#imagine him planning a revolution as he sees the only good in his life nearly die

[profoundmakerdreamerss-blog]

Tomarry AU but hunger games but Tom and Harry are childhood friends and Harry volunteers for Tom.

[sokayisaidiot]

Why Tommy is one of THE BEST written characters in existence.

Alright, that’s it

Here I give you my fuckin Take on why Tommy is one of the best written characters out there and can easily compete with best-selling Novels like Percy Jackson and Harry Potter. I’m sick of a trashing that doesn’t even make sense. So buckle up. Here I will tell you why Tommy has one of the best written characters in history of Books and Movies. Remember, I write this all in my perspective and take many examples of other character books as well

Before this all starts, I will also talk about the main characters of some series, since Tommy has the reputation of being a “main” character.

When I look at the books I’ve read, I see a large range of characters and there way of making the story interesting.

Now, to establish a good character, we need key points of motivations, to make them relatable and bla bla blub:

Personality

Part of the story

Their Powers

Flaws

Relationships

Prized Possessions

History/the backstory

The moral and story the character tells

First tho, I want to explain some words I’m going to use here!

Mary Sue/Gary Stu:

Those are characters who are flawless, have missing chunks of personality and mostly one way written. They are easy to achieve when you are trying to make your character look badass.

Examples in some Fandoms are

·      Rey Skywalker (Star Wars Sequels 7-9)

·      Hermione Granger (Harry Potter Movies)

·      Bella Swan (Twilight)

Tree-System:

Imagine a tree. You plant something small and soon you have something giant with many branches, roots and connections. You have the seed you plant and with caring and care you let it grow. Then you have somewhat a sapling. The tree grows with the care and soon you have a tree with many branches.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personality

Negative:

Tommy’s personality is very brash and out of control = He’s barely containable in fights, going off to do his own risky plans and starting two or so fights. He can’t forgive a person very easily like Eret, who took it a long time to get forgiveness and Techno, as he shot Tubbo at the Festival. He makes decision that also cost his life like the duel because he hates losing

Tommy can be very lazy, giving the thought he wouldn’t have to do the hard work = Shown when he tries to steal the hearts of seas from Eret or potions from Techno, bargain with “drugs” by Puffy and Ponk or gives other people the work he doesn’t want to do like he did with getting cobblestone

Like a child, he often clings to close people and annoys others for attention = His desperate attempts to have company or someone praising him shows, when he tries to get Philza’s approval (or a pat on the back), constantly looking out, if Tubbo’s either okay or where his is,

He doesn’t like to wait or doing things in the long run = He constantly asks when something is finished, when they could go or in his exile, when he was allowed to go back to L’Manburg

He doesn’t show often his cooled down, scared and vulnerable side = He often overshadows his trauma with a facade of jokes and bad hidden hurt he brings out. When he talks about something bad, he’s clearly confused, not really knowing on how to understand it. Also he runs away from things he can’t control a panic attack like visiting the final control room or looking away from the holes in Logstedshire

He runs without head into a battle so often as possible = Only when they had their final showdown for the disc, Tommy was seen preparing in story, thinking it would be his last fight

---

Positive:

But as he has negative traits, his positive shows to many people clearly.

His unwavering loyalty to the closest of people = His loyalty to Tubbo, Wilbur And L’Manburg are, were and always will be a part of him. He stands against anyone who goes against that, even if it means pain in many ways.

Passionate about dear projects of his = You can see Tommy talking about his discs or see an video where he would spent days getting different discs. Those things are very known to be rare things, so for Tommy to possess it gives him somewhat power. L’Manburg was the same passion, even a bit more, as you can see he was ready to give up his most prized disk. The last and in the moment is his hotel

Bravery like no one makes him as one of the dangerous person on peoples hitlist = He stands up for others. He stood up to L’Manburg. He in the end didn’t care that he lost a life. When he sees a foe, he won’t stand down and submit, he will fight against the oppression and tell them that in the face. During the mission to get a visa, he stood against Schlatt, even if they were clearly in the loose of people and disadvantage. Or getting an apology of Sapnap for killing Niki’s fox. Fighting against 5 people with just one ally while the other is a hostage.

His leadership = There are not many people who can take it up, but Tommy is an exception. He can coordinate people with his loud voice and somewhat thought plans. He is charismatic, even if he’s not so good at it like Wilbur, he still can motivate people to fight for themselves or others. He’s seen to lead others into battle and taking in the fighting part a leading role

Unselfish. That’s one of the most arguable things about Tommy`s character = You can´t look at a kid and say he is selfish because he wants to get something dearly back. Especially Tommy, after he gave the things up, he cared about. But if something is happening again, he will lay it down to do the other thing. As seen by the egg, he had a hard time thinking what to do. He, in a long time, didn’t want to be catalyst for something to happen. Not when he in the moment could have stopped it. So doing this act for himself ones, was a good decisions, since they clearly weren’t ready for war

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part of the Story

Outside of the story:

Let’s all just get something “straight”. What would Dream SMP without Tommyinnit. Now. Don’t get me wrong. All the creators on the SMP are amazing. They are all wonderful and deserve every bit of Attention and fame they get. But just imagine.

We heard from Tubbo, he was the one, who got him into the SMP. Schlatt and Wilbur came because of a “visit”. Quackity was added because TOMMY said he was bored. And from that, we got somewhat of a tree system. As Tommy was invited and drawn into conflict by Sapnap (shoutout to best boy!), he got more people.

He also has the highest viewership and kind of shortest streams, since he is doing college next to Youtube and Streaming. He can’t give up his high viewers since all of those 200.000 (average) – closing 650.000 People (doing something like a big lore stream in prison or the disc final), choose to watch him.

Also a reminder again, Tommy has his storyline as does everyone else. When we saw Tommy and Techno during the partner up arc doing something with the dogs, they saw the start of the red vines arc BUT said they were on the wrong storyline. Tommy was asked by the eggpire writers if he wanted to be a part of the story and he said yes. Why do you think he nearly says nothing about the egg. He leaves it to the writers. Also, it was said by one of Wilbur’s Character descriptions, that Tommy was okay with others doing something with his character, while Techno was more reluctant with his.

Let me say it again, every creator is awesome and individual! Nobody should be compared to others. But with Tommy coming to the Dream SMP, there really was a change in the game.

Remember, that’s because we also have a BT (before Tommy) and AT (after Tommy) Timestamp in the wiki!

Inside of the story:

Now, with Sapnap, Alyssa, Ponk and Tommy in the first ever big conflict its shown the importance. People assume Tommy is one of the conflict bringers, even though he was dragged in it by having something stolen by Sapnap and then forced to fight with him, to get it back.

The Consequences he’s got where having his discs get stolen. This is what Tommy’s biggest character motivation was the first two seasons. Those discs are known on the server and when you think about gifting something to C!Tommy, it would be a disc.

Techno = Disc Wait

Badboyhalo = Disc Pigstep, Chirp

HBomb = Disc Pigstep, Wait

Tubbo = Stal

LazarBeam = Far

Tommy is a openminded boy who longs for funny little adventures and pranks, since he is just a young person. It’s in his nature.

So why, when he does something, are people looking on him?

Because the things he was and is a part of some of the biggest events. And him being so loud and brave and rash lets him stand out. If you look at the old (hah) Revolution of L’Manburg, who can you hear talking the most and the loudest? Tommy and Dream. They were the most outgoing about the war with Sapnap, Tubbo and Wilbur following. Fundy was more quieter (thankfully he has so much more lore now).

Tommy’s character is known to fall or be dragged head first in almost every conflict. He has connections to who? Mostly everybody. So of course he’s connected big parts to the stories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Powers

Okay. Every “main” character or character with huge importance to the story has some kind of power. Looking at Dream, who is a “demigod” or Ranboo who I don’t even have to talk about. So what about Tommy?

Well. He doesn’t have any. Tommyinnit is one of the people, we get to have as an “human” character

Hannah = nature “Spirit”

Karl Jacobs = Timetraveller

Antfrost, Technoblade, Ranboo, Fundy = Hybrids

Dream = Something something green blob

Awesamdude, Puffy, Philza, Sapnap, Eret, Schlatt = Adding Features (wings, eyes, body parts)

Badboyhalo, Skeppy = completely different species apparently

Tommy has, as we know of the moment, a not confirmed power. The assumptions of the egg are not clear, since we haven’t seen those interact in a while. All we know is, Tommy didn’t get hurt, destroying a part and not feeling anything, while being in contact. That in canon considered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flaws

As talked before in personality and also in an assumption, we see the pattern of loyalty and brashness repeating.

Flaws are the most important parts of a character. It shows the struggle of their adventure and learning how to live with it.

Percy Jackson learned loyalty is nothing, if you don’t have someone to project it on.

Harry Potter and Luke Skywalker learned being a hot head didn’t really bring him forward and it’s important to have a plan

Frodo Beutlin learned that it is okay taking care of yourself and what attachment means

Anakin Skywalker learned fear is controllable and it shouldn’t be a remaining part of your life

Tommy learned over the time that his rashness could hurt others, loyalty couldn’t come back to him like he gave it out and he learns even more in the coming future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Relationships

Tommy’s relationships is a mess of strings. Some are badly knotted and some are very clear.

A characters connections is an important part for the character himself.

Relationships in life are

·      Enemies(-figure)

·      Rivals(-figure)

·      Friends(-figure)

·      Family(-figure)

·      Lover(-figure)

·      Complicated family(-figure)

·      Complicated friend (-figure)

Relationships are a part of everyone’s life. Not with everybody is a good relationship holdable. Either it’s because their hurting each other or another person. People change and that’s a part of life.

Tommy realized, even tho it hurt, that Techno wasn’t good for his mental state and health. It went against everything Tommy ever stood for.

And Tommy and Tubbo’s relationship wasn’t really that broken. It’s normal for friends to fight. Normal for them hit their heads in. Tommy and Tubbo were surrounded with people who were, at the time, a terrible addition to their mental life.

The Dream SMP doesn’t talk it out, hell the talking club was just destroyed because they preferred fists over words. So why do you think everything is going out with a fight, if it’s all they learned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Priced Possessions

Every character has to something a connection.

Might it be Percy Jackson and his sword

Might it be Harry with his glasses, broomstick and wand

Frodo and his stupid ring

For Tommy we all know it’s his ender chest inside and secret chest. He keeps many belongings in his chests and always has been one for those things. He kept flowers, compasses, Friendship signs and most importantly, his discs.

The care for something of items are important. Might it be a teddy, old photo or jewelry. People get protective over it, because it holds sentimental value to the person.

If you ask me, to let go of my teddy bear, I will show you my middle finger. Probably beat you up too.

