and all noise in the room inside.

“Your emotions don’t suit you,” the invader commented. “Don’t worry that will all be solved soon.”

“I don’t know why you expected me of all people to be obedient,” Wooyoung bit back; his voice sounded strange, gurgled. There was a cracking sound, familiar to her only because Wooyoung loved to crack his neck.

Why did the Guardians drag him to the Quarters and not all of them – or at the very least the Captain or First Mate? Where was Hongjoong? Where was Seonghwa?  Was Wooyoung being used as a bargaining chip? They had been caught – that much was clear, but was everyone okay?

Her own injured face stung against one of Seonghwa’s fur jackets; the hairs sticking into her flesh painfully as her wound dried in the air. She’d have to apologize to Seonghwa for ruining one of his favorites. Later. Because there had to be a later… there had to be. She stayed silent, trying to catch a glimpse of Wooyoung without moving. Was he okay?

She instead gained a glance of the Android Guardian leading this attack. He was unnaturally tall, covered in an all-white leathered ensemble. Its overlapping belts and straps felt like they kept his posture too straight.  Ever frightening with its entirely covered face, a muzzle-like chainwork wounded over around its mouth. The slight give and take of the fabric indicated his breathing, but she wasn’t sure how he could breathe, let alone see through the thick fabric. No face, no humanity. No emotion. That was the way of the Initiative.

That’s what they wanted from the remains of the world. Why couldn’t they just leave them alone? She missed yesterday so suddenly.

“These games are juvenile, Jung Wooyoung,” the leader spoke once more. “Tell me the location of the device or else the bargain is off.”

There was a deal happening. Hongjoong struck a deal. He always had a plan – even if they couldn’t see all the moving piece of it. She shifted her arms around the Cromer, almost as if it was a comfort object – a long-lost teddy bear to soothe her as she was forced to witness Wooyoung and the Guardians.

Wooyoung snorted. “Order your men to let me go and I’ll gladly help,” he said with vigor. There was a rattling of chains after his words.

The Guardian looked down at him – or she assumed he did as he tilted his head slowly. The all-white figure glanced aside before giving a solid nod. Wooyoung’s body slammed to the floor once more.

“Godda—gently,” he scolded, muffled. There was a grunt in his words as he must’ve pushed himself up and stood. She could see the outline of his form now, standing tall. He spat to the side again; blood splattered.

“Better,” Wooyoung replied, raising a brow at the Android Guardian. “It’s in here.”

He smiled a bloody smile at their attacker before walking around him, towards the closet. She could see him in his full glory. Blood stained his shirt, not just his from his rubied mouth but her own blood remained in a handprint across the joyful red-white-blue-and-yellow of his shirt. It didn’t look like it fit in in this scenario. Too joyful and colorful for the destruction and smoke that tumbled in from the creaking fires rattling the ship.

His hair was mussed and sweatied strewn across his forehead like ink spilt across a piece of parchment. She pushed herself closer to the crack, hoping that he’d see her while blocking her from view. In the perfect world, like an old movie scene, he’d see her and smile his boyish smile that made her feel safe. But all that greeted her was furrowed dark brows as he kicked aside rubble.

He hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t! Her stomach turned in worry. Her fingers brushed over the Cromer, fidgeting restlessly. The smooth glass was cold to the touch and clanked just lightly from her fingers. She froze.

The Android Leader twitched. She held her breath, held every cell in her body, held every atom at bay as she waited.

“Fuck, you destroyed this room,” Wooyoung whistled out.

She heard the cannon ball that had been embedded into the desk get pushed off with a heavy thud. YN watched it roll slowly towards the closet; the air-ship was tilting just slightly. It thudded against the closet, rattling the wooden doors. Trapping her inside.

“You gave us no other logical choice,” the Guardian informed.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. He shifted through the drawers she had half destroyed in her own search. Haphazardly, Wooyoung tossed aside thoughtful gifts that they had given Hongjoong, half-eaten snack bags, Hongjoong’s vape that he had placed deep in his desk after swearing he’d give it up.

“What if you had hit our rudder? Or mainsail? Or what if we had struck your weak spot and you had crushed us?” Wooyoung argued back, pausing to stare at the leader with a condescending tilt of his head. “You wouldn’t have been able to raid us if we had crashed.”

“Good thing that didn’t happen,” the Guardian replied, almost like a parent replying to a child’s outlandish comments. Estranged and detached. “These illogical scenarios are fanciful. No wonder you had a delusion of grandeur.”

Wooyoung’s face twitched and he glared at the figure once more.

“Keep searching.” The Guardian commanded, head nodding to the desk.

Wooyoung obeyed. He tossed aside a polaroid camera with a clank; some stray polaroids were strewn across the deck. There were coins that were pocketed by Wooyoung. He was methodical, taking his time to explore the drawers inside and out, more than she had done.

Was he stalling? She tried to listen to anything happening on the main deck, but it was loudly quiet. The only sounds she heard was the deep breaths in and out the Guardians made to breathe through their thick face-masks, the occasional bellowing of the ship’s wood as it heaved against something, and the very quiet sound of the Cromer’s sand reversing through its hourglass.

Finally, after digging through all of the drawers, slow and methodical, he began to do what she did. Fingers pressed into the wood to find a compartment of sorts.

“This is taking too long,” the Guardian growled out.

Maybe that was the point, she hoped. The more time Wooyoung bought, the more time her loves would fight and hopefully find them.

“Relax, bud,” Wooyoung crowed out, too casual for the situation – but of course he always liked the upper-hand. Loved teasing. Some would say he was arrogant but YN believed him to just be bold.

That boldness grew when there was a clicking sound, the Cromer’s compartment ticking open with a satisfying pop. His grin, bloodied and gruesome, looked like a wolf after a kill. Before he opened the door.

“It’s gone,” Wooyoung breathed, his eyes blinking in disbelief. He licked over his reddened lips and swallowed.

The Cromer warmed close to her chest, and she saw its glow grow. No, no, stop. YN worried the glow would be seen through the cracks in the wardrobe. She hugged it closer, tucking it into her chest.

“Enough of these games,” the leader bit out; there was a flick of his hand and one of the Guardian hooligans rushed forwards seizing Wooyoung by the arms. Hoisting him up with a struggle as a loud shling of his blade made YN’s blood turn cold.

She could see Wooyoung’s head raise just in time for the blade to rest under his chin, sharp and unforgivingly.

“Tell me where the Cromer is now,” the Guardian commanded from aside. She could see red drip from the blade and a grunt leave Wooyoung’s lips.

“Go to hell.” There was a low hum as the Guardian leader’s hand flick once more, signaling something to his captor. A signal he didn’t get to follow through with.

“Don’t hurt him!” she exclaimed out, unable to watch as the blade sliced into Wooyoung’s throat more. She pushed herself out of the closet, firing the pistol at the Guardian that had him. The villain plunked to the floor, freeing Wooyoung who stared at her with wide eyes and a bloodied throat.

“Seize her,” the Android Guardian’s leader commanded. The remaining Guardians rushed forward, their strong hands gripping and groping at her until she was caught beneath their strong hold. She held on tight to the Cromer, refusing to let them pry it from her hand. It hummed and buzzed erratically as if upset. She continued to squabble with her captors, her pistol falling from her hand as she grasped the artefact tightly.

Over their struggle, she could hear Wooyoung crying out, trying to get her to stop or for the Guardians to stop. It wasn’t until the leader unempathetically stated.

“That’s enough.”

Her two captors held her by her arms, simply but strongly. She still struggled, writhing this way and that as she glared up at the Guardian who slowly approached her. He towered over her, leaning down with the blank mask of a face.

“We have another defector aboard. I knew we hadnt collected all of the crew,” the robotic-man commented. His large latex-gloved hand reached out to grasp her chin.

There was a strange noise from his masked face almost like an electronic chirp.

“YN LN.” he hummed. “Yes. We know all about you.”

“Don’t touch her,” Wooyoung snarled out.

He nearly jumped over the desk; his hand grasped the Android Guardian’s bicep firmly. Tugging him away from YN, she had never seen Wooyoung’s face look so dark. His brows shadowed his dark brown eyes, a snarl void of humor or temptation crossing his mouth.

“She’s not part of the bargain. Let her go.”

There was a laugh, too robotic, too unemotional, to feel genuine from the all-white Guardian. The figures, holding her arms, didn’t even shift a smidge, didn’t look at one another for clarity. Just stared ahead – pawns to the Grand Guardian’s command.

“We let you keep the helmsman, the look-out,” the Guardian recalled. “And now her?”

It sounded condescending. Her eyes flashed from the emotionless face to Wooyoung. His eyes flickered from her to the Grand Guardian. There was uncertainty there. He licked his lips.

“This is the problem with you defectors.” The Guardian’s voice rasped out with a metallic edge. “You think you’re always in control. Even when you aren’t.”

In a flash, the leader thrusted his arm into Wooyoung’s torso sending him tumbling to his knees, his hands going to his punched stomach. Wheezing, Wooyoung bared his teeth and watched as the Android Guardian tugged his arm away. The frightening figure approached her, too quick and mechanical to feel unthreatening.

“Give us the Cromer,” he demanded. His fingers curled and uncurled, outstretched.

Protect the Treasure at all costs. Hongjoong’s voice echoed in her head. He had drilled it into her mind, all of their minds. But, at the cost of Wooyoung’s life? At hers?  

She glared at their enemy. Her fingers curled around the metal wire around the hourglass of the Cromer.

I know you're afraid. Follow your gut.