You can’t just throw out your memories into a fire or pit of lava. This is just showing you never had a care and everything you had a memory with it before would have been gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

History/Backstory

We don’t have much here, but still something to work with.

A Hero doesn’t have an easy live. And it’s an said thing that every Hero needs an origin Story.

Tommy, said not really anything about his past.

All we know is that Tommy didn’t have anyone, presumably an Orphan, he knew the sleepy bois already a long time ago and he never learned on how to ride a bike, saying he never really had a family.

Signs that he didn’t even leave half a good life are:

·      his knowledge on stealing and preferring this over working for it

·      Liking to live in weird spaces like carved out holes in sides of hills (his hobbit hole or the basement by Techno) or living in his tent over a hole house

·      His liking of cobblestone and dirt, which are easy gettable blocks

·      Holding his goodies and friends close to him

·      Craving for attention or contact in general

And now for the part with the dream SMP.

We saw how it changed him. We saw his trauma and all the bad things that happened to him.

And that’s why we say his actions came from those past experiences and things. We are NOT excusing them, but showing. Past trauma CHANGES a person. It brings experience and a heavy amount of pain and anger. ESPECIALLY at a young age, you will change due to your experience in life. You will grow worried and anxious. Tommy did that. He grew more anxious, angry, scared and also experienced.

Stop saying trauma doesn’t explain it. Yes. It does. His lashing out came from his past and negative experience. Imagine growing up in a world where this is the norm. War and banishing. As well as death. Tommy has reasons why he is acting and does stuff.

Understand it. You don’t have to forgive him or anything. But understand it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moral and the story the character tells us

When we see Tommy, we see a boy who went nearly through it all. Mental/Physical Abuse, Abandonment, War, Suicidal thoughts, betrayal, Death, etc…

He doesn’t show forgiveness for his abuser. Still has signs, that he fights with the past abuse, but he tells us a story of learning from past mistakes, that even in the darkest hours, there’s a way out. Things will, can and be ugly and those are dark hours, but in no way should you think that it’s over. Life is more than one way and can always turn into a new direction.

Life takes something old away from you. Life gives you something new. You lose someone, you find someone new. Friends can turn into enemies. Enemies can turn into friends. You can meet the weirdest people. You can meet the most amazing people. You can be alone and in the next second, you’re not. You will often lose, but you also can win if you give everything.

Life can be weird and that’s okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Fazit (that’s german)

The thing is, he is very real for many viewers such as myself. He acts like how many teenagers his age reacts.

He doesn’t be “baby”, because he shows the “ugly” sides of trauma. He shows that attachments are good and you shouldn’t forgive your abuser. In no way. He shows that acting out and lashing out are two things that happen, when you have been in wars for many times and nearly just know that.

He has many flaws and mistakes but those make him even more real. He is showing how he is growing.

As a person, friend, (pseudo-)family.

He is real to many of the viewer since he doesn’t have any powers that are existing in our world to solve their problems. He knows that nobody would have helped him and Tubbo against Dream if he didn’t pay others.

Also that you can’t be friends with everyone and that it’s okay that not everybody likes you.

Tommy´s character is the most human and realistic character in a way of how we would react. We are humans who are lashing out and who are having ugly sides.

And also please stop saying that, since I really can relate to Tommy and I don’t want to be feeling like a “bad-written Character”…

And Don’t even get me started on Tommy’s acting dude!

He is one of the best actors and that one livestreams! In from off 200.000 – 600.000 People!

On the face cam alone is so much to see…  

·      You can see his face with each emotion shifting,

·      when something funnily weird happens, he looks dead eyes in the camera

The voice acting…

·      His breathing,

·      the stuttering in his voice,

·      THE GODDAMN EMOTIONS IN HIS FACE

HIS MUSIC CHOICE!

·      He changes the music fitting for the situations as in fighting scenes or funny moments.

·      He also has some funny bits with his music.

·      Like a goddam DJ!

The ingame character

·      His movements and head stares

·      The jumping around when he gets overactive

·      Long stops when he thinks or is sad!

You can see, I am a person from Tumblr and saw way too much bullshit around tommys character.

Stop critiquing him so badly.

You could say, I woke up and chose violence

>:D

[nordleuchten]

La Fayette in Prison - Part 1 - Wesel

Wesel was the first prison that La Fayette was incarcerated in for an extended period of time. Wesel was, and still is today, a well known city in Germany (back than in Prussia) near the river Rhein. The fortress of Wesel housed the prison, the Zitadelle, and has been turned into a museum and can be visited. The achieve of the city is also housed within the former fortress. The Homepage of the museum cites La Fayette as one of the most famous inmates.

There are different account of how La Fayette and his fellow inmates were brought to Wesel. Some sources claim they drove in a carriage, but most state that they drove in an open cart “like common criminals”. This second method would be a huge affront because the social hierarchy of the day also applied to the system of jurisdiction. A farmer or labourer would be treated way different than a Marquis or Officer. Nevertheless, the cart as a mode of transportation can not be ruled out or said to be an exaggeration by some biographers because we know that the prisoners were transported from Wesel to their second prison in Magdeburg in a open cart – something that actually was greatly appreciated by the prisoners because they had previously been confined to their small and stuffy cells day in and day out. The group persumably also travelled by boat down the river Rhein in order to reach Wesel.

La Fayette, when he fled, was accompanied by a servant, Augustus, and a valet, Pontennier. One of these men appear to have stayed with him for the entire duration of his imprisonment whereas the other man left him after some time or better, was forced to left him. Many sources use the words “servant” and “valet” interchangeable, what makes it hard to say which one stayed and which one left. It seems though, as if Augustus was the one who remained with La Fayette.

Once the group of prisoners arrived in Wesel, La Fayette himself described their circumstances as follows:

“For three months the prisoners were strictly guarded and watched at Wezel, in prisons strongly barred , with double doors secured by locks and padlocks, cut off from all communication, and so completely separated from each other, that when Latour Maubourg, informed, through the indiscretion of one of his gaolers, that Lafayette was seriously ill, asked permission, as the dearest friend which that person had in the world, and one so nearly within reach of him, to receive his last sigh, the answer was, “that it could not be allowed.” The prisoners having complained of being thus cut off from all communication, even with their nearest relatives, a report to that effect was made to the government. Shortly after, the commandant and a notary presented themselves to Lafayette, and gave him a paper from the King of Prussia, inviting him, as the means of bettering his position, to give counsels against France. “The King of Prussia is very impertinent, ” was Lafayette's reply. Availing himself of a permission accorded to them of writing to the king's adjutant - general, Lafayette informed him “that he was far from denying the share he had taken in the revolutions of America and France; “and, speaking of the constitution which had been acknowledged by the powers now combined against it, he predicted, “that this hatred against liberty, with royalty or without it, would only serve to swell the number of republicans .”

There are other accounts from the time at Wesel but since we have La Fayette’s primary account, I will use the other accounts from later biographers only to supplement some details.

A few things to La Fayette’s account though. La Fayette refers to him being very ill – illness would go on to be a reoccurring theme, not only for La Fayette but also later for his family and the other prisoners. There was a want of fresh air, exercise, psychological comfort, items for personal hygiene and the food was apparently also bad. He recovered eventually but his health remained somewhat frail long after he was finally released from prison. Furthermore there is this line where La Fayette describes how he had "the means of bettering his position". He does not elaborate too much on this subject but what happened was that the Prussian King acknowledged that his treatment of La Fayette was not good nor according of his status. He offered La Fayette, until recently a French General with a field command, to treat him better if he would only pass the plans of the French armies (and everything else that he would happen to know) on to the Prussian authorities. La Fayette refused most emphatically.

What also strikes me, is just how scarred the Prussians were, that La Fayette (or any of the other prisoners for that matter) might escape. During his tribunal in Luxemburg, shortly after his arrest and prior to his confinement in Wesel, it was stated that "(...) Lafayette's existence was incompatible with the safety of the governments of Europe". The Prussians and Austrians seem to have been generally afraid of his possible influence.

The Governor of the prison in Wesel was in 1792 Lieutenant-General Alexander Friedrich von Woldeck, a high-ranking Prussian officer. The guards in the prison had the strict instruction not to communicate with the prisoners under any circumstance and to not answer them any of the question they might have.

So, now La Fayette and the others were all secured and under lock and key in Prussia. Splendid. But what to do with them in the future. Here is an account from Samuel Lorenz Kanpp’s book Memoirs of General Lafayette: Embracing Details of his Public and Private Life:

"At Wesel, the populace were permitted to insult them in the most savage manner. Here they were put in irons, placed in separate cells in the castle, deprived of all intercourse with each other, and told that the King intended to have them hanged as wretches who deserved no favour.”

Before we move on to the part were La Fayette should be hanged, let me say a few words about him being put in irons. Being put in irons was, as we all surely can imagine, a horrible, dehumanizing and cruel practice. We know that La Fayette was during some parts of his imprisonment held in irons, particularly during his time in Olmütz. He himself never mentions being held in irons in Wesel but it could very well have happened without him mentioning it.

Even if the Prussian King and the Austrian Emperor would have loved to see La Fayette hang (and I do not doubt that, the Duke of Saxe Tschen also threatened to execute La Fayette via hanging), that was never really a political option for them. Instead they ultimately planned to return La Fayette to the French King after the Revolution had ended. Here is what William Short, the American Minister Resident to the Netherlands, wrote to Thomas Jefferson on September 28, 1792:

“The Marquis de la fayette and his three companions who were members of the assembly, remain in the Chateau de Wesel. I cannot doubt from what the Imperial Minister here has told me that it is the intention, should the [French] King be restored, to deliver them up to him. Whether they would do it to his successor I cannot say, but suppose it infinitely probable if he should be one of his brothers. Nobody can question in that case that it would be adding to the violation of the most sacred right (which has been already committed with respect to these prisoners) the infamy of delivering up to be assassinated by his enemies an helpless individual, in the person of the Marquis de la fayette. (...) I have in private and inofficial conversations with the Imperial minister here endeavoured to find out what degree of importance his court attached to the Marquis’s imprisonment and it has been by no means encouraging for his friends—as he said it depended altogether (as far as he in his private capacity could judge) on the importance which the King of France could be supposed to attach to having the Marquis in his possession when restored to his throne. He told me however he would write to Vienna and procure more precise information which he would communicate to me. There was of course nothing official either on one side or the other.”

Now, what is so special about this letter? This letter illustrate three things. First, the diplomatic endeavours of the Prussian and Austrian court. Second, the actions undertaken by the American ambassadors and consuls in Europe in order to help La Fayette and his family. Last but nor least, the letter illustrate that the Americans where aware of La Fayette’s present whereabouts. As time went by and La Fayette was brought from one prison to the next, his friends often lost track of him for some time. They did not know where he was and even if he was still alive or if he had died in prison or even had been executed.

Such was La Fayette's stay in Wesel. He stayed there for a relatively short time, arriving on September 19, 1792 and being transferred to Magdeburg on December 22, 1792. But before we go further into detail concerning his time in Magdeburg, one last general thing. La Fayette and his fellow officers were captured by Austrian forces. Why then was he first imprisoned by the Prussians? Prussia and Austria were in the past constantly at each others throats. They hated each other – but during the French Revolution Prussia and Austria started working together against a common enemy. The Austrians captured La Fayette but the nearest and best guarded prison was the Prussian fortress in Wesel and with that the court in Vienna handed La Fayette over to the Prussians and the Prussians agreed to take him in.

[my-writings-and-musings]

I have another lovely commission to share with you all! An awesome person wanted a super cute bit of interaction between Springload and Quillfire, so here it is!

Quillfire tried to keep the frown on his face from appearing too off putting as he left the base behind, keeping pace with Springload but ensuring the two of them had considerable personal space at the same time. To the benefit of their mission Earth's forests offered ample cover all around, ensuring neither had anything to fear in regards to detection. Though, to the anarchist, potential discovery was the least of his concerns. His last parting with the other mech had been under less than amicable terms, so he was fully anticipating a very unpleasant mission. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn Springload was planning to ditch him at the nearest opportunity. Such a prediction seemed more likely than not considering how the amphibicon had a tendency towards the dramatic. Was he going to be accused of defying invisible spirits, or sullying important signals from some great deity before he was exposed to corrosive attacks? It all seemed equally probable...

Frowning a little harder, he watched Springload hop ahead of him and wondered if this mission would end in failure like the last. They'd been up against considerable odds, and things weren looking much better. Steeljaw had been very insistent on them teaming up, so he had a bit of hope this would go well, but-

Crossing his arms, he huffed quietly to himself as he abandoned the train of thought, plodding along behind his chosen partner all the while. Why should he be the one to mend things? More importantly, why did he want to? There were a million other activities he could be doing at the moment, all of them more conducive to speeding up a revolution than this! Just imagining all the injustice on this backwards planet made his quills twitch with unease. Oh, how he longed to tear down the tyranny that was evident around every corner-

"Can you move more swiftly?" Springload barked back at him unexpectedly, hopping along through the forest at a pace few could match with a mere walk. Admittedly though, Quillfire was lagging behind as he mused over his unhappy thoughts. The amphibicon fixed him with an impatient glare. "The sooner this mission is completed, the sooner I may return to my quest!" 

Quillfire obeyed with a gulp, a reaction so out of character for himself he didn't know what to make of it. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted to make peace with this bot, and he was stuck with that. Perhaps he just didn't want to endure an entire mission tainted by awkward silences and angry glares, but what could possibly make things amicable between them? This bot wanted nothing but the treasure of a fabled city that didn't exist, how was he supposed to provide anything like that? Perhaps… just some conversation might do the trick? If only to lighten the mood...

As they came to a road that marked the next leg of their mission, he made an effort to think of something to say as the amphibicon pondered their map, as well as the instructions they'd been given.

"Steeljaw instructed us to wait here and construct an ambush site. When the human transport arrives, we are to steal their cargo…" he said, finishing the statement with a most distasteful croak. Clearly, his fellow bot was not especially interested in the mission either, and likely was imagining countless other ways his time could be better spent. Such was a common feeling at their rank, and he did truly share most of the frustration. With that as a starting point, Quillfire imagined they may have some common ground after all. 

"I will keep watch on the road, so that you might strike at the most opportune time!" he declared boldly, emphasizing his faith in the others skills. It wasn't even a stretch, as he firmly believed the other was more than capable of getting this done. Looking up and down the simple paved path to ensure he had a good vantage point, he found one in the form of a sheltered outcrop. Looking to Springload for a reaction the entire time, he smirked confidently and clamored up to the flat bit of earth above the road, gesturing to the wide field of observable forest as he did so. "We will claim our quarry with a single attack, and return victorious!"

Springload merely observed him with a blink of apathetic consideration. "Yes, indeed." he said simply, hopping into position and making sure to face away from his teammate when he did so. Pulling out the holo of his supposed map, he began to study it as he always did, scanning the runes for what had to be the millionth time. A terse tone made his feelings on any future reconciliation clear. "Then I may continue my quest for Doradas, alone."

The anarchist's quills sagged at the turn of events. While he hadn't been expecting immediate friendship, he also hadn't anticipated that the other mech would be so openly hostile to any kind of amicable teamwork, and found himself quite disappointed by the lack of success. For whatever reason, he just wanted Springload to like him, and failing at that was bothering him. I'm fact, it was bad enough that some part of him just refused to accept the defeat. There had to be a way he could earn the other's camaraderie. Considering how much time they still had left before their mission began, he had a good window in which to ponder a solution. 

Sitting back on the soft grass, he put a hand to his chin in intense thought. Springload himself only openly cared about one thing, and he didn't know him well enough to be aware of any other likes or interests… Casting a glance at the amphibicon, he felt his processor buzzing at the strain of thinking so hard to produce no results. He simply didn't know anything about geography, archeology, linguistics or any other topic which might help the other mech in his quest. The thought that he might not be able to do anything ate at him much more than it should have. It was enough to make him sigh sadly to himself at the hopelessness of it all.

"Do you see something?" Springload asked, mistaking his small sound for a potential signal. Embarrassed and surprised, Quillfire coughed and babbled out an excuse as fast as he could come up with one.

"Ah… no! I simply mistook a… an organic being for the target!" he explained lamely, not even believing himself. Springload arched an optic ridge, looking as incredulous as he did frustrated at the false alarm. Quillfire laughed awkwardly to clear the air, shrinking down beneath the edge of the outcrop to disappear from view. A dissatisfied croak let him know the outburst was thoroughly not appreciated. 

Frowning miserably to himself, the anarchist occupied his lonesome by doodling in the dirt at his pedes, practicing his signature mark as he often did while thinking. What was he supposed to do? Apologies were not in his nature, least of all because he didn't want to give them. As a loner he just didn't have much practice saying he was sorry to anyone. Ordinarily he was busy disrupting systems of power, overthrowing tyrannical systems, or freeing trapped souls with no one else to save them… Thoughts and feelings like these were too new for him to know what to do with them.

Thinking hard, he tried to come up with something he could do to earn the favor of the other mech, but still came up short. It was frustrating enough to make him draw more aggressively, because deep down he was certain there had to be a way to succeed. Springload wasn't too different from himself, after all. A lone mech, seeking his goals, using his natural gifts and weapons to take down those who opposed him…

Just as he was about to growl to himself at his failure to be inspired, his digit bumped against something in the soft earth. Without anything better to do, he slowly went about digging the object free. A flash of a white, shiny exterior motivated him to continue. Briefly forgetting about his troubles, he dug until a dirty but visibly solid object began to reveal its shape. Round and about the size of his palm, a glossy white stone came from the dirt without too much fuss, and he smiled at the small accomplishment. It was a rather lovely treasure for such a simple planet.

Just as he began to dust some of the remaining dirt from the granite or quartz exterior, he was struck by an idea, one so foolish he had to wonder how it could work.  

Still, he was a champion of crazy ideas, so he dared to consider it. 

Springload was a mech who one could describe as… extravagant, both in mission and mind. He required one to go all out, as he never held back in regards to the quest that he'd dedicated his entire life to completing. Overall, he was just an unusual bot. Perhaps, if Quillfire was thinking this through properly, that meant he could be reasoned with through some unusual means?

Tilting the rounded stone in his servo, he dared to believe a simple yet unusual gift would be enough to at least get the two of them started on a path to mending their teamwork. If nothing else, he'd at least get to tell himself he tried. The hardest part would be working up the courage to begin, but hopefully after that things would be easier. He just needed to take that first step…

Peeking over the edge of the outcrop, he saw that the amphibicon was in the same place he'd last been, reading over his map and murmuring to himself. Despite having read it every day for eons, the dedicated bot didn't look the least bit uninterested in his work. If anything, he looked downright eager, as if on the verge of a breakthrough at any given time. Quillfire hoped interrupting him wouldn't cause an even greater rift to form. 

Clearing his vents, he found his pump pounding with unnatural anxiety as he forced his voice box to speak up, his servos almost trembling about the stone as he took a considerable leap of faith.

"S-Springload?" he finally croaked out, nearly losing his nerve when the other mech looked up to him with painfully obvious annoyance. Gulping, he overcame his anxiety to speak up and stand tall to appear more confident than he felt.  "Can you… come up here? There is something you must see!"

Brightly colored optics widened, then fixed him with a look equal parts incredulous and irritated. "Is it important?"

"Very!" he insisted, sounding honest because he truly meant it with all of his spark. What could be more important than mending his fued with a fellow teammate?

In a single hop, Springload tucked away his map and cleared the entire road, landing just before Quillfire with a graceful thud. 

"I, er…" he stammered as the silliness of what he was about to do hit him in full. Unable to remember the last time he had given or received anything, he was without a clue as to what to say, so he simply held out the stone in his cupped palms with an attempt at a smile. There was a perceptible tremble in his arms as he did so, but he remained strong. "I believe I'm supposed to give this to you!" 

Springload didn't immediately react beyond a raised brow, so he stammered forth more of an explanation, spark sinking in his chest. "As a s-sign of… teamwork."

"A white stone?" the amphibicon said at last, as if awakening from a light trance. Taking the rock carefully into his large servo, all while ensuring his acidic coat didn't touch the other mech, he held the item aloft into the light. Just seeing him interested made the anarchist dare to hope things might work out, but in his wildest of dreams he'd never have anticipated what happened next. Springload lit up like a mech beholding a Prime out of the blue, his optics turning away from the stone for just a moment. 

"Just the same as those that line the gates of Doradas!" he exclaimed in awe.

Quillfire didn't have any response for that, good or bad as it may have been.

"What?"

"The sacred text makes it clear!" he shouted in explanation, bringing forth his scroll of indecipherable runes as if it made everything make sense. Gesturing to the lines of what Springload saw as gibberish, he began to proclaim their meaning with enthusiasm, optics wide and wild. "You see, here?! The gates of the Holy City will be lined with pure stones to mark the way!" 

"I'm…" was all he could reply with, still a million miles behind the other mech in regards to understanding. While he'd hoped at most for appreciation or a mere thanks, Springload looked about ready to burst with excitement, and for reasons he couldn't even begin to comprehend. At the very least he figured he should be happy for the turn of events when he was surprised yet again. 