The way the metal buzzed and silently hummed in her ear was strange. Familiar and yet foreign as it spoke to only her. The burst of warmth in its metal was reassuring, like holding onto someone’s hand. Reassuring her that this was the right thing to do. The sand trickling inside the Cromer was the only sound in the Captain’s Quarters. Somehow something so gentle and soothing could be loud – even after the chaos that enraptured them moments ago.

“No.” she bit out.

The ship creaked ominously. She grasped the artefact closer to her chest.

Follow your gut.

Hongjoong had told her once long ago that the Cromer was what brought them together; that he had let it guide him to them. The look in his eyes felt distant as he stared at the hourglass. His index finger would stroke the glass like it was their cheek. His friends. His family.

It brought them together and he had to keep it safe to keep them safe. A paranoid take she always thought. He believed if the Cromer was taken away from them – well, it’d be like the sea with no moon. Chaotic, untethered, unnatural. YN had always believed they found one another, not some hourglass.

“How did you use it?” She had asked him one night, wrapped in his arms as he continued to stare off. With his head lost in the clouds, he was loose-lipped. A sigh of fruity-smelling, blue smoke left his lips as he tugged his vape away from his mouth before he replied: “You’re the only one besides me that will know if I tell you. Not even Seonghwa knows… Alright, precious?”

She held it horizontally like had shown her, shifting it so the sand couldn’t flow up or down – freezing the hourglass’s sand. Her eyes shut as she murmured the words he hadn’t dare recite aloud and instead wrote down on an old receipt they had found in his jeans. She didn’t see as recognition flashed over Wooyoung’s bloodied face, eyes widening and his heart dropping.

“YN, don’t—” Wooyoung was barely able to get out as he lunged forward.

“Stop, child!” the Guardian growled out. “Grab it!”

Treasure.

But it was too late. With the spell cast, the artefact had begun to whirl, the metal loops surrounding the hourglass undulating. The glow grew and grew.

It can complete us…

They pushed and shoved and tried to take it from her still, fingers all digging into her skin until… she hoisted the Cromer up into the air and sent it shattering to the ground.

…Or it can destroy us.

There was no Treasure to steal. No artefact to worship. She dove to try to grab the pistol once more, to fire at the Guardians so they could escape, but she was unable to move. Like gravity refused to let her. The shattered remains of the Cromer glinted in a non-existent light; sending a flare out over the figures, blinding them. A wild hurricane wind burst forth around them, blooming from the pile of sand. A tornado of golden sand growing and growing until it consumed her, the Guardians, and Wooyoung. 

She couldn’t even yell out for him. Her mouth was full of sand. Her nose, her eyes. It was sharp and burning and hot.

There was a woosh around her, her hair tumbling into the air, her clothes rustling in the hot-blast.

The sound of wind blowing from the horizon.

The warmth of the sun.

The sand vibrating against her skin.

Open your eyes.

The Cromer whispered in her ear, warm and in a voice that nearly sounded like Hongjoong’s.

No, she didn’t want to. It hurt. It burned.

Open your eyes.

When she flickered her eyes open tentative and slow, her breath was stolen. She was no longer in her Captain’s quarters. No longer on the Illusion. No longer was she with her Ateez.

YN was in the shadows of the stacked-upon-stacked docks of Aurora.  

We're at the starting point of this long journey.

Will you join us?

[matrixbearer2024]

I had an ask about this regarding my AU but I don't know what happened to it after I saw it in my inbox cuz it might be tumblr being funny but essentially it was just:

"Does West Coast Tech still exist? Why didn't Ford go to West Coast Tech?"

Short answer is, he simply didn't want to in this AU. West Coast Tech is among the Ivy Leagues in my AU and BMU still exists too, it still has the prominent reputation of being a back-up university.

In this AU ultimately Ford never really developed the mindset that he was "special" and had to make a point of it or prove that he was somebody. Because of their upbringing, there wasn't a "preference" others had towards either twin because Filbrick disliked them equally and their academic and extracurricular skills basically made them break even. There wasn't a stupid twin/smart twin between them and Caryn made damn sure about it.

Possibly the only thing that most people say about the two is that they're "smart but stupid" because of all the trouble they get wrapped up in doing whatever or being too curious for their own good.

The teachers or coaches didn't favor one twin over the other either and they were generally liked by their peers. Ford didn't end up with that sense of arrogance that you can typically see in canon where he believes he is above the rest and he has to be and Stan didn't develop that inferiority complex compared to his sibling.

In this AU, Ford had the option to go to West Coast Tech but even throughout senior high he already knew that a good university could really only get you so far. He was a sharp tool yes, but... he didn't think that edge would really push him far. He had an edge, but it wasn't much.

There's a lot of gifted people nowadays and even good credentials aren't going to guarantee a decent job or a stable career, that's if you can even get a job right away.

The science project and everything was still what gave him the opportunity and Stan even congratulated him for scoring that high but Ford wasn't really pleased? I'm not sure with the word but he wasn't exactly happy with the circumstance. They didn't fight over it considering all throughout highschool they kept talking about potential careers and whatnot.

It didn't help that Filbrick encouraged the idea of West Coast Tech because of how much money Ford could potentially make. Even so, Ford was stupidly skeptical after seeing the pamphlet and researching online. Realistically it seemed too good to be true, and he couldn't even sleep on it from how much he kept thinking.

Stan knew he would likely take longer to figure things out but he'd get there, and he was willing to let Ford just reach for the stars as he always did. They still have that dream of sailing around the world as adults but it's a lot more defined and realistic compared to how they planned it in canon. They're thinking, work hard, get rich, then retire early to sail and travel around the world. If their paths split early, they'll find a way back when they grow up. They always do.

It's something they constantly talk about because they both desperately want to move out after graduation just to get the hell away from Filbrick. It doesn't matter where they end up they just need to get away.

Even so, Ford mulled over the offer and decided to visit the university before making his decision. His gut feeling was both parts right and wrong, sure— what he thought was too good to be true was the actual reality of the school and it's pursuit of academic excellence, but he was right to be skeptical after he noticed the snobbish and arrogant nature most of the students have. It's a common thing for ivy leagues to have that mentality that they're the cream of the crop. The best there is. Not everybody is like this of course, but sometimes the loudest crowd doesn't always have to be the majority.

It does take a lot of work to get to their level and to stay at that level but Ford couldn't see himself in that school. He didn't want to allow himself into that crowd where he knew it would potentially make him worse off as a person. Also, he had the entirety of undergrad to get through, if he so much as wanted to transfer to an Ivy League to get his masters or doctorate he knew he could! So what was the rush?

University was a stepping stone and he had time, he knew he could do a lot but he didn't need to rush. So... Ford turned down the offer.

Sadly, it was pretty much as chaotic(bad) as you'd think.

Of course, that meant looking for another university instead and it was mostly Stan who did the research this time because Ford was too burnt out and sulky after everything. He knew he made the choice that would inherently grant him more happiness, but it doesn't always feel like that right away and it didn't help that the walls were paper thin. It's hard to fall asleep to your parents yelling and throwing things around in a fight because of a decision you made.

Both of them had generally pretty good track records academically and a long list of achievements to follow it so it wasn't hard for them to find universities either. That's how they ended up with Graviton University in Oregon, it's not an Ivy-league but it's not as bad as BMU either. It really is just a stepping stone in the middle, your performance practically shapes the path you walk on.

The Stan twins have a choice in this AU mostly because they could also afford it, take note- the family is financially comfortable in this AU because Filbrick is one hell of an unscrupulous businessman but very successful. They're not rich but they're comfortable, and that's a lot in the state of the economy nowadays.

Ford has choices in this AU and it's also a very big part to play in why he could turn down the offer at the time and not look back at it with regret. Stan also being on even ground beside his brother is why they don't ever fight about such topics either, he's not ever chasing after Ford— he's standing right next to him.

The subtle differences from canon can genuinely just make a world of difference in the bigger picture. But yeah, it's why I had them go to Graviton University instead. It's a middle-ground and it's also how I can essentially get them to stay in gravity falls instead of ending up elsewhere when I cranked the "weirdness" level pretty low. There's still bits and bobs of it around, but not to the degree of the canon show I would think.

I hope this generally clears up how I wrote or my thought process as to why I didn't have Ford reach for the stars despite having that option and why the Stan Twins are generally this tight knit in my AU.

[noxturnalmoth]

Literary Service

Summary: Life is a cruel mother but a great teacher. In Noxus, where life is but an afterthought, war raises its people with an iron fist. Whether they like it or not. So when one is courageous enough to escape, they learn to take all that life has to offer, even if it has to be by the skin of their teeth. What would happen if the scholarship that provided you with an escape made you encounter a man as great with his words as he is with hiding the festering wounds in his heart? And what if he was your teacher?

Warnings:

Word Count: 6,724

Masterlist: here

Chapter 2 - The Art of War

"You can call me Mr.Marlowe or Professor Marlowe, no casual naming shall be used when talking to or about me. I will be your literature professor this year, and should you find yourself unlucky, for the remainder of your years in this major aswell." His voice no louder than the noise of the chattering surrounding you, yet commanding silence as soon as its gravelly drawl bounces in the large room. High ceiling carrying his voice, the sound wrapping around each student and inspiring total obedience. His gait was slow, deliberate like a predator waiting on its prey, and with his gaze on you it certainly felt as if you were his next meal. You remember his warmth the day prior, although his pale skin was as cold as fine porcelain, and the gentleness of his touch. You also remember the burning orange eye, scalding as the flames that destroyed your home long ago, the bright iris glowing in the middle of a sclera as black as the obsidian freezing the rolling rage deep below your skin. He was an entirely different man in the class, all traces of softness gone, instead stood a comandeering presence; a relaxed and practiced straightness elongated his spine, prolonged by strong squared shoulders.