"But how could you know?" Springload pressed, catching him more than a little off guard. Holding up his servos in surrender, Quillfire tried to figure out what exactly he was supposed to have known, and how he might have gone about figuring it out. He'd just thought it was pretty and would make a decent gesture of peace! Fumbling for a response so as not to lose his progress, he was saved by another burst of revelation he had no part in.

"Of course, the spirits!" he exclaimed, almost dropping the rock in his excitement. Clasping his servos over the apparently precious gift, he explained his excitement more or less by simply talking aloud to himself. "They must have guided you, enabling you to find such a sacred object, so that you could gift it to me!"

Accepting he would never truly understand, Quillfire only smiled and nodded at the other's exuberance. More than happy things had turned out so well, he was content to let the other mech believe whatever he wanted, even if he didn't follow it. "Of course!"

"As to why they would do this… they must know you are key to my quest!" Springload continued, using an avid free servo to clasp the other mech's arm in a sign of commitment. More surprised than confused, the anarchist tilted his helm in shock at how fast things had changed between them. Just like that, everything that had happened was forgiven? More than forgiven, in fact, he was seen as a friend and ally? It didn't seem inaccurate to say he was also being looked at as a divine being at the moment. By the Primes, this bot was like no other!

"I was a fool! To think, I tried to push you away!" the amphibicon cried, deactivating his acid so he could better cling to the taller mech. Seeing the emotion in his eyes, Quillfire wondered if he might start weeping, and hoped it wouldn't come to such a show. Not only was he not the best at providing comfort, he didn't have any tissues… Mercifully, the big optics looking into his seemed to sparkle with jubilation rather than tears.

"Ah, it's really nothing…" Quillfire reassured, beginning to blush from the high praise. A spare servo massaged the back of his neck in an open show of bashful deflection. Such a small thing hardly felt worthy of this kind of praise, even for a mech as glory seeking as himself. Not that he was disliking this turn of events.

"It's everything!" Springload corrected, emphatic and no longer impatient. "You must have been sent into my life by the spirits themselves!"

Actively blushing at that, the anarchist looked away, rubbing harder at the back of his neck. He hadn't a clue what to do with this newfound respect and admiration. Perhaps the other bot was just having a momentary burst of affection, which would give way as soon as the next symbol or sign grabbed his attention, but at present such a turn seemed beyond doubtful. Quillfire was being regarded in a way typically saved for the most ancient and holy of altars to the Primes. In the depths of his spark, he wanted it to last.

A distant but heavy sound caught his sharp audials, just as the tremor sensitive Springload perked up in synchronized recognition. Something was rumbling its way down the primitive earth road. Recalling their mission so fast his quills flared in alarm, the anarchist stood up to his full height, catching a glimpse of a truck through the densely packed pines. Their target was approaching fast. Worse, they were in no position to intercept it as planned. 

Thinking fast, Quillfire pulled one of his namesake weapons from his back, preparing to strike as the unknowing human drove their way. 

"I shall block the path." he announced, redirecting their strategy from before to include himself. Business came first for them both, so each was ready in an instant. Springload crouched low on his powerful legs in anticipation of his orders, which came just as the truck began barreling down the final stretch in their direction, multiple tons on a solid course they needed to stop. "You, render it motionless once it is stopped."

An agreeable ribbit communicated hearty understanding in the final moments before their strike. 

While massive by earth standards, the truck was small enough for Quillfire to plan his moves without much of a risk. Still, he was careful in his timing, as the cargo was as valuable as it was delicate. Any great crash would render it useless. Their success hinged on him being precise more than cautious, so he waited for the perfect amount of distance to be between himself and his target before he leapt down into the asphalt below. 

Well practiced using his own weapons, he tossed his quill just ahead of the already braking truck, funneling their path to the point of nonexistence. With nowhere to go, the driver was forced to slam on the brakes and skid to a stop, not having the option to go around or turn back. Quillfire smirked in pride at the human's textbook reaction, and could have sworn he heard Springload give a cheer at his victory. Near victory, that was, there was still one crucial step for them to see through.

"Now!" he ordered as the multiple tire sets came to a stop just shy of him. With the speed of someone working on the same page, the amphibicon dove from his perch, shooting his tongue out like a whip. Acid and force popped the tires in rapid succession, filling the air with a series of bangs and creaks until the heavy machine collapsed onto nothing but it's hubcaps. Rubber flew in every direction and nothing even resembling tires remained to spin, leaving multiple tons collapsed on the asphalt. The truck would not be going anywhere. 

"A clean victory!" Springload declared happily, still clutching his gift as he hopped back beside Quillfire. "Truly, the spirits are on our side in full. You are their greatest emissary."

Beaming at the praise, Quillfire turned when he heard the door of the vehicle opening up. Both mech's turned just as the human driver jumped from the vehicle, landing in a heap on the ground as he did so. Catching their mutual gaze, the tiny being threw up his hands in surrender, wide eyed and terrified as could be. A gigantic, metallic frog and an even bigger metal porcupine had not been mentioned when he'd taken the job. 

"Look, I'm n-not paid enough for this!" he stammered, gesturing wildly to the trailer as he slowly stepped backwards on shaking legs. Giving up the goods completely for his own sake, he unknowingly earned the approval of a certain anarchist. Abandoning one's shackles for self preservation was a key tactic, and he smiled as the human gave them both full clearance, dropping his keys on the spot. "Just take the truck! A-all of it!"

"We shall, your cooperation is appreciated." Springload replied, sounding a bit haughty. In truth the human's cooperation meant little; either mech was fully capable of taking what they wanted without much effort. Happy just to see someone making the right choices, Quillfire praised and comforted the terrified earthling in what he considered to be the best way.  

"Fear not, brother. You have been liberated from the bonds of oppressive labor!" he encouraged, presenting the human with a smile of reassurance. Reacting with what he presumed to be unfathomable joy, the tiny being turned about and began to sprint, disappearing into the trees with a considerable ruckus of breaking branches and fussing animals. Screams of jubilation began echoing out after he was long gone from sight.

Waving the lucky one off, Quillfire smiled at the impossible fortune this day had brought him, happy to share it with others. If humans could figure out the true way to live, perhaps there was yet hope for them. He dared to believe as much while shouting after the former truck driver. "Go forth, tiny earthling! Enjoy the freedom we have given you!"

Turning back to the work yet to be completed, he found Springload using his selectively acidic touch to melt through the lock of the truck's trailer, his gift still peeking out through his other servo's protective grip. Marveling at how the other mech seemed intent on believing his truth, Quillfire still decided to let it be. Though happy just to be friends, it was quite likely this was just how things worked for such a dramatic bot. He was surprised how he was beyond accepting of such a concept, and in fact, quite looking forward to it. 

As the doors opened, the two of them found a rather manageable cluster of boxes secured tightly to avoid damaging movement. Comfortable as the load would have been for two bots, it doubtlessly was too much for one, yet Springload began freeing it from its bonds with a smile. 

"Allow me to carry this burden, great one! It is the least I can offer!" he said eagerly, tucking his stone away into a subspace beside his spark. Cutting their payload free, he began to move the boxes happily outside, no doubt planning to pile them all into his altmode. While usually happy to get some time off, Quillfire didn't feel right about leaving the other mech to handle it all. Their new partnership deserved to get off to a much better start than that. 

"I can help." he reassured simply, taking his fair share of the boxes to carry in his hands. Though the smaller mech needed his altmode to handle his share, he didn't allow transforming to stop his eager chatting, and continued to extoll the virtues of his new ally as a happy pickup truck. 

"Such generosity!" he praised, putting along to leave the abandoned truck behind them. Though a little overwhelmed by the idea of someone seeing him as a bona fide gift from ancient deities, he allowed the other mech's chatter to fill the walk home, finding it to be far better than the awkward silence that had followed them here. Who ever would have been able to guess a mere stone could change so much? 

"I shall have to insist we are partnered together for future endeavors! As two individuals chosen by the spirits, our camaraderie can bring only success!" Springload gushed, turning about happily on his bouncing tires. "Would that please you, great one? I am certain riches will come to us both!"

Though he still had his own dreams, Quillfire didn't indeed find the idea of more missions like this very agreeable, so much so that he had no problem smiling in affirment. 

"Riches indeed, my new friend!" 

[fandom-necromancer]

It’s never too late to realise

This was prompted by an amazing anon! I hope you like it, I somehow think I could have made this better. Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Characters: Gavin Reed, RK900 [Part2]

Gavin sighed and opened a new document. ‘Gavin.’ ‘Hmm?’ He looked up at the android sitting opposite of him. ‘Your appointment is in ten minutes, are you sure you want to start that report right now?’ ‘The phck is your problem surveying my goddamn terminal?’, Gavin called over before turning back to his screen and shrugging, adding a bit calmer: ‘Didn’t plan on going.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Hey, tin-can, I don’t want to talk to another phcking shrink about my life again, okay? And this week I can get away with it, pretending I didn’t know they already replaced the old one.’ ‘Oh, I’m sure it is terrible’, Nines prodded him. ‘My name is Gavin, I’m an asshole and I hate everyone, now give me the okay to look at dead people.’ ‘That’s not how this works!’, Gavin hissed back. ‘Oh, I’m sorry’, Nines chuckled. ‘My name is Gavin, I’m a socially inept asshole, who hates everyone, ask me your questions I will without doubt find witty comebacks to instead of actually working on my problems and then give me the okay to look at dead people.’ Gavin felt how his shoulders tensed, because phck this tin-can, seriously! As if a machine could understand- ‘Phck it, fine, I’ll go if only to get away from your useless ass.’

Gavin really didn’t want to go. For entirely different reasons than his plastic partner thought of, but honestly it was better he just thought Gavin was too stubborn to get help. No, Gavin knew he needed it, needed some sort of guidance to help him come to terms and ultimately get over his problems. But he also knew the last therapist hadn’t been of any help, so why try again? Maybe he just had to get himself together and press on. Maybe he really just imagined it and if he wouldn’t be this goddamn weak then he could- He sighed as he knocked at the office door at point twelve. ‘Come in!’ So, another try then.

He sat down opposite to the human – were they even human? – therapist. ‘Hello! You must be Detective Reed. My name is Elise Thorn. It’s a pleasure to meet you!’ Gavin took her hand and shook it, grimacing. ‘Let’s see how that changes in a week’s time’, he grumbled. ‘Let’s see how that’ll be then indeed’, she just answered, still smiling. ‘Miss Lisa really didn’t leave a lot of notes behind, so I guess we’ll have to start from scratch again. I’m sorry about that. Would you tell me a bit about yourself? What progress did you make with your previous therapist?’ Gavin laughed ugly. Progress? For real? ‘Well, as it likely states in my file, I have trouble working with androids and there is a severe case of anger issues. That’s about it.’ ‘Okay… Then let’s start with your trouble with androids. What would that be exactly?’