His eyes leave you as he drags them lazily over the rest of your class, a hand caressing his desk as he walks around it, sitting himself nonchalantly in his chair as he fishes a flash drive from his briefcase. When he turns the class computer on and turns the projector on, showcasing a list of titles, you brighten up. When you arrived in Zaun and were cradled back to health by your benefactors, you couldn't move for a month and searing pain took you as you walked for the next two. So you decided to use the time you had before class to do some research, entering your name in the Zaun Tech site and entering the student space. There were displayed your name, origin, major, and some messages from the board and teachers were in your message box, mainly congratulating you and welcoming you to the school. One was out of the ordinary though.

First year litterature students,

as I do each year year, I have compiled here titles that you can, if you so wish, browse through at your leisure. The mind, like a blade, needs sharpening and the long summer break leaves it dull. So hone your reading lest you wish to complicate your back to school with warming up the slow inner mechanisms of your heads.

And if you find this to be a hassle, do not come whining to me about being unable to follow my class as I will not wait for you. You should read at least one book to spare both yourself and I some extra work.

Welcome to the Zaun Technical College,

S. Marlowe.

And attached to it was a list of ten books ranging from classical litterature, to science-fiction, horror, gothic romance, young adult, poetry and even military strategy. The last one was no stranger to you, and although the other books had been delightful reads from the depth of your bed with your left leg and back surrounded by braces, your thoughts compiled into your notebook, something about the Art of War brought an uneasy sense of relief to you. It was waters you had sailed through before, and reading through the book felt more like gazing at memories you'd rather forget, with all its words engrained in your head, the book quickly discarded before you devoured what remained.

Mr. Marlowe walked back in front of his desk, leaning against it with his hips held by its edge as his wiry form crossed both arms and legs. "Although the list was not mandatory I hope you have read from it. Who amongst you has read through at least half of it?" His voice all but sneers, a dark irritated edge hardening the curve of his eye as he looked to the handful of hands spearing the air. "And I don't suppose anyone has read all of them."

He says, words clipped and cold, rattling through the rest of the young people surrounding you. But his face tenses into a surprised frown as you raise your hand, his eyebrows softening in the early afternoon light. His tight sneer calming into a relaxed slight smirk, his head tilting to the side.

"Did you now? Then I suppose I will hear a lot from you in this class?"

He croons teasingly, his eyes disbelieving, the tumultuous seas of his stormy ocean eyes softened by the glow of something fonder. And as you place your arm back on your table and fiddle with your fingers at the sudden attention from everyone in the amphitheater, you nod a single assured shake of the head that has him huffing. Although from how he relaxed, it was something more akin to a genuine laugh than a mockery, but this man didn't seem to be the type to do the former so you could only theorize.

The class falls into complete silence as he snaps his fingers towards the first title, The Divine Comedy, an echoing sharp sound that sends your atoms in a frenzy as you straighten. A couple of classmates scramble to explain the book's plot, its genre, its author Dante Alighieri, and its publishing date in a messy and unstructured heap of words. An almost bored nod shakes Mr.Marlowe's head as he listens to the rushed and simplified explanations from students that either read through an explanation of said book, or simply skimmed it. Another snap of his fingers rang, slicing through the meek scrambling voices like a seamstress' scissors through silk. The next title, The Mask of The Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe, was described by mumbled answers forced out of students' mouths followed by yet another snap. The Shining, snap. The Hunger Games, snap. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, snap. Again and again, until the last book. Your face screwing in discomfort at obvious fallacies and poor research or reading comprehension as your classmates presented the tomes compiled in the professor's list. The atmosphere became heavy as the last snap rang, students looking at each other and whispering in rushed and scared voices from the display of power from the tall, lithe and commanding man. His dark clothes sucking up all the light in the warmly lit cream colored room, wordlessly ordering attention towards his form, eye lidded, body relaxed yet seemingly ready to pounce, although at what you had no idea.

"The Art of War by Master Sun Tzu, sir." His head tilts as a heavy exhale leaves his lungs and a small rictus makes its way to his sneering lips, slicing through his face like a butcher's cleaver saws flesh and bone. Dissatisfied nonchalance replaced by something akin to patient curiosity, nothing but the slight shift of his shoulders and the light unclenching of his hands and jaw to prove the change.

"The Art of War or Sūnzǐ Bīngfǎ, was written approximately in the 5th century by Ionian born Noxian commander Master Sun Tzu. It contains 13 chapters, each devoted to a certain skillset or as he called them 'arts' and their applications in military strategy and tactics. Another Ionian born Noxian warrior, Sir Shenzong of Song, used The Art of War to create his anthology: the Seven Military Classics. The original is mostly known for the quote 'know thy enemy' although one of those most revered amongst Noxians is: 'When the enemy is relaxed, make them toil. When full, starve them. When settled, make them move'."

You recite, words flowing from your mouth before your brain could follow, it was an easy yet impossible task to speak those words that were carved into your flesh many years ago. But as you look back up, your ashamed gaze heavy and dragging your head down into a bow, your eyes find Mr.Marlowe.

His face had relaxed, jaw unclenched, arms holding him in a backwards lean against his desk as the teal of his iris drinked in your form, like small sips from a tumbler full of expensive whiskey. The intensity of his gaze was akin to a sandstorm in the burning deserts of Shurima, but it was not violent. No, it was inquisitive, your words had been too smooth and calculated, as if repeated time and time again, your body had stiffened in a strained familiar manner, eyes blank; and you knew it. Just like he'd uttered his commands yesterday, your body reacted to the book similarly, bone deep obedience dripping from your very being yet no weakness in sight, a perfect little carved wooden soldier albeit worn by time and use. Your lips purse.

"Piltovan priest Jesuit Jean Joseph Amiot translated it and published the final version in 1772, although it was republished in 1782. The Demacian Lionel Giles also published his own annotated version in 1910."

You trail off, hands cupping over one another in an attempt for comfort as your classmates eyes pierce through you like poisoned daggers. The acrid taste of what feels like bitter judgement slowly pooling in your stomach before being soothed by three, slow methodical claps coming from the man at the front of the room.

"You lot should take notes into how to properly present literary works like.."

He tilts his head at you and you reveal your name, voice tight at uttering it around so many people whose attention was placed solely on you. Mr. Marlowe nods and repeats your name, using it to end his sentence, finality ringing like a blacksmith striking his hammer onto glowing metal.

The rest of class is spent with the svelte man describing the syllabus, his office hours and explaining what his teaching method entailed. He was harsh, expectant, refused to push deadlines unless catastrophic events struck, but he would never refuse to help and re-explain as many times as needed and was just in his grading. Soon came the time to leave and as you stood up, one hand holding your table and the other your crutch, you felt the throbbing pain of earlier's rushing make its way through your weary bones. A quick look at your phone showcased the hour, your next class would be in quite a while but with how unfamiliar you were with the campus and your limp you knew it'd take longer than it would've, had you been able bodied. Your spiral notebook and pencil case were soon back in their place in your messenger bag as you made your way out of the room.

"Could I steal you for a moment before you get to where you need to be?"

The gravelly yet deceptively soft voice of Mr.Marlowe made itself known as you turned. Eyeing the now sitting man, one hand elegantly holding a pen as he wrote down notes while the other held his head up, at his words you felt a pull and, unable to resist it, one foot stepped forward.

So you made your way towards him, body reacting before you could even process the words, like a sailor succumbing to a siren's song. Yet again the man had puppeteered your body, it was vexing and terrifying. A heavy weight in your stomach as you struggled to figure why he had such control over you. Were you such a well trained beast that you obeyed orders blindly even from a stranger, or was it just him. But if it was, why was it that he could wipe your mind of all the constant, loud, parasitic noise; how did he do it, and most importantly why did it look like, albeit he was in control, he was as surprised as you were. Maybe it was his gentle touch and patient words from yesterday? It couldn't be that, at least not entirely, because he had broken you out of your violent, monstrous rage before that. Your face sours in thought as you lose yourself in the noise yet again, body straight from your feet to your head as settle into the classic Noxian stance, body searching for any familiarity to comfort itself from your confused train of thought.

"At ease."

And yet again, all the tension in your muscles ebbs away like seafoam on jagged boulders, piercing the saltwater surrounding them. Your eyes trail to the sitting man who was still preparing his notes, his handwriting an elegant cursive flowing from his pen with practiced ease.

"You seemed to want to correct a lot of what your classmates said."

He sighs as he leans back, pen settled on the ink covered paper, arms draped over the arms of the chair, and his eye staring at you with a calm curiosity you were not used to.

"Well a lot of their facts were shallow, and I suppose they just didn't organize their ideas properly at times and it felt messy. They also got some informations false. For exemple The Mask of the Red Death is a gothic novella, not a fantasy. And Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was published in 1997 unlike what they said, the movie though was indeed released in 2001."

Voice steady yet almost meek you explain the reasons of your tension during class, one hand rubbing at your nape as a hum vibrates the air around you. Mr.Marlowe was softly swerving to side to side on the office chair, right elbow planted on one of the arms as his hand holds his chin, eyes pensively staring through you, a small smile making its way on his scarred lips.

"You did read them all then. Something I have stopped expecting after some time as a professor. There is chance for us yet."

He nods absentmindedly and leans forward, elbows on the desk as his hands fold together to hold his chin, the crows feet cornering his eye slowly erased as a sigh pushes its way from his throat as if it was escaping his lungs, rushing out of him.

"How have you been fairing since yesterday? I hope rest came easy after such an episode, gods know the remnants of inner demons can still drag you back to hell."

Your eyebrows furrow at that, not only had he helped you but he also took it upon himself to oversee your state afterwards. It was strange being given such attention, and although kind people took you in when you arrived in Zaun and nursed you back to health, you still couldn't trust such gentleness blindly; the voices in your head growling and hissing in distrust like a pit of starved vipers. But even through the loud fussing, you still couldn't find it in yourself to lie or hide such informations from him, at least out of respect for his earlier kindness.

"I immediately caved in to sleep, sir. Unfortunately it seems I exhausted more energy than I believed and slept through my first two classes."

You hear a sharp intake of breath and, looking up, see his eye narrow, eyes raking up and down like clawed beastly paws trying to rip at your carefully crafted façade. One which showed more control than you could actually execute over yourself, your life, or others.

"Then I believe I should be glad you've decided to show up to mine. Another class of uninterested young adults would have frayed the last of my patience for the day."

His voice almost purrs, dark and playful, like the slow rumble of thunder under rolling black clouds, a flash of chipped teeth in his smirk serving as the lightning punctuating his sentence. His gaze was analytical, each part of you picked apart and pulled back together but from the twitch of his eyebrow it felt like he didn't find whatever it was that he was looking for.

"I have also taken the liberty to contact the board about yesterday, you will not be held accountable for your episode as I have made it very clear that what happened was beyond even yourself."

It was your turn to inhale, a sharp hiss leaving you as your lungs expanded and your spine strained at the movement, eyes narrowing at the man sitting in front of you in question. Lips pursing in thought as he threw you off yet again, why was he doing all of this, what were his intentions and what did he want in return?

"I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but why sir?"

His eye closes as he shakes his head, two strands of tar black hair spilling over his forehead like ink in water.

"People like us are rarely seen in a good light when our demons take a hold of us and twist us into a monster. If we do not have each other's backs, who will?"

His hand rakes through his hair, placing the strands back in place. Your heart was heavy, as if the blood pumped through it was lead, your stomach churning as one piece of the puzzle was revealed to you, people like us. He was like you, different yes, but he knew the horrors of the world as well as you did and came out alive, born anew. Before you could let your train of thought bring you back to the recesses of your mind you look at the clock and wince at the time that has passed.

"I will not keep you any longer, do not rush to class you'll need your energy for it. I will see you on thursday."

And with that, you leave, only answering with a nod as you grip your crutch and bag tighter, your throat too closed up for any words to leave your mouth. The rest of the day goes by fast after Mr.Marlowe's class and luckily you can rip your mind away from the thoughts of him. It may have been hidden, but you shiver at the thought of the eye beneath the eyepatch, the scars marring his face like paths leading to the gates of hell. It was as if it still looked at you, through you, even through the thick leather it pierced you like a hunter's bullet pierces his prey. At home later, a boiling shower akin to the ones you were given in Noxus cleared your mind of the nagging curiosity slowly growing stronger. Food was simple and rest was back to the usual terror filled nightmares, cold sweat carving into your skin like water eroding stone.

So instead of going back to sleep, you read, preparing homework that you had weeks to finish to occupy and cool your frenzied mind. You were not late for or missed any class that day and the day went quite well, a soft and gentle smile stretching across your lips at the prospect of your life being so tranquil now as you walked to the college's grand library. A beautiful carved stone building topped by a glass dome, the inside showcasing rows of tables and immense bookshelves stretching for what seemed like miles on end. By the time you left to return to your dorm, all of the homework you were assigned was done, neatly pinned together in small files. In thursday's literature class you gave back the homework given on monday as you entered the room, hands brushing Mr.Marlowe's as he hummed in surprise, taking the neat file.

"I didn't expect anyone to be so dedicated, yet it's no surprise that if someone had to be it would be you."

A twinge of delight colors his dark voice, brightening it enough for you to hear it. And somehow, and without your consent, your body preens at the praise, as if you were a cat being pet lovingly by its master. The mere thought bringing both discomfort, and something bitter and unknown, it was envy but not in a way you knew. It was more raw.

"The grand library is the prime working environment, I finished my homework before I knew it. It was as if I was possessed."

You chuckle softly, remembering how after entering the library everything felt more like a blur as you excitedly worked over your assignments, finishing them quickly yet not rushed. The man nods softly.

"I'm glad it felt that way, the library is indeed a beauty and it's a shame not more people see it the way we do." You agree quickly before making your way to the same desk as last time, crutch laid on the ground and necessary material set on the desk as more students poured into the room, the class soon beginning.

"As explained monday, our first semester will be focusing on Demacian literature from the previous century, its themes and its growing influence over the mentalities in its homeland and all over Runeterra."

The man says pacing as the presentation is projected over a blank screen, his long fingers holding a remote and pressing to change slides whenever Mr.Marlowe finished explaining it and its contents.

"We will begin reading The Stranger by Albert Camus in class, but I expect all of you to have it by monday to facilitate all the aspects of our work together. You are also encouraged to get the rest of the books annotated in the syllabus list for the semester so you don't need to worry about getting them later."

His voice drawls, eyes raking through the crowd lazily before he opens the book and starts reading. Voice spearing through the warm air of the class like the blades you held once upon a time ripping through the flesh of your enemies, innocent or not. Minds compelled and coaxed into listening by the dark velvet of his tone, like children entranced by the pied piper, leading them to the ends of the world. He was focused, not a word fumbled, pacing guiding you through the words with impeccable timing, voice changing just a smidge when he needed to voice a character, different yet still very much him. Sometimes his eye would trail off, mouth still speaking the words etched onto each page as if he carved them in the bedrock of his mind. And sometimes, you would catch him, nodding in what could only be described as reverance, a certain admiration at his perfected reading; as if he channeled the very essence of the author through his being and offered it to his students, wrapped up with a bow made of his voice.

And you took the gift, cradling the words in your heart and drinking in Mr.Marlowe's timbre as he uttered the sentences inscribed on the pages. As he comes to a stop the slow tap of his closing book resounds through the room, sounding more like a bomb than a pile of pages bound together by a string.

"What can you tell me about this book that makes it so different than usual Demacian tomes?" He leans against his desk, legs and arms crossed like on monday, teal eye tracing a line through the class like the horizon separates the sea and the sky.

"Demacia is known for being a nation of strong morals and honor, which could be a good thing but their pride also serves as a fault. They see themselves as judge and jury more often than not. But Mr.Camus, in this book, describes a man lacking any passion, any grief, any honor or morals. He is empty, some thoughts even make him seem nearly despicable. He is flacid, takes no initiative, he's like driftwood in the ocean, impassible and flowing wherever the waves bring him, he seems more like an object than a human."

You say, voice strong yet a slight waver concludes your explanation and Mr.Marlowe nods an appreciative hum coming from his throat.

"Indeed. Whereas traditional Demacian behavior is usually confident, morally strong and leaning towards an almost impossible sense of self-righteous justice, Camus here depicts a man at the complete opposite. It doesn't mean he is actively trying to do wrong, no, that would require effort that our protagonist has no intentions of giving. Whether he can or cannot is something I will let all of you theorize. He is indeed empty, a shell with human shape but lacking anything that would make him remotely human in a philosophical sense. He does not even grieve his deceased mother."

You absorb every word, pen gliding on paper as you write all that is discussed. "While his lack of grief could possibly be explained by depression or any other psychological cause of the like that could hinder his emotional response, he also shows no contentment. None at spending time with his friends, none at doing anything at all, no motivation whatsoever in seeking contenment either. He seems to be in a stagnating state of disinterest at everything in the world, even more so towards himself, albeit self-centered at times in his reflection."

A Teal eye cuts to you, dragging you to the depths of its self contained ocean. "What do we call this lack of motivation and drive, this lack of want or need to feel anything pleasurable or good?"

His voice questions, voice seemingly darker, hands braced on each side of his hips against the desk. "Anhedonia, sir." His chest grows in a heavy, quick breath, that almost sounds like a hiss as he releases it. As if a vicious serpent crawled out of his body, but no bitter venom came at you, only the vision of his stiffened shoulders and hands clenching a little more over the edge of the desk.

"Indeed."

His voice is back to its usual controlled drawl and his body relaxes as class continued, ending just short of 2 minutes after the appointed time. As students rush out, you take your time, not wanting to get pushed and trampled as you limped your way out, you've learned the hard way since becoming disabled that not many care for proper etiquette and you would have to look out for yourself alone.

"Not only are you extremely well versed in military strategies and tactics, able to recite excerpts of ancient manuals with practiced ease and explain them clearly and in their entirety. You are also very attentive at every new project you are given. I applaud you for your dedication."

A soft gasp escapes you as Mr.Marlowe's voice shakes the empty room, stopping your slow walk to the exit. "You must be one of the more passionate students I've had the chance to teach."

Your back screams at you as you turn towards the man, slowly pacing towards him as he talks, and a small smile stretches on your face. Your heart once again warming at his praise, drinking it like a drunkard does alcohol.

"I am here because I love reading and writing, I love thinking, I love seeing all the ways we can show our humanity through literature, the good and the bad. Why would I not pay attention? Why would I not want to dig deeper within the pages until I can find the hidden meanings?"

He chuckles, a short soft sound leaving his throat before he can wrangle it into submission. "The Noxian determination is without limit I see. Maybe your ethic will spur on your classmates into taking less time to wake up from their holiday filled stupor. I, for one, would appreciate that very much."

His legs cross in his chair as he writes down, notes and pages filled with cursive shaped black ink. He sighs softly and a page turns, his eye tracing over your face pensively before he clasps his hands together in a relaxed manner.