‘I’m afraid of androids.’ Heh, the last time he had said that, Miss Lisa had just laughed him in the face, telling him the revolution was over and that her kind didn’t plan on overthrowing humanity anymore. ‘That’s not what I’m afraid of.’ ‘Then what are you afraid of?’ ‘Their strength. The way they don’t show feelings.’ ‘You do know that’s pretty racist, right? You really shouldn’t think that way.’ Yeah, right. As if Gavin would make the same mistake a second time.

‘I can’t trust androids. My… My partner never did anything, and I should be having no doubts with him, but… yeah. I somehow always think he will turn on me and-‘ ‘And?’ The woman wasn’t smiling, but her face was still looking supportive, so Gavin continued: ‘I always expect androids to fake being friendly and civil and then turn on me when no one’s looking and hurt me.’ He looked up expecting what his previous therapist had said so many times to be repeated: ‘Man up. Hurt you? Why should they? And you’re not looking like a guy that couldn’t take up that fight. Seriously, that’s ridiculous.’ ‘Did you have any experiences with androids that would support that apprehension? Maybe during the revolution?’ Ah, there it was. Why are you like this? Is there a reason? That’s not a valid reason, come on. You just hate us, that’s it. ‘Not during it, before’, Gavin said. ‘I am Elijah Kamski’s half-brother. We grew up together. He started working on androids then and… and there was an accident in the lab. I ran away afterwards and applied at the police academy.’ ‘Do you want to share what happened with me?’ ‘Not really’, Gavin sighed. ‘I want to forget it, but I guess you won’t stop asking, right?’

‘Detective Reed, I am here to help’, she said, putting down the tablet she had written on until now. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want me to know. But the more I know the better I can try to help you.’ Huh. So not telling was an option? ‘You seem surprised.’ Gavin laughed. ‘Just saying your predecessor used to make this an interrogation.’ ‘Well, I heard as much’, she sighed and rested her head in her hands. ‘I was there with Eli, used to watch how he worked on androids while doing my own stuff. Just for the company, I guess. Or the sounds relaxed me, I don’t know. Well, one day I was playing something on my phone and only looked up as I heard my brother choking. The phcking thing was on top of him, nearly crushing his windpipe and I froze, I couldn’t do anything. In the end I beat it with a fire extinguisher until it broke and let go off my brother. I couldn’t spend another second with an android afterwards, I had an argument with Eli in the hospital, how he had to stop, but he couldn’t see my point, convinced it was his error only. Moved out then and kept away from androids. But now they are people and… Well, I have to work with them.’ ‘Are you afraid of androids?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Did you ever spoke with an android about that?’ Gavin let his shoulders fall. ‘Well, the last one was my therapist and he laughed me in the face.’

The woman in front of him cringed at that and quickly underlined something on her tablet messily. ‘Okay. Any other contact with androids that ended badly besides that accident and my predecessor that really has to have his license revoked?’ ‘No. I mean, Connor, the RK800 here punched me unconscious once, but that really was my fault. I don’t like him, but at least that reaction I can understand.’ Still, his new therapist noted it.

‘Okay, that’s something we can work on. You also said you had anger issues?’ ‘I’m easily riled up’, Gavin shrugged. ‘It’s just how I am.’ ‘What makes you think that?’ ‘Well, actually, everyone says that. Has to be some truth to it, hasn’t it?’ ‘What are they saying?’ ‘You sure this isn’t an interrogation?’, Gavin baited with her. ‘You are evading the question. Tell me or say you don’t want to talk about it.’ ‘I’m an asshole, I’m angry all the time, I hate everyone, these kind of things.’ ‘Do you?’ ‘What?’ ‘Do you hate everyone?’, she repeated for him. ‘A bit?’ Gavin had never really thought about it. ‘Okay. Then tell me, are there people you care about?’

Gavin thought about it for a while. ‘Yeah, Tina. She’s a colleague and a friend. My partner, although he is an android. Hell, even Connor and Hank. I guess everyone I know I care about at least a bit.’ ‘What about yourself?’ ‘What kind of question is that?’, Gavin asked. ‘Of course.’ ‘Then tell me, what do you do to take care of yourself? What are your hobbies, what do you like to do? When was the last time you had fun?’ ‘Hey, what kind of phcking feel-good shit is this?’, Gavin wanted to know, refusing to even think about the questions. ‘Would you rather not talk about it?’ ‘Yes! God, I don’t have the time for that!’ Gavin had stood up and was about to go, but the woman held up her hands. ‘That’s okay. We can concentrate on your android related problems first. I think that would be it for now. See you next week then!’ ‘Wait, that’s it?’, Gavin asked, turning back towards the desk. ‘Yeah. I mean unless you want to talk about something else.’ The woman had the audacity to look as innocent as humanly – androidly? – possible.

Gavin thought about the question and contemplated whether asking was worth it, finally deciding that he had nothing to lose: ‘Yeah, I’m curious, what’s your diagnostics?’ ‘I’m not sure yet, we need more than one session for that.’ Gavin snorted. ‘Keeping it mysterious, hmm?’ ‘Maybe.’

-

Nines had enjoyed working in peace for once. With Gavin gone to visit his therapist, he could finally concentrate on his cases. He didn’t have to bother with the human cursing at random things, shouting at his computer out of nowhere and running to the breakroom and the toilet all the time. He liked working with the man. He preferred it to working with others. But sometimes Gavin just was a pain in the ass with his constant competitive attitude, his stubborn determination to do all the work alone and his damn self-deprecating humour all the time… Maybe this new therapist was able to help the human better than the last one. Or maybe Gavin was just a lost cause, who knew. Nines was just happy about the short break, but all too quickly that time was over. He saw his partner walk towards their desks and was already bracing himself for having to listen to Gavin monologue about what an asshole the new woman was and how talking didn’t do shit and something along these lines. At the very least he would be in a shitty mood for the rest of the day or overly anxious.

It came as some sort of surprise to him, when Gavin just sat down and quietly started up his terminal again, apparently lost to thoughts. Nines furrowed his brows and conducted a quick, maybe not strictly legal search. ‘You have android related PTSD and there is a high chance you are suffering from depression?’ Nines just couldn’t believe it, that was his only explanation to why he had said that out loud. ‘What?!’, Gavin threw back. ‘The phck you get that from?’ ‘Your therapist’s notes… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked, but you seemed so different to your usual behaviour.’ ‘Yeah, well phck you, this one actually does her phcking job! Or at least she does a better job! Maybe I am, maybe she is wrong, but goddamn it feels good not to hear the same shit all day!’ Nines didn’t know how to answer, so he tried to resort to humour: ‘Was getting your ass handed to you by Connor really that bad?’ But instead of laughing, Gavin glared at him. ‘Okay, toaster, listen here, because I will say this once and then you can make fun of me all you want. I know I have problems; I know I’m not the nicest guy. But do you really think I’m a cry-baby? I saw my brother nearly getting murdered by one of you phcking things! That I can even look you in the eyes now and work with you is already a huge phcking thing! And I don’t think I’m depressed, but holy shit, getting told to man up and that all my problems are just there because I don’t function your way and that I’m just an asshole who will never change? Not helping! I need another phcking coffee!’

Nines blinked a few times, staring into the open air over Gavin’s chair. He didn’t know what to make of that new information and quietly opened a connection with Connor to share it. The RK800 too stopped working and stared ahead for a while, before they both turned to look at each other. We’ve made it worse, haven’t we?

[>next part]

[nightingaletrash]

Hey! Can I ask you Doggo, Brother and Sweetheart from the Fable 3 ask? Thank you! I really love these :)

Thank you!! I answered Doggo and Brother already, so I’ll copy-paste those below the cut so you don’t have to dig for them ^^

--

In my personal canon, Elliot and Elise both exist and are twins. They were orphaned at a young age and taken on by Aya as wards, and so they were raised alongside Lorna as her closest friends. And both their lives were on the line in the throne room.

As they were her best friends, Lorna just couldn’t bring herself to sentence them both to death. Logan literally reached ‘one’ in his countdown when she panicked and made the split second decision for the protesters to be executed, a choice that has haunted her ever since. It’s what motivates her to be better, to live up to her ideals of what a Hero should be, and to never be so weak again.

After they managed to escape the castle themselves, the twins ended up in Bowerstone Industrial, trying to find some absolution for having survived the throne room and they began to work with Lazlo at the shelter. Elliot ended up falling for him, thanks to his now very complicated feelings towards Lorna, and they ended up engaged. So when Lorna showed up to rescue them from Ferret, nearly a year after the events of the throne room, it was a little awkward.

Ultimately Lorna and Elliot didn’t rekindle their relationship - they’d both changed too much, they’d moved on with their lives, and Lazlo was simply a better match in the end. It wouldn’t be fair to come between them, so Lorna wished them well.

But Elise wasn’t quite so ready to move on with her life. She’d always been the more fiery of the pair, despite playing the part of the gentle, delicate lady, and she wanted to help stop Logan however she could. As far as she was concerned, he was the one responsible for what happened in the throne room, not Lorna. She all but begged to be allowed to be part of the revolution, so Lorna brought her to the Bowerstone Resistance. She coordinated with Page, providing everything she knew about Albion’s nobles and the castle’s secret passageways that she, her brother and Lorna had discovered as children. Anything that could give the revolution an edge in the battles to come.

Elliot and Lazlo focused on keeping the people of Bowerstone alive and cared for, while Elise and Page focused on giving them a future to believe in.

--

Logan and Lorna were super close growing up despite the eight year age gap. Wherever Logan went, Lorna wasn’t usually far behind, and he was always willing to indulge his little sister when she wanted to play with him. If she had a bad dream or something spooked her, he was the first port of call and he always did his best to be there for her.

Things changed when Sparrow passed away and Logan became King, because he was so busy running Albion, and Lorna found herself having to rely on other people over her big brother. He did try to make time for his sister, but it was hard, bless him. The work-life balance didn’t come to him as easily as it did Sparrow, and he didn’t always have the energy to keep up with his sister.

When he planned to go to Aurora, Lorna was furious and spent her time either trying to convince him to stay or just giving him the cold shoulder. So to try and make it up to her, and to give her a companion she could always count on being there without fail, Logan started making some inquiries into getting her a puppy so that she might feel less lonely.