"I would like to make an inquiry. It would be an indulgence for me to ask, but I figured that it wouldn't hurt to try." You tilt your head at his words.

"What is it, sir?" Clasped hands tighten and cheek twitches almost lost to your keen eye had you blinked.

His hands separate and he holds his pen again, writing a succession of words on the blank page, the cursive becoming intellegible as he turns the paper your way.

The Odyssey by Homer

You bend softly, a wince stopping your descent, and grasp the paper.

"I would like you to, if you wish, read this book and come to see me during office hours to discuss it. Take the time you need, do not rush yourself, I am simply asking you to indulge me. Not many students have your passion, or at least they hide it quite expertly, so it is a refreshing sight. I would like to share some time sharing knowledge with a like minded individual rather than simply entrusting it upon someone."

His words sink in, he only wished for someone to be as interested in litterature as he was? Coming from a man with such a strong, comandeering aura, it felt almost childish. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to refuse, the books you were given in the list were nothing short of great and if they were anything to go by, you'd guess the rest of his picks were just as pleasing to read.

"Of course sir, I'd be honored. I've finished all of my assignments for the moment so I'll try to read and analyze this book over the weekend. I could come.."

You trail off, thinking about how you wanted to make good of your free time to read and maybe read again the book he proposed to give a discussion worth his expectations.

"Next friday, at around 5 p.m?"

He caps his pen and tidies his desk. "That would be perfect. I'll be expecting great things in your report, but especially that you enjoyed my recommendation." His voice is soft as he places his books in his briefcase. Coat plucked from the back of his chair as he rose up.

"If it's anything like what you put in the summer list, I know I will." You nod a respectful goodbye and wish him a good weekend as you walk out, heading to the library to get the book so you could read it in the comfort of your bed.

At home, before sleeping, you slip in the comfort of your bed and open The Odyssey, notebook and pencil next to you so you could take pauses and note your thoughts and ideas. Falling asleep after hours of reading as your eyes trace the words written on the pages. Nightmares waking you in the dead of night and making it impossible to fall back asleep. You decided to continue and opened your book back up, realizing that reading will at least soften the anguish provided by the nightly horrors you face. Friday wasn't anything special, and at night you tucked yourself into bed with your books again. The epic of Odysseus, king of Ithaca, and the trials and tribulations he had to face exciting you, pulling at your heartstrings and lulling you to sleep. Saturday and sunday were spent all day reading, book clutched in your hands as you ate and did your daily chores, even taking it for grocery shopping or to get the books Mr.Marlowe wanted for class. Monday's class went fast.

"I am done with the book but I want to read it again to see what I might've missed." You utter to the tall man as his fingers click on a laptop's keyboard and he hums. His face lifting a bit to look at you.

"Be careful, you'll make me raise my expectations." He teases, voice light and you huff out a laugh.

"Whatever expectations you throw at me I'll put all my might into exceeding." It was his turn to chuckle as you smile.

"I know you will." And with that you leave, evening routine continuing until friday.

The whole day was spent pacing in your dorm, you sat in bed, then in one of the chairs near your small kitchen, then back on your bed. It was as if you were a starved, caged lion, the prospect of discussing the book with your professor warming you from the inside out. You were making someone proud, and it was not by accomplishing deeds of great violence and being a glorified mass murderer in an army originating from the depths of hell itself. No, he was proud solely because you were passionate about the subject he was teaching. It was as simple as that. So when the time came to leave, you went to the building his office was set in with a metaphorical pep in your pained step. After asking around at the reception you walk towards the left corridor, stepping in its empty space while windows let in the golden light from the setting sun. You straighten and knock three times, a hummed "come in" making you turn the doorknob and shuffle inside. The smell of tobacco immediately hitting your senses as you close the door behind you. Turning around you see Mr.Marlowe at a big mahogany desk, decorated with carved mythological figures, pouring over files as he smoked a cigar. The window was wide open, probably to not to imbibe the room with the smell, although it seems that was too late. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with books of all sizes, some thicker than others, and to your left were a small coffee table and a maroon velvet covered couch, the same maroon velvet that was on the seats and backrets of the chairs facing the grand desk.

"Ah, there you are. I will not lie that I've been expecting you, even since before the appointed time. Take a seat."

Your body obeys him again, slowly setting yourself on one of the chairs you sigh at your unwilling reaction before setting your crutch down andfishing for your notes in your bag, left leg stretched to the side of the desk. When you came back up, his papers had been discarded in neat piles on the side of his desk and one of his hands held up his head, his eyepatch discarded.

"I won't lie that I've been pacing all day too, sir. I read the book three times in the span of a week so I could be as thorough as possible and I couldn't wait to get to you."

Your voice softly declares with a smile as you open your notebook and he chuckles, waving his hand for you to begin. Words fall from your lips, at first hesitant and unsure but at his gentle stare, the burning eye somehow coaxing you with warm kindness instead of burning you with scalding anger, your voice turns more confident and, with time, even excited. He nods and quips as you decribe all your notes, lending them over to him, your hands accompanying your words in frantic movements. It was as if your mind turned off, his approving gaze, encouraging words and small smirk enough to spur you on. By the time you're finished, almost panting after gods know how long, you notice just how satisfied Mr.Marlowe looks, almost proud. And your insides shiver in delight at that, his approval causing reactions in your body and mind that you didn't even know you could have.

"Needless to say you liked it?"

You nod as you drink from a water bottle he handed you and he chuckles.

"A life of violence can do multiple things. Leave you dead, leave you unable to move on, or leave you with a thirst for all that humanity has to offer. I'm glad to see you are the latter, as am I."

Your eyebrows furrow and your head tilts, eyes appraising the man in front of you. His teal eye, the other being similar to a topaz cushioned on black velvet, the scars on his face, the grey hairs caressing his temples, the black shirt, slightly opened at the top. He wasn't acting any different than usual, but maybe it was the proximity or the fact you were alone with him in his office that made his words ring so much louder. The remnants of the class' energy not here to protect you from the comandeering aura of the man in front of you, who looked to be observing you just as much as you were observing him. Two predators in the wild, but one was always going to be the prey, and as his eyes picked you apart yet again, you realized it was you. It was terrifying, someone wanting to know and see you, because no matter what he had seen you knew he'd probably turn in disgust and shun you if he knew and saw everything that you were. A monster. Your nightmares never failed to remind you that fact as they stopped you from getting more than 5 hours of rest per night.

"You left."

His voice takes you away from the spiral of your own mind.

"What do you mean, sir?" Your voice shakes and he sighs, stubbing out his cigar as the smoke escapes his mouth.

"I look at all of my first year students' profiles, it helps me decypher their motivations, ways to push them to do their best. You are from Noxus, and gods know leaving this hellish place is hard if you aren't a noble. Actually, you would know too, wouldn't you?"

The bottle crinkles as you hold it tight, fighting off a sneer as you look away in shame.

"What if I do?"

"Then I'd say your crutch is a consequence. And that the episode you had that day was but the surface of the deep painful abyss left behind by the war, filling every crack of your broken mind with unfathomable darkness."

Breath stuttering, your eyes find his, but you don't find disgust, no you find gentle understanding.

"And what do you want from me then, sir?" His eyebrows furrow and he leans forward.

"For you to see that you can and deserve to heal."

He rises, chair creaking at the loss of his weight as he walks towards one of the bookshelves, perusing the selection until his long fingers grasp a tome. Your body is tense, shaking slightly as he approaches you from the side, gently placing a book in front of you as he leans back on the table.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Why?"

You try as hard as you can to keep your voice from cracking while looking down, in confusion or from the whirlwind of emotions currently clashing in your heart you do not know. And although your voice stays steady, the grit in it is unusual enough for Mr.Marlowe to sigh as his hand finds your chin and turns your face to him gently.

"So you can indulge me some more, I enjoyed our discussion today and would love to have more if you'll have me."

His voice purrs low, a softness to it that you would think impossible to be directed towards you.

"That's not.."

Your voice chokes out, that's not what I meant, was what you meant to say. But it seems like he knew with how his grip on your chin slightly clenches, bringing you back to Earth before your mind sunk back down into the ocean of self-hatred that was your soul.

"You will come next friday, same time. If you haven't finished the book by then, we'll read it together, but I will still listen to what you have written about it."

His grip leaves your chin with what almost felt like a caress as you grab the book. Heart pounding, head turning and stomach churning. Who was he, and what did he want? Your mind yells at you against following him in the dance he wishes to lead, warning you about bad intentions, about darkness both your own and his, about violence and pain. But as you look into his eyes and remember his praise and gentleness, your mind and body separate, the latter operating without a pilot as it itches to answer.

"I'll do my best not to disappoint you, sir." Is what you utter, obedience bleeding into the inner hatred you hold towards yourself, burnt into every fiber of your being. And as he brushes his hand over one of yours, brows furrow, tears almost threaten to leave your eyes and your throat closes up.

"I don't think you ever will."

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[zahmaddog]

Part 1: Making Friends on Pabu

Quick summary: You're new to Pabu and looking for a new start. You meet the Bad Batch under some. unusual circumstances, and Crosshair immediately stands out to you as handsome and someone you can trust. ---

This is my first stab at some fan fiction. It's fluffy AF and probably mostly safe for work? I'll list my "warnings" below as I've seen in other posts. The whole team (except Tech) is in the story, but it's mainly focused on Crosshair. Crosshair x fem!reader | Word count: 3,016ish. Warnings: Alcohol, Flirting, Gun Fire, but it's pretty SFW. I might write more and I'm just letting myself write whatever, so who knows, it could get NSFW later. So don't get hooked on this story if you're underaged. Lmao, but I'm really not that confident in my writing. It was a fun exercise and felt a bit like journalling. I haven't just, written for fun like this since creative writing in high school over a decade ago. I'd like a fresh start on Pabu. Lmao. I hope you all enjoy. I really liked reading the fan fiction I could find from other Clone enthusiasts on here. Ya'll are a cool bunch of people.