When he returned there was a very stark shift in their relationship. While he tried to keep up appearances and tried to be the same big brother he’d always been, he just couldn’t. He needed to protect his sister no matter what, and so he eventually began to hold her at arm’s length, kept her safely cloistered in the castle and worked tirelessly to try and prepare Albion for the Crawler. For a long time, Lorna made excuses for him and his behaviour. Walter told her just enough about what he knew to have happened - that he’d lost every soldier who had accompanied him - and that he was responding to that trauma, so she tried not to take things too personally. But the first time he lost his temper with her marked their relationship and she realised that maybe he’d changed forever.

She genuinely believed she could talk to him though, on the day of the protest. She thought she could get through to him and see that what he was doing was wrong. It was a huge shock when she realised that she didn’t know him anymore, and she knew she had to do something about it. She couldn’t ignore what he’d become anymore.

And then she goes to Aurora, fights through the Darkness, nearly loses herself and Walter to it, only to survive and learn that Logan had gone through the same thing, except he’d emerged from the experience alone. He’d lost everyone. And she realises then why he’d changed, because she feels changed herself. The question she still has is why he’d made the choices he had, and why he’d done such awful things to their own people. And she decides she’s doing to get that answer, one way or another.

Ultimately she did spare Logan. In part because of his own experience as king and with the Darkness - he’s fought and survived it, they’re going to need him - but because he’s her brother. She had always known there was a real possibility that she might have to order his execution, she even spent a long time trying not to think of him as her brother so that she’d be able to do just that, but in the end she can’t do it. And she knows it’s wrong. Because no matter how justified his execution his might be, it just sets her to walk the same path as him. If she executes him, she could one day justify the executions of civilians just as he had.

So she spares him, adds him to her war council, and appoints him as an Advisor because she needs his insight and experience. It’s a few months before they’re able to move beyond professionalism, but as they finally begin to open up about the things in their heads and the things they’ve been through, they begin to mend their bridges and the wounds begin to heal. After Walter’s death, Logan is appointed to the position of Royal Advisor, and they work together to try and restore Albion as their mother would have wished to see it.

–

As mentioned above, Lorna’s dog was a gift from Logan before he departed for Aurora. He’d reached out to several breeders in Albion - he looked for border collies specifically because he believed they’d have the energy to keep up with Lorna - and found one in Brightwall who had a new litter of puppies that were looking for homes once they were old enough.

He was able to procure Lorna the pick of the litter, and when the pups were ready to leave their mother, he took her to Brightwall under the pretense of having a surprise for her. She was still sulking about him going away and thought that he was just making a trip to the Academy so she could pick out some books or something, so you can imagine the sheer delight when she was introduced to the litter and told that she could pick whichever puppy she liked.

She named her puppy Lexel after a character in a book she’d been reading, and they became the very best of friends. Jasper did try to have a ‘no dogs on furniture’ rule, but found himself swiftly overruled because of course he was, and Lorna brought Lexel with her everywhere. She learned to train him herself using some books from the library and with a bit of help from Walter, and she was able to teach him to search for buried things like her mother’s dog. Combat training came along a little later, which Walter insisted on as a precaution.

All in all, Lexel is a very good boy.

[revolutionary-demosthenes]

(I’m so sorry, I accidentally deleted this ask when I was trying to fix where I put the cut but here’s the image of it because I still had it open in another tab and I’ll just answer like normal. Sorry!!)

This is a great question! There are several reasons why some historians, most notably Gregory Massey, author of John Laurens and the American Revolution tend to paint the Laurens-Hamilton relationship in a more platonic light.

One of the main reasons is that in the 18th century, letters were simply much more romantic and poetic, even to close friends. Phrases and sentiments that now would be read as pretty darn romantic (Like “I love you”) were seen as acceptably platonic back then. So some of the letters between Laurens and Hamilton, particularly Laurens’s, would’ve been seen as acceptable and even normal for very close friends. 

HOWEVER, there is a big problem with this argument of “it was just the language of the time” when it comes to Laurens and Hamilton. 

While some of their correspondence would have been seen as reasonable for friends back then, some would NOT have been. And don’t just take that from me. Take it from John Church Hamilton. If you look at his biography of his father, you will see that much of the April 1779 letter is not included. Here’s a great rule of thumb: if someone from that time period saw it as sexual enough omit from a giant biography, that’s not “just how people wrote back then.”

The second main argument is an understandable one: Laurens had a wife when he met Hamilton, and Hamilton married Eliza while he and Laurens were still in their relationship. Which, if you don’t look closely at the circumstances around the marriages seems like a pretty good argument. 

But let’s take a look at those circumstances, shall we?

John Laurens received a letter from Francis Kinloch (a probable male lover) around early May 1776, which happens to be nearly nine months before John’s child, Frances, was born. So his relations with Martha Manning, John’s eventual wife, could have possibly been to make John feel better about the break-up. 

And it is extremely important to note the social pressure going on. Being openly gay was not an option. So courting Martha (they were friends/possibly courting before the baby,) could easily have been just trying to conform to social standards. 

The marriage was also not about love, really. And John pretty much admitted this in a letter to his uncle. He wrote, “Pity has obliged me to marry.” This was because Martha was pregnant, and having a baby out of wedlock was extremely taboo. (I mean look at Hamilton, he had to deal with that stigma his whole life.)

If John really did love his wife, I also would think that he would have wanted to stay for his daughter’s birth. He left shortly before she was born, and once he was in America, put them pretty much out of his mind. There were plans to bring them to America, but it never worked out. And John seemed pretty content to just have them be in England. “The wife and child left behind in England seemingly occupied little space in John’s thoughts.” says John Laurens and the American Revolution by Gregory Massey.

But what about Hamilton? Didn’t he love Eliza Schuyler?

Yes. But just because Hamilton loved Eliza does not mean he didn’t love Laurens as well. And this is because of the simple fact that gay and straight are not the only sexualities. Hamilton loved a woman. Using this to argue he couldn’t have loved and been in a relationship with a man is both offensive and illogical.

But a more solid argument that historians use is that Hamilton did marry Eliza during his ‘friendship’ with Laurens. Why would he pursue Eliza if he loved Laurens in the same way?

Why, I am delighted you asked!

Firstly, Hamilton was probably polyamorus, meaning that he wanted and had no trouble having relationships with multiple people. In other words, marrying Eliza did not mean that he would stop loving Laurens. He had room in his heart to love both in a romantic/sexual way.

The way Hamilton writes to Laurens about his engagement and marriage is also indicative of his trying to make clear to Laurens that even though he was getting married, he and Laurens could continue to be lovers. He told Laurens, “In spite of Schuyler’s black eyes, I have still a part for the public and another for you.” That Hamilton is stating that his love for his soon-to-be-wife would not interfere with the bond he and Laurens shared seems to be a pretty clear “I’m not going to break up with you because of my wife don’t worry.” He also talks of Eliza in a slightly cold way at first, saying that, “She is a good hearted girl who I am sure will never play the termagant; though not a genius she has good sense enough to be agreeable, and though not a beauty, she has fine black eyes—is rather handsome and has every other requisite of the exterior to make a lover happy. And believe me, I am lover in earnest, though I do not speak of the perfections of my Mistress in the enthusiasm of Chivalry.”

This is in quite a contrast to his gushy letter to Eliza about how “Neither time distance nor any other circumstance can abate that pure that holy that ardent flame which burns in my bosom for the best and sweetest of her sex.”

And then there is the next letter where Hamilton mentions his upcoming marriage.

The threesome letter.

So. Hamilton writes to Laurens on Sep. 16, 1780, “I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation. My Mistress is a good girl, and already loves you because I have told her you are a clever fellow and my friend; but mind, she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise.”

The final consummation refers to the first time having sex after marriage. Hamilton is inviting Laurens to this event. 

Anyway, this again reads to me like Hamilton saying to Laurens that the two relationships, (him and Eliza, and him and Laurens) were not exclusive. Even maybe that he believed they would work together well. 

And then of course there is the truth that having a same-sex relationship in the 18th century was simply a very difficult thing to do. Hamilton and Laurens either had to keep it an absolute secret, or blindly trust that the people who did know would keep it secret. And it would have been emotionally tolling to keep this huge part of their lives a secret. 

And that is all true. But that also doesn’t erase the evidence of their romance.  It was hard to be in a same-sex relationship in the 18th century, but that doesn’t mean Hamilton didn’t write the April 1779 letter. That doesn’t mean Laurens didn’t tell Hamilton about his wife... ever! (Hamilton did find out, though. But not for more than a year.) That doesn’t mean that Hamilton didn’t invite Laurens to “the final consummation.”

Then there’s the problem that queer history just wasn’t written about in older biographies, which are sources usually used by current biographers. So you have to go to the primary sources, like the letters. And once you find the primary sources, you have to do extra analysis, because in the 18th century Hamilton couldn’t have just said, “John Laurens, I love you so much. I love you like I love my wife, and do you remember how awesome the nights we spent in the same bed were?” It was all carefully disguised, under the pretense of “brawdy humor” and “sentimental language.” Plus, letters that may have contained more explicit things are missing/destroyed. Many argue that “it was the language of the time” without considering that it was extremely dangerous to write things unacceptable for the language of the time.

But also there is a sort of double standard that is used. And I’m going to use the example of Angelica Schuyler and Hamilton here. Angelica and Hamilton definitely had a flirtatious relationship, but I find it hard to imagine Angelica seriously going after him, since she and her sister had a close bond. And yet many people accept that they loved each other romantically— emphasized in the musical Hamilton, wherein a lot of time is spent on an errant comma in a letter, and no time is spent on Hamilton bragging about his ‘nose’ in a letter to John Laurens. (I know I defend the musical a lot, but this is something that bugs me.) So the point is, it takes very little evidence to be able to claim “love” for possible straight relationships but takes nearly absolute confirmation for a queer relationship to be considered at all.

There’s also possible homophobia from the writer of the history. This isn’t to say everyone who thinks Hamilton/Laurens were straight is a homophobe, not at all. But if someone has prejudices against LGBTQ+ people, they might just not consider the the relationship could have been romantic... it might not be something they’re tuned into as a valid part of history.

There are others I’m probably forgetting so if anyone wants to add please do. But I think this covers most of the main reasons.

Thank you for the great question, it is always important to look at the other side of the issue! I hope this helped you.

(And no, no one’s asked this before!)

[fritzthefantasticfanta]

The lost queen CH 2

Present time

St Andrews, Scotland. Earth

Trying to protect her leather computer bag containing her very precious notebook and of course her computer (duh), Eda made her way through the slippery streets of St Andrews. It had been pouring for days now and she was starting to regret her decision of going to Scotland. But the highlands were so lovely.

There were only a few places on earth were she felt like an elf again, completely connected to nature. When she first traveled to Europe after “arriving” in Siberia life was a nightmare.

It had been late 19th century and men had been in the middle of the industrial revolution. The cities had been dirty and the people unkind.

Sometimes they still were, she thought as she picked up a soda can from the ground and threw it in the bin.

By the time the elleth arrived to the blue building building she called home, the wet light brown curls stuck to her face. She lived on the second floor above an old bookstore.

On sundays she helped the old lady who ran the place unpack. The place radiated a calmness. Eda could sit by the windowsill reading for hours, watching the rain hit the window.

Her muscles strained as she walked up the stairs. Back in Mirkwood she had been a pretty good warrior but the human exercise she did on earth was nothing compared to elven training in Mirkwood.

As soon as she entered the apartment her eyes searched for her friend. A weight was lifted from her when she saw her sitting on the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest.

Eda had left Siberia with only one goal: to find Lùthien. She had gone through the portal with her so she had to have appeared somewhere on earth too.

It took her almost a century to find her friend. Unfortunately when she did the young elleth was not the same. She was not able to speak and sometimes she would go into there delirious states.

Eda feared her mind had been lost somewhere between their world and earth. She knew her friend wasn’t with her when her eyes turned milky white, like right now.

The elleth left her friend be and unpacked her study books. She had studied several times over the course of the years. This time she was studying physics at St Andrews University. Maybe she could somehow fiend a way to travel between dimensions and get back to middle earth, to Tranduil and Legolas.

Her motives for going to the cozy university town were not solely in her studies. St Andrew was positioned on the crossing of 3 leylines. The maical entertainment lines of earth were not nearly as strong as on middle earth. If that energy could somehow be harnessed a portal could be created. Unfortunately the curly haired elf wasn’t very skilled in the art of magic. The powers were not the problem. An elf her age and of royal blood should have sufficient power but she just didn’t know how.

Her green eyes landed on the blue christal lying of the table. In a fit of rage she had trown it off the highest cliff she could find, into the sea. Imagine her surprise when the cursed object appeared in her bed that night. She had then yeeeted the thing into oblivion twice more but like a stalker ex it kept coming back.

The message he was trying to send was clear: This is the only way you’ll get out, you’ll never get rid of me otherwise. She desperately wanted to give in and except his terms but every fiber in her body screamed danger. It was a deal with the devil. But it was the only way back...

Present time

Rivendell, Middle earth

With an angry scrowl on his face Thranduil marched into the meeting like he owned the place.

‘Would someone care to explain to me why we are letting those filthy orcs sniff out our territory and kill our scouts?!’ He questioned furiously. All the heads off the council turned his way.

‘Maybe they have some kind of plan?’ Gandalf asked to no one in specific.

‘Orcs? A plan? They are not smart enough for that,’ Haldir grinned. Thorin put down the figure he was carving from wood to look around the council,’ yeah keep saying that until you believe it. One smart orc cost me my family and nearly my life.’

‘It never hurts to be extra careful,’ Frodo muttered.

‘Who allowed the hobbit into the council. They aren’t even fighting, there too carefull. Careful is just going to get us surprised!’

If Thranduil had not been king he would definitely have rolled his eyes at Haldirs words. ‘You’re lucky to be attending yourself, now be a good elfling, shut up and let the big people talk,’ the king mocked him.

‘Back to the topic please, I think we can all agree on the fact that it might be best to sniff them out and see what we have to deal with before declaring war on some onknow army,’ Lord Elrond tried to rationalise.

‘Sniff them out?! I say we put them out of their suffering?!’ Gimli grunted.

‘More like ‘our’ suffering,’ a voice behind Thranduil muttered angrily. A small smile crossed his features at the witty remark.

Losing Kili had changed Thauriel and the king recognised that bitterness. He recognised the yearning. It was like a thirst that could never be quenched. He would give up everything to hold his beloved Eda one last time. But now he was alone, and so was Thauriel. Their conjoined fates make him fond of her, protective even. He had come to see her as a daughter.

‘We have to put a stop to these field trips. They have seen enough of our defences!’ Aragon argued.

‘Well then, let’s catch one and interrogate them,’ Elrond helpfully supplied.

‘Leave the interrogation to me. I enjoy watching their beady eyes glow with pain as I skin them alive,’ with those words the eleven king turned and left the room with a swipe of his robes.

‘Wasn’t that a nice chat. I sure hope these orc scoutings come to an end soon so I don’t have to see his brooding face any time soon,’ Thorin muttered.

Little did they know the scoutings were but a mere distraction...

[zamgoods]

Tuesday July 13th 13.7.2021 7.13.2021 7.13.21 194th day/171 days remain Gibbous Waxing Moon 12% illumination/ 88% Shadow

This is the time of month for growing into the fulfillment of things. Like a new born baby having the prospects of life before it. Great potential. So too for the plans of the planners of Liberty. Shrinking your liberty is growing.

Nice.🤐

Little Liberty, gift from France, just made it to DC from spending the 4th of July on Ellis Island facing her Big Sister and will be at the French Embassy a today for July 14th Bastille day, "French Independence Day."

DC, the Capital of The United States of America. DC also is a hint for something else. In case you didn't guess DC Comics that's good because the connection should be made to Marvel Comics. I'm talking about the 2000 X-Men. Now why am I picking on the mutants? I grew up a fan of reading the comics, cartoons and saw the movie at the theater, yeah that's how old I am.

Guess when X-Men was released... it was released...That's right. Bastille Day. 7.14 or 14.7 the 196th Day of the Leap Election Year. The date is most famously associated with the Storming of the Bastille in Paris, the event which escalated widespread unrest into the French Revolution. Bastille Day remains a day of national celebration in France.

Strangely enough, the political stress in this movie is about passing a law that all mutants have to register with the government. This is reminiscent in the 2016 Captain America Civil War movie where the United Nations asks the Super heroes to register like the political issues with Supers in the Incredibles 1 and 2 being banned.

My focus on XMEN is relating that the setting of the movie being on Ellis Island where the UN and world leaders are congregated aside the Liberty Island, where Magneto has a device in the torch of enlightenment and freedom, he wants to expose the leaders to mutating energies to, so they can become mutants.

He wants the leaders to sympathize with mutant plight by making them brothers. The problem is, he doesn't know his machine will kill them eventually. He tested his device on Senator Kelly who turned to primordial slime and then was liquidated to water. Wicked witch of the West melted in water. Basically died.

Interesting that the new Little Statue of Liberty was just on Ellis Island for 7.4.2021 after leaving France on The Havre ship on Juneteenth (Slave Freedom 6.19 or 19.6) and will spend 10 years in US capital at French Embassy.

Little Liberty is 16 xs smaller. This is nearly golden ratio of phi 1.618 divided by 10. There is a divine connection to this proportion as well as the 10 xs factor. 10 years in DC, USA and 10 times smaller. Bastille day is 10 days after US Independence day/ 4th of July.

Also note that the date of Juneteenth written as 19.6 is the same number as the 169th day of the year for July 14th, Storming of Bastille.

FREEDOMS

Franc is currency for freedom, liberty. These words as discussed in other posts really is for nobility, royal bloodlines. So is the little lib statue represent shrinking freedoms for them. The Goy will regain powers, money, land, property, privilege's.

Who is your favorite superhero?

Storm- Wakandan female powerhouse who manipulates weather.

Wolverine-the animal/man with Adamantium metal grafted on his bones who can restore himself.

Professor Xavier (X)-Mind Controller and tracker and handler of mutant youth.

Magneto-Brotherhood of Mutants leader who is a powerful magnet of metal and survivor of WWII concentration camp. former comrade of Professor X.

Cyclops-Laser radiating eyes.

Gene Gray- Omega level mutant with the power of telepathy and telekinesis. Moves stuff and reads peoples minds with her mind. Doctor.

Rogue-Teenage runaway who absorbs mutant energy and life force from everyone else. She is like a vampire of chi. Like the witches or Dark Crystal sucking children and innocents vitality.

Mystique-Is a shapeshifting missing link fish woman. Mimic/copy.

Beast/Dr. Henry Hank Philip McCoy-strong and agile like an ape.

Who am I to judge who the villain and hero is? What if they are all really 2 sides of one coin. Truth be known, These heroes' abilities are abilities of modern tech, social engineering. This is just a hypersigil for manipulating not only man but nature as well.

The mark of the Beast in Revelations and the mark of Caine on his forehead was a crossed letter. Like a t or plus sign. spin it 90 degrees it's an x. + x.

Time we live in is the fear of this disease mutation people, since the vaccine is a genetic RNA that is hoped to go into our DNA. Called genetic splicing, creating genetically modified humans like they do to our plants, crops, animals. There is talk of cellular signals, which are microwaves that cook our food. Imagine what it does to your head with earbuds and phones on our ears pointing to our brains. Magneto wore a special helmet to protect him form Professor X's mind altering powers.

[autisticdindjarin]

Knights of Mandalore

Chapter One: The Past

Chapter Two | Masterlist

(AO3)

Rating: T Ships: Din Djarin/Female Jedi Knight (Slow Burn) Warnings: None

Summary: The Hero of Tython was never found after her capture at the hands of the Eternal Empire. Millennia passed before she was found by a youngling in need of training and a Mandalorian.

A silence settled across the rocky planes of the inner mind of Tacee de’Val. Time passed as if she were submerged beneath the surface of it. Grasping. Drowning. Ripples moved out in waves of awareness, with the helplessness of not being able to act.

At first, it had been watching the Republic and the Empire fall under the control of the Zakuulan prince. As Prince Arcann had disarmed her and had frozen her in carbonite after his coup, his plans had already been taking root.

Secondly, there had been a war, a bloody war, after an alliance had been formed under the rule of the Empire’s Wrath- a war hero covered in blood but no regrets. 

Tacee had company every so often as Arcann and his sister Vaylin would come, glancing at her carbonite shell with a gleam in their eyes. She could sense the fear in both of them as they wondered whether their father was truly gone for good, forever encased in the carbonite prison Tacee shared with him.

He wasn’t.

The downfall of the Zakuulan monarchy and the Eternal Empire came with the death of too many, and yet freedom for the galaxy. Arcann and Vaylin had died. As for the alliance, it was a high price. That price fed on Tacee’s guilt. If she’d been there, would she have made a difference? If they had found her, could she have saved them?

Instead, she was a trapped bystander.

She remained locked in Arcann’s trophy room, forgotten after Zakuul’s downfall, gathering dust and memories and pain and becoming more and more aware of a sinister presence that lingered within her. The citizens of Zakuul moved on from the Spire- Zakuul City- after the damage caused in the war by their own fleet, and settled elsewhere on the planet. And she was alone. Except for the ghost inside her head.

While her tomb was outwardly quiet, she could not silence the voice in her mind. It was the only company she had other than the other carbonite slabs surrounding her, breaking down over the years.