The mercenaries were right; Pabu could be the means of a fresh start. You had cut ties with nearly everyone you knew, took your shares of the earned bounties, bought a ship, and then bought a boat. 

Out on the water, you sailed until you couldn’t see the island any longer. You cranked up your club music to an ungodly level, poured yourself a drink, and kicked back under the stars. 

It doesn’t get anymore remote than this, you thought to yourself. You let your heavy eyes close and you faded into a deep sleep; your body recognized it hadn’t felt this safe in years. You slept through the night and into the late hours of the morning.

—-

“Is all that noise coming from that ship?” Omega looked at Crosshair. 

“Uh-huh.” He scowled and squinted his eyes to examine the ship on the morning horizon.

“Well, we’re not going to catch any fish at this rate. They should know not to be so noisy this early… Or ever.” Omega continued. “I guess we can turn the engine back on and see what’s going on with that ship.”

Omega ignited the ship’s engine and steered the bow to the mysterious vessel. The water was smooth in the early hours. The sun reflecting off each wave and rock on the sea. Crosshair enjoyed these early mornings with Omega. Sometimes Wrecker would join, but as he had become a staple in the Pabu fishing crowd, he found himself surrounded with friends easily. Crosshair, still silent and stoic in most circles, often stayed with his family.

“Hey!” Omega called out to the ship. “You’re scaring off all the fish!” She steered her ship parallel and killed the engine. The music’s thumping bass pulsed through the water, shaking their ship.

“This is louder than 79’s,” Crosshair yelled to Omega.

“What? What’s 79’s?” Omega yells back.

“A club!” Crosshair tries to be heard over the booming bass.

“A club, like to hit something with?” Omega was confused. Crosshair just shook his head, not wanting to scream over the music a third time. He looked over into the ship to see you, motionless through the music. He and Omega shared a concerned glance that you were perhaps dead and floating out on the waters of Pabu alone. Omega jumped into your boat, racing over to your side to see if you were alive. 

She touches your shoulder, which sends you from your deep sleep into a panic. You grab your gun off the side table out of instinct, but before you can turn back, you hear a blaster fire; then you fade back asleep. —

You awake again, still on your boat. The music had stopped. Your head pulsing with every heartbeat. The world spun; the ship gently rocked back and forth. You clasped your head in your hands as you swung your legs to the side of the beach chair to sit up properly.

“Did you stun me?” You looked at the young blonde stranger on your ship. You felt at ease seeing that only a child had climbed aboard.

“I did.” A voice behind you hissed. You spun around to see a tall, thin, but built man leaning against the rails of your ship. 

You raise an eyebrow as you look back and forth between the two invaders. Their eyes, similar in shape and color, you asked the young woman, “Is he your father?”

“Father?” She said back with a confused face. “No, I’m Omega, and this is my brother, Crosshair.”

You look back at the man. Crosshair nodded in your direction to acknowledge his introduction. His eyes, mysterious and dark, studied your figure. You followed the outline of his jaw to his lips, which pursed a toothpick. Crosshair was deeply handsome. You turned your attention back to Omega.

You whispered to her, “Is your brother single?” Omega, turning confused towards you again, “What do you mean is he single?” Omega stammered at a normal volume. 

“Shhh!” You put your finger to your lips and hush her softly through a laugh. “Geez, kid. Relentless.”

You look back at Crosshair, who had obviously heard Omega repeat what you asked. His eyes narrowed and he looked at you suspiciously. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry to have woken in such a fright. I came out here to be alone.” You rebroke the awkward conversational ice.

“Obviously.” Crosshair rolled his eyes at your remark.

“We’re out here fishing. Your music was really loud, so we came over to ask if you could turn it down.” Omega explained.

“Oh.” You nodded back. “I’m sorry for all the noise. I guess I fell asleep.” “How do you sleep through all of that?” Omega questioned.

“I didn’t think I would drift off to it. I guess I was that tired.” You apologized.

“Well, don’t bother us again.” Crosshair flicked his toothpick in your direction and jumped into he and Omega’s ship. 

“Sorry, he’s pretty… severe in nature, as my other brother would say.” Omega whispered in your direction. “Do you live here on Pabu?”

You shrugged and began, “I–” “Omega! Let’s get back to work!” Crosshair called from their ship. “Sorry, gotta complete this morning’s mission.” And with that, Omega ran to the railing and hopped to her ship. “I’ll see you around, right?” Crosshair hit the throttle and they were off. Omega waved goodbye to you and then cast a net out for fishing. You watched the pair accelerate away, leaving you alone. You looked to your chair-side table to see your pistol missing. “Dammit, he took my blaster.”

—---

You docked your ship at the lower levels of Pabu late that afternoon. You had wasted nearly an entire day as the sun set on the ocean once more. You gathered your pack from the ship and jumped from the ship’s bow to the dock.

“We built ramps to walk up the dock, you know.” A long-haired fellow laughed. 

“Right, sorry.” You nodded in his direction. “Cool tattoo.”

The man touched his face, as if he had forgotten it was there, “Thanks. The name’s Hunter.” He threw his hand out for you to shake. 

You dropped your bag and shook his hand firmly, looking into his dark eyes.

“Huh, you have the same eyes as someone else I met today.”

“Hey! It’s you again!” You heard Omega run down the dock towards you and Hunter.

“Ah, that would be who I met.” You said to Hunter. Omega, with her running start, leaped onto Hunter’s back to be eye-level with you. 

“That’s the woman that asked me if Crosshair was single!” Omega announced. Hunter laughed, “Oh, is that right?” With a look of comedic-disbelief, you raised your finger to your lips once more “Shhh!” Omega giggled, “What? I don’t see what the big deal is.” Hunter, picking up your bag and asked “Well, do you have a place to stay tonight?”

Feeling uncomfortable, you take your bag off his shoulder and slide it back on to yours. “Yeah, I have my ship.” You studied Hunter cautiously.

“Well, do you have food for tonight?”

Hunter was kind and genuine. “I have some rations, but are you extending an invitation?”

“Indeed we are.” Hunter smiled softly. You thought about turning them down, but it had been a while since anyone wanted to see you. You were thought to be an introvert because of the solitude you maintained, but rather, your solitude was only from broken friendships and bad deals. “Please?” Omega smiled. You nodded in her direction. “Okay. But only because Crosshair stole my blaster.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, “Of course he did.”

—-

“And this is my brother, Wrecker!” Omega led you into the kitchen area, parading you around like a trophy. 

“Hey Kid! And, kid’s friend!” Wrecker howled. Astounded at his size and volume, you took a step back. His whitened eye, connected to visible scar tissue screamed of life experience and horrors. His demeanor juxtaposed his appearance, as his jovial laugh filled the room. 

Omega led you to your seat at the table and sat down next to you. “Wrecker! She’s the woman that asked if–” You turned to Omega, jaw-dropped that she was about to embarrass you once again. She met your eyes and changed her sentence halfway through. “Asked if–you were a good cook?” Omega shrugged. “Am I a good cook? Well, I’ve never killed anybody in the kitchen!” Wrecker laughed. “Well, except for that one time–” And he stopped himself. You laughed, “What one time?” Your laugh drifted into an uneasy silence as you looked at his scars again, now realizing it probably wasn’t a joke. Hunter broke the silence, “Well, we’ve seen a lot of action over the years. But I promise you, it’s all over now.”

Wrecker threw a pot of food on the table and with a proud smile announced, “Dinner is served.” “Where’s Crosshair?” Omega asked Hunter. “I–I don’t know. I let him know we had company.”

“He’s probably out watching the sun set again.” Omega reached for the serving spoon. “Uh, Omega, let the guest serve herself first.” Hunter motioned towards you to take the spoon. “Right, I’m the one to check if it’s poisoned.” You replied back, halfway joking. Wrecker shot a smile your way, “I promise my food has never killed anyone.” He had that similar genuine kindness that Hunter expressed. You reached for the serving spoon and dished up. 

“So, what’s your story? Or, I guess, what’s even your name?” Hunter taking the serving spoon says. “Right, uh.” You give them your first name and paused for a moment. Your fears quelled in your gut as it hadn’t been easy to tell your story lately. “I’m from–I was, well, I’m starting over here on Pabu.” 

“We are too!” Omega beamed.

“What do you like to do?” Hunter asked.

It was such an easy question, but you went blank. “I–I guess I’m figuring that out again too.”

“Hmm.” Hunter studied your face. “You look like you’ve been through a lot.”

“I get a similar feeling your family has too.” “Was it the Empire?” Omega touched your arm. The sincerity of experience in her voice pulled at your heart. You realized then they were all survivors, fleeing the Empire. “In a way, but no.” You responded back. “I was involved in a close-knit group, but some of us had a different idea of how to run things. I cut my losses and wrapped up what ends I could to escape.” You stirred the food around your dish, “I wouldn’t expect anyone to understand.” “We might understand better than you’d think,” a familiar voice hissed from the door. 

“Glad to see you back, Crosshair.” Omega jumped up and pulled out a chair for her brother. In a single protective motion, he sat in the chair and moved Omega to stand behind him. “I see you didn’t follow my instructions to leave us alone.” Crosshair leaned over the table to invade your space. You felt the tension of the room ignite as he stared into your eyes, hoping to intimidate you. 

“Crosshair!” Hunter interjected. You relaxed and leaned back in your chair, proving Crosshair’s intimidation tactic didn’t work. “Give me back my pistol and I’ll be on my way,” you replied. Wrecker groaned, “Aw, but you just got here!” Crosshair leaned towards Wrecker, “But you don’t know what she is!”

Omega’s face drained into a look of concern, “What do you mean, ‘what she is?’ ” Crosshair took his toothpick from his mouth and emphasized his words, “She’s a bounty hunter.” Omega, concerned glances from Crosshair back to you. Hunter and Wrecker tense up a little. You didn’t react well. Grabbing a pathetic dinner knife, you stand up from the table in a combative position. Knocking drinks from the table, Wrecker, Hunter, and Crosshair all pull weapons from their belts, and the stand-off begins. 

You and the men wait for someone to move first. Their six eyes, or well, five eyes, melted your skin. Omega broke the silence. “Can you stop with that? Crosshair, how do you even know she’s a bounty hunter?” Omega says as she lowers Hunter’s knife for him. 

“Tech’s records.” Crosshair sighed. “She matches a description of a bounty hunter that engaged with the Separatists near the end of the war. Then I cross-referenced with Echo’s files which revealed her deals with the Empire.”

Hunter looks at you, “Well, is that true?” “Would it matter if it was true?” Your voice broke. “Yes!” All three harmonized. “Look, I’m not a bounty hunter anymore.” You started, then dropped your guard completely. “Like I said, I’m here for a fresh start.” You put down the dinner knife and met their gaze once more. They were still ready to jump on you.

“And I’m not involved with the Empire any longer,” you insisted.

Omega motioned Wrecker and Crosshair to lower their weapons. They relaxed a little, but kept their eyes focused on your movements. You nodded in Omega’s direction in gratitude and broke the silence again, “Thanks for the dinner invite, but maybe this won’t work out.” In a moment of trust, you turned your back to the family and walked out of the home. 

You started towards the space port. 

—- You unlocked the door to your ship as you heard someone call your name. You stopped and turned. Crosshair made a small effort to wave hello as he walked closer to you. 

You put your bag in your ship and locked the door again. You walked down the ramp to meet Crosshair. His lips opened slightly, as if he were to begin a sentence, but instead rubbed his forehead. You waited in silence with your arms crossed. “Here.” He reached out with your pistol in hand. You met his reach and he pressed the pistol into your palm. For a stoic man, his brow and eyes communicated a lot. He glanced up at you and back to the ground. “Thanks.” You placed the blaster back in its holster. 

“We, or I, don’t trust very easily.” He revealed. “Omega, Wrecker… And Hunter, they’re all I have left.” He motioned towards your weapon, “So, don’t point that at my family again.” “I’m sorry.” You looked to the side, “You know, I don’t trust anyone a whole lot either. I mean, how could I?” 

He didn’t even look to acknowledge the comment. He really wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

You looked up from the ground again and started in a monotone, “What did you read in my file?”

Crosshair stood a little more upright and engaged back with you, “You have a reckless reputation... And worked bounty jobs for the Empire.”

“I’ve made mistakes,” you corrected, then calmly stated, “But I couldn’t keep living like that.”

Crosshair took a deep breath and focused his attention to the ocean.

“I too have made mistakes.” Crosshair nearly whispered as he took a step away from you and placed his right hand into his left. “Reckless mistakes.” 

You looked closer, only to realize his right hand was mechanical. Crosshair turned to face you again. You studied the scar on his temple and his face tattoo. 

“I should get back.” He turned, but you reached out and touched his shoulder. 

You started, “Look, I was wondering, if —“ 

Crosshair cut you off “If I’m single?”

You felt the corners of your lips creep up into a small smile and you let your hand slide down his arm.

“No, well, that too, but I was wondering if you were thirsty?”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want to come aboard my ship for a drink?” You motioned towards your ship.

“Why do you have an interest in me? What trick are you playing?” He scowled.

“No tricks,” you promised. “You… intrigue me. And somehow, I feel I can trust you.”

He stood there in silence, evaluating his options. Crosshair knew he could just go home, listen to Omega talk about her dreams, and have a peaceful evening overlooking Pabu from his bedroom balcony. Or, he could take this stranger up on her offer and escape being “Crosshair” for a moment. He realized it would be nice to talk to someone that didn’t know his past.

“One drink.” He insisted. 

You gave him a soft smile and remotely opened the door to your ship. 

—-

You and Crosshair were three drinks in when he turned to you and realized time had slipped by faster than expected.

“Omega is going to tease me relentlessly for the next week.” Crosshair chuckled and swirled his drink. 

“What else are little sisters for?” You smiled back.

Crosshair continued to chuckle for a moment, thinking of Omega and how close they’ve grown. As he sat next to you in your ship’s booth, he turned to face you.

“Do you have siblings?” Crosshair inquired.

“I did, yes.” You begin to tap the table with your fingers. His eyes bore into your soul. 

“Did?” Crosshair muttered.

“I believe they’re all still alive, but I expect I’ll never see them again. Well, they don’t want to see me again.” You shrugged.

Crosshair looked intrigued. 

You continued, “I grew up in a rather… well, orthodox society. Everything was laid out for me in life: education, code of conduct, dress standards, diet, who I’d marry, and more. When I left, it was required by the society that my family no longer contact me.”

Crosshair listened intently. The unexpected attention made you feel at ease.

“How old were you, when you left?” Crosshair questioned.

“Old enough to turn to bounty hunting for quick money.” You shrugged. “Desperation will make you do some stupid things.”

“That it does,” Crosshair agreed. 

You leaned forward slightly and raised your hand to Crosshair’s cheek, letting your thumb trace the outline of his face tattoo. 

“Is this out of desperation? Your… fascination with me?” He took your hand from his face and held it between you and him.

“You didn’t see me stick around to see if Hunter was single.” You laughed.

His face remained unchanged.

So you continued your joke, “And we both know there’s no way Wrecker is single.” 

That line earned you a small smile from him.

You took his hand in yours, tracing his fingers.

“No, I don’t think it’s out of desperation.” You looked up into his eyes, “Do you trust me?”

Crosshair clasped his hand around yours.

“Oddly enough, I do.”

—

Part 2: The Warning

[bunnis-teeny-corner]

Tails +shatterspace disability Headcanons

SONIC PRIME SPOILERS

OG Tails

Autistic with a hyperfixation on mechanics and a background fix on tech

High sensitivity to noise and bright (specifically cold toned) lights

Slight arthritis (specifically osteoarthritis) in his left hand gained from attempting to work on a battle injury

ITE (In The Ear) hearing aids due to mild hearing loss after working without proper ear protection

mild hEDS (hypermobile Ehlers Danlos syndrome) specifically the symptoms of fatigue, joint pain in the knees and problems with bladder incontinence

Nine (Incredibly long cuz I put extra effort in)

Autistic with a hyperfixation on tech and a background fix on mechanics

Low sensitivity to bright lights, loud noises and grime due to constant exposure in New Yoke

COPD from the air pollution in New Yoke, mild flare ups and easily susceptible to infections

Rheumatoid arthritis in his hands causing him to use his tails for work more

Undiagnosed BPD (The new yoke medical system is bad and Nine doesn't want to admit he has it)

His FP (Favourite person) was definitely Sonic after he came into his life, he feels it in more of a way that he needs to stay close but his touch aversion stops him from clinging too closely

He wasn't very closely affected by it until Sonic because he's not used to having people around

His fear of abandonment really kicked in after he realised he wouldn't be able to stay with sonic if they fixed the paradox prism

Has the occasional impulse to binge drink which calms more when he works

After he's left in the grim at the end of S3 his disturbed pattern of thinking gets way worse

Mangey

Autistic, non-verbal with a hyperfixation on gardening (or his version of it anyways)

Motor Neuropathy with an obvious foot drop

Sonic completely changed his life when he was taught how to fly

Dyspraxia, he was a pretty clumsy kit but people didn't exactly notice he had it

He eventually learned to live with it

He's not very confident in his fighting abilities because of it

He's completely deaf in one ear after a fall into a branch where he accidentally got a twig in his ear that ruptured his eardrum and it never healed on its own

Sails

He has scurvy, I don't make the rules (I do)

He's incredibly close to losing his hearing

Below the knee amputee in his right leg, they found him stuck at the entrance of a collapsed cave they were treasure hunting for, his leg did not make it

He uses his mechanical arm to stabilise himself as he learns to walk with a prosthetic

[vintagerpg]

This is I11: Needle (1987), a reworked tournament module by Frank Mentzer. It features pregenerated characters named the Ghost, Blaze, Finder, Blondy, Slim and Smiley. There is at least one stealth Star Wars quote. The players need to go into a jungle to get a weird obelisk, haul the thing back, then explore the moon the obelisk teleports them too. The first part is a pretty typical hex crawl, albeit punctuated with puzzles and high strangeness. The third part is a dungeon crawl. The dungeon crawl sure is odd (it ends with a confrontation with “Tiamat” and no, I am not going to explain that further) but it is the middle part that I think is the most interesting.

The middle part is the hauling of the obelisk back to the king who wanted it found (its not an obelisk, its actually a gigantic piece of tech). This is sort of a nightmare logistical puzzle, involving lots of NPCs sailing to the obelisk, taking it down, packing it up and hauling it back. Things need to be built. Like roads. And a raft (the thing is hollow and will float). That means lumber. Which means upsetting the natives, who are bullywugs and grippli, locked in rivalry with each other. The whole thing plays out across two months of daily events, which feels like a novel sort of slog. I’d definitely enjoy playing this — there are all sorts of opportunities for things to just go entirely off the rails.