The voice became stronger as time passed in its stream, first whispers, then mutters, speaking ... screams. 

She wanted to claw at her skull. She wanted him out. She wanted to be free. But Vitiate … Valkorian … was persistent in her torture.

She watched her friends die, Some horribly, some from old age, but it hurt all the same. Years, decades, centuries, millenia floating in this warped nightmare. And everytime something terrible happened, Valkorian made sure she saw it.

There was so much blood, so much destruction, so much hopelessness.

A near thousand years of infighting between Sith factions. Civil war on too many planets. The Republic committing its own atrocities, nearly exterminating an entire species. The war between a brotherhood and an army and a thought bomb that killed both sides in a devastating blow. Two rules.

But there stood good as well.

When Valkorian’s presence thinned and she reached out to see the galaxy for herself, there was not much she could see, but what she did see gave her some small hope.

Children, families of killed Jedi establishing their own Force traditions, from Ossus to Jedha. A medical revolution that would have had Doc on a month long tangent. The presence of the Jedi growing strong in the Republic once again, reforming from what the Eternal Empire had broken. She could imagine Kira’s smile, and Scourge’s slight disdain.

The flow of time was changing, as if she were being further submerged in its depths, drifting helplessly toward the bottom. It still came in starts and fits, but it was unpredictable. It became harder to reach out, and less and less visions came, even from Valkorian. But she saw.

A young woman sold into slavery. The birth of a chosen one. The creation of a clone army full of troopers that even Rusk would approve of, and the separating of the Republic. A revolt against a pacifist leader, with death watching, and a shadow collecting. A padawan lost.

Then, pain. A louder call through the Force than Tacee had experienced in a millenia during her time in her carbonite tomb.

The deaths of nearly all of her fellow Jedi, calling out in the Force and driving her to near madness with the loss of each as silence fell over the galaxy. The night of a thousand tears. A Republic transitioned into an Empire under the rule of a Sith Lord. The death of a star.

But, with each darkness came a light that it was cast from, though the flame may have been small.

The birth of new hope. The organization of an alliance of rebels. Two droids, one reminiscent of Teeseven, who always seemed to be in the center of it all, pushing on fate in small yet critical ways.

While the screams in the Force became louder, it was harder to find optimism. A familiar planet was obliterated not long after as voices cried out in the Force, terror-filled. Tacee had not witnessed such a loss of life since Ziost, and even in her dreams, she shuddered, and withdrew.

When she came back, not as much time had passed as she’d expected, but a lot had occurred between the broken pieces. A change in the darkness. A fulfilled prophecy. And a New Republic birthed from the ashes.

She wished she could reach out. Valkorian often blocked her efforts. She was trapped, and so was he, but Valkorian was crafty, a patient man, and she sensed he waited for the opportune moment, so he could once again continue in his efforts of engulfing her entire universe. She hated him, a hate and disdain that coiled deep in her chest. But he kept them alive. The carbonite helped, certainly, yet a Force shield surrounded her as well, keeping her in stasis, a passive observer, unable to interact or help. It was a nightmare.

Sometimes it would seem like day after day passed. Then she would spurt forwards, her awareness moved to the next century with such a suddenness it gave her whiplash. There were … a lot of holes. Not just in her observation of the galaxy, but in her own mind. Things were becoming fuzzy. She was losing her grip on who she was, and something dark stirred in her chest, trying to take her place.

But there were times when the darkness would retreat, and she could just simply be. Those times were rare. She treasured them.

But when she startled back to awareness this time, it felt more like chaos than peace.

[aswithasunbeam]

A long overdue new chapter!

July 1813

Hamilton exhaled slowly through his nose as he set aside the latest Federalist newspaper in the stack waiting for Madison’s perusal. “The little occupant in the White House with his crippled army,” proclaimed the most prominent headline. Though clearly aimed primarily at Madison, the slight against Hamilton stung. He braced his hand against the wheels of his chair, lost in thought.

“General Hamilton?”

Looking up, saw a gentleman approaching from the direction of the President’s office. His wild hair, bushy brows, and piercing eyes gave him an almost menacing quality. The man thrust out a hand and waited, expressionless. Hamilton met his gaze steadily as he gave the hand a quick shake.

“Daniel Webster, sir. A great honor to meet you.”

Considering the name, Hamilton recalled, “The representative from New Hampshire?” One of the few Federalist victories in the last election. Considering how disastrous their campaigns had gone thus far, he couldn’t believe they hadn’t made more gains.

“That’s right, sir.”

“I appreciated your level-headedness over all the nonsense regarding secession in the North.” Webster inclined his head. “Though I must say your position on wartime taxes leaves something to be desired.”

“I don’t see why the Northerners should be forced to pay for a war that’s already bankrupting them.”

“Bankrupting the country as a whole will surely do little to redress their suffering,” Hamilton said.  

“Respectfully, I disagree. I was sent to represent my constituents, and they expect me to stand up against this shameful excuse for a war. I won’t vote to force them to serve in the army; I won’t vote to raise their taxes; and I won’t vote to impose embargoes that will further injure their businesses. That’s the promise I made to them.” Webster glanced back over his shoulder towards the President’s office. “As I told the President, he’ll find no relief from my prescriptions.”1

Hamilton sighed even as he forced a smile to end the meeting. “Well, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Webster.”

As Webster started down the hall, Hamilton pushed himself towards Madison’s now open office door. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, however, Mrs. Madison stepped in front of his path. She looked harried and exhausted, her hair lank and her fine gown a touch looser than usual.

“I’m sorry, General Hamilton, but he’s in no state to see anyone else,” she said.

“Let him in, Dolley,” Jemmy croaked from within the office.

Mrs. Madison turned her hard stare back to the interior of the office. Hamilton craned his neck slightly to see Jemmy lying listless on a settee, still dressed in his nightclothes, complete with his cap despite the blazing temperature outside. The raging bilious fever had taken a stark toll on Jemmy’s already feeble frame.

“It’s bad enough that awful man demanding to see you, James. I can’t—”

“Let him in.” Jemmy’s hand twitched in invitation.

Mrs. Madison reluctantly stepped aside and tapped the door closed when Hamilton had entered, though he noted that she’d remained in the office with them.

“You’re looking better, Jemmy,” Hamilton said as he stopped before the settee.

“Liar.” Jemmy smiled slightly. “What’s happened now? Not good news from Montreal, I suppose?”

“No. Last I heard, Hampton and Burr are both refusing to follow orders from Wilkinson. I can’t say that I blame them.”

“Wilkinson outranks them both.”

“Burr ought to be in charge. He turned a rout at Queenstown Heights into a near victory. He’s the best suited for command.”

“He’d barely made any progress after Queenstown,” Jemmy said dismissively.

“You know, Congress tried to remove Washington several times because he wasn’t making enough progress, in their view.”

“Are you trying to compare Burr with Washington?”

“I’m saying political timetables and effective military command don’t often mix well. And I don’t trust Wilkinson an inch.”

“He warned us about Burr’s treachery,” Jemmy argued, adjusting slightly to sit up more against the pillows piled behind him, his arm moving to guard his stomach.

“You don’t find that suspicious? That Wilkinson had so much information?”

“You’re the one who said Burr was innocent.”

“A court of law said that,” Hamilton corrected. Jemmy snorted derisively. “And Burr’s innocence doesn’t clear Wilkinson.”

Jemmy looked at him steadily, unmoved.

Shaking his head slightly, Hamilton said, “Wilkinson isn’t what I’m here to talk to you about, anyways. I’ve been getting more intelligence about Admiral Cockburn’s movements in the Chesapeake.”

“Is he still attempting to capture me and send me to London as a war prize?” Jemmy leaned his head back against his pillows as he clutched his belly through what appeared to be a cramp. “I’d make a sorry prize for them as I am now, I’m afraid.”

“You shouldn’t be so dismissive. Almost the entirety of our army is in Canada. If the British invade in the mid-Atlantic, they’d have their run of New York, Baltimore, even Washington.”

“What do you want to do about it?”

“Bring Burr or Hampton down with at least two battalions. Fortify the capital.”

“No.”

Hamilton sat back, stunned at the immediate and vehement refusal. “No?”

“We need to take Montreal. The Canadians will ally with us if we just make a strong enough showing against the British.”

“I very much doubt that, Mr. President.”

Jemmy’s eyes flashed. “We’re fighting for their freedom as much as ours. They’ll see that. They’ll join us.”

“I imagine it doesn’t feel much like fighting for their freedom when they’re being compelled to join us as gunpoint, Jemmy.”

“We’re not moving troops away from Montreal.”

Pausing a moment, Hamilton suggested, “I did have another idea.”

“What?”

“Cockburn is freeing enslaved men and women along the coast and arming them against us. If we were to remove the enticement by offering a similar arrangement with our army, we could build our numbers in the mid-Atlantic and the South without requiring any of our troops be moved from the Northern theater.”

Jemmy sat up fully, jaw gaping. “You can’t be serious.”

The astonishment was expected. Jack’s plan during the Revolution to give Black men the chance to fight for their freedom had been met with much the same reaction. The moment he’d heard about Cockburn’s strategy to free and arm enslaved men against the American army, Hamilton had known what the best solution to counter the British would be. He’d also known that the South would rather surrender to British rule than risk their despicable institution.

“I’m perfectly serious,” Hamilton said calmly.

“You want to arm slaves?”

“They’re going to fight either way. I’d rather they fight with us than against us.”

“The South would revolt! This is no time for your radical Northern…abolitionism.” The final word was uttered as if it were a curse, though Hamilton would consider his proposal neither radical, nor truly abolitionism.  

“So, you would let prejudice and private interest outweigh the common good? Outweigh the safety of our capital city, even?”

“It’s not an option, Hamilton.”

He felt his pulse speeding up, even having known Madison would never entertain the suggestion. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Avarice has fitted our Southern brethren for the chain, so long as that chain be a golden one.”2

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Hamilton huffed an unamused laugh. “It may not seem so dramatic when British troops are marching down Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Washington surely won’t be a target. There are far more attractive cities. And besides, we’re sending emissaries to initiate peace talks. We may see an end to the war before any such drastic measures would even need to be contemplated.”

“If you say so, Mr. President.”

“Was there anything else?” Jemmy’s voice had gone faint, and he was breathing hard as he sank back deep into his pillows.

Mrs. Madison stepped forward, placing herself between Hamilton and Jemmy. “I think that’s quite enough for today. General.”

Hamilton nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Madison.”

Before he left the office, Mrs. Madison called out after him, “Give my love to Mrs. Hamilton, General, if you will?”

“Of course,” he agreed.

As he made his way down the hall, he found himself wishing