Clyde Caldwell cover art. I don’t love it, but I honestly think that is because it was recycled for the 2E Rogues Gallery, a book I loathe. The interiors are by Doug Chaffee, who I don’t know. They feel like run of the mill late-‘80s D&D illustrations.

[shmisky]

How about a situation of Stan being kicked out by Filbrick because Ford literally framed him for breaking his machine?

Like, Ford realizes that Filbrick only cared about the fact that he could be a millionaire to make the family rich and decided that he couldn’t live with that kind of pressure on him all the time, so he sabotaged his own entry in West Coast Tech by making sure that ‘perpetual’ part of his perpetual motion machine no longer applied, by snuck in the gym and cut some wires of the machine.

However, Ford would still want to discover himself as a person and, knowing that Stan would likely still want sail away with him after graduation, left a Toffee Peanuts wrapper near his exhibit, so he could use this a ''prove'' that Stan sabotagaed him, then being able to mad at his brother and don't want to talk to him, being free to going to a college.

And then, when Filbrick kicked Stan out, Ford choose to keep the act of hurt brother and don't stand up for Stan, because he saw this as an opportunity to free Stan from his father's expectations too and since Stan probably would not graduate in high school too, he being kicked out would give him the perfect excuse to drop out school and don't go through the humiliation of having to repeat the last year of high school. He would genuinely believe that Stan is able to succeed alone, being finally free to be whatever he wanted.

Ford would thought that Stan would reach out for him if entered in trouble and then he would be able to apologize to Stan about accusing him of sabotage. He would explain his plan to him and how it was for the best, since they were able to find themselves as separate persons and learned who they are individually, being free from their father's expectations and from their codependency.

Oh wow!! So you want Ford as a mastermind, anon... Interesting AU! Let’s assume his plan works perfectly, then, and focus on Stan’s reaction.

Honestly? I think Stan wouldn’t be very happy with that if Ford ever got the chance to explain it to him, hahah. In fact, I think he’d punch Ford. Hard.

First, because he would’ve acted without consulting Stan at all. What happened to them being a team, telling each other their secrets and plans? And about something that concerned Stan so deeply!

It’s almost as if he thought Stan (rightfully) wouldn’t have agreed to it. Or wouldn’t have truly understood, not possessing Ford’s genius foresight and planning skills, but not to worry, Brother Knows Best. (Ford knows what’s best for Stan, even if Stan doesn’t!) Either out of cowardly avoidance (it’s better to apologize than to ask permission) or out of a very condescending view of Stan. You pictured Ford keeping up the act of a hurt brother and not standing up for Stan, which implies Stan actively pleaded with Ford to intervene, as he did in canon. That would already be enough confirmation that Stan wouldn’t want to be free of their father’s expectations if it meant homelessness, and for Ford to just straight up ignore that so things could play according to his plan...

Second, because Ford didn’t think of the implications of Stan being, literally, homeless. I imagine Stan has always known Ford possessed more book smarts than street smarts in many areas, but that would be... too much. Ford would have, even if accidentally, ruined Stan’s life. And partially for his own interests!

Third, because Stan didn’t want them to be able to find themselves as separate persons and learn who they are individually. Sure, Stan would want to be free from their father’s expectations, but not from codependency. Only Ford wanted that. From Stan’s own words in A Tale of Two Stans: “Without Ford, I was just half of a dynamic duo. I couldn’t make it without him.” Stan could very well interpret Ford’s plan as a very painful if indirect rejection, one much more devastating than Ford’s awkward “I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country” line in A Tale of Two Stans.

Fourth, because Ford assumed, here, that Stan would be utterly unable to finish the last year of high school, which shows a huge lack of faith in his brother’s skills since, as we know from canon, Stan already copied everything from Ford, hahah. I think this would hurt Stan a lot. It’s one thing to be considered dumb by his father and their bullies and the principal and presumably their teachers, but another completely different thing to be considered dumb by his brother. It would feel like a betrayal, no matter how good Ford’s intentions were. Even if Ford didn’t see him as dumb at all, and merely thought the school system was flawed (I mean, old Ford expected Dipper to leave school to accept the apprenticeship opportunity), that’s how Stan and lhis low self-esteem would interpret it.

But that’s only if Ford gets the chance to explain it to him, right? If he does, even if Stan gets furious, it still would be better than leaving it unexplained. At least Ford could still help homeless Stan.

But if he doesn’t...

I’ve read some fanfics and headcanons that worked with the idea that Ford was expecting Stan to return home after he was kicked out, after one, two days or so, begging for forgiveness. His claims about not needing anyone were just bravado, and soon enough he would be back. Only for Stan to never, ever be back...

In this AU, your Ford hoped for a similar thing: that Stan would reach out for him if he ever got in trouble, that he would at least understand that this option was available for him. Only for Stan to never, ever reach out... Justifiably! From Stan’s POV, this isn’t just Ford refusing to believe his mistake had been an accident, but Ford actively and maliciously framing him for no apparent reason then turning his back on him. Why would he reach out again, if Ford ignored him the first time he did?

And that summarizes Ford’s greatest mistake here, right? To attempt to control Stan, to treat people as chess pieces instead of human beings with complex feelings and surprising choices of their own. That ties with Ford’s very poor understanding of people. Perhaps he overestimated Stan too, in a way, and how well Stan would fare with this new “freedom.” It’s something he does in canon, too, as TBoB makes it clear (at least to me) how he thought his brother was doing just fine, and not struggling as a homeless person. Stan’s so good with people! (From Dipper and Mabel vs the Future: “Mabel will be fine on her own. She has a magnetic personality.” )

It’s interesting to think about how would this affect the rest of their story. Let’s say Ford doesn’t search for Stan through all these years because he assumes Stan is enjoying his life without him, considering Stan didn’t reach out at all. Would Stan even come when Ford sends the postcard, in the future? If so (I wouldn’t rule this possibility out entirely because Stan is a simp for Ford), how would Ford treat him? Not with hostility, surely, and not acting like Stan owed him something and/or had to prove his worth?

Even if Ford was ready to make peace, I don’t think Stan would be. After all, this Stan had been homeless for ten years! It would be even more difficult for him to forgive Ford than it would be for teen Stan, freshly kicked out, because he would have already been forced to deal with the terrible consequences of Ford’s plan.

But Stan does love Ford very, very much, and the revelation that Ford never wanted to hurt him and just acted carelessly, after all, could be an enormous relief. I think Ford and his forgiveness/gratitude/love is, in a way, irresistible for any Stan.

In the end, it’s about which one of these things you think would win out: Stan’s hopeless loyalty to Ford or Stan’s righteous indignation. Personally, I think it depends on how Ford would handle things. He does have a tendency to put his foot in his mouth, and it being traumatized paranoid!Ford at that...

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

One of the funniest parts of Gravity Falls to me is that Ford, after not getting into one (1) selective tech college, apparently could only get into Backupsmore. You're telling me this valedictorian, who was in NINE social clubs including honors society, with practical skills as well (nautical construction and presumably some basic sailing skills) AND was quite a good writer (based on his descriptive writing in the Journals) could only get into Backupsmore, this failing, barely accredited, legitimately unsafe university? He could have written some heart wrenching personal essay about his project being destroyed, and, combined with what I'm guessing was a very good if not perfect ACT score, gone anywhere that wasn't specifically West Coast Tech. And I get it, it was the 60s/70s and he would've had to mail things via postage, gone in person to get recommendation letters, etc., but we all know how stubborn the guy is. He could've gotten it done. It's funny (not funny) to me, therefore, to imagine he was simply so set on WCT that he determined his life was a complete failure and, if he was to go to college, it would have to be a terrible college. I imagine him slumped over the lunch table with his friends (yes, I do think he had friends in high school) all working on their applications going "hey, Ford, buddy, don't you want to do this too? The deadline to submit ACT scores is getting kinda close...?" and him just whining and whinging on and refusing to do any work.

There's also the matter of Fiddleford, also canonically certifiably brilliant, going to Backupsmore as well. Maybe it was for financial reasons, but I don't know, I just doubt that. It kind of makes me think that our perception of Backupsmore in the show, colored by Ford's nostalgic anger, is... wrong. Like, it was a perfectly 'normal' university, maybe just slightly less selective than WCT (and with a few more bugs), but he remembers it as being absolutely terrible, because it wasn't his dream school.

All of this boils down to remembering just how petty and stubborn Stanford is. What a diva.

[disneytva]

Walt Disney Imagineering Announces "San Fransokyo Street" Based On The Big Hero 6 Franchise Set For The Disney Adventure Cruise Slated To Sail In 2025.

The Disney Adventure will set sail on its maiden voyage out of Singapore on December 15, 2025! With seven themed areas, all-day entertainment and plenty of space for family fun, there will be so much to discover. So, how will you decide what to do first?

Disney Adventure cruise slated to sail in 2025 will have "San Fransokyo Street" inspired by the Big Hero 6 franchise. It's unknow if the area will have nods to "Big Hero 6: The Series" at the moment but i guess they will based on the current collab with Imagineering and Disney TVA.

San Fransokyo Street, inspired by the eclectic world of Disney Animation’s “Big Hero 6,” will be a vibrant street market perfect for family entertainment with interactive games and activities, shops, cinemas and more, plus endearing encounters with the larger-than-life Baymax himself. You’ll be able to put your hero skills to the test in the Hiro Training Zone, an immersive training simulator built by boy genius Hiro Hamada. The active, full-body experience will have groups of four running, dodging and blocking their way across a high-tech gaming floor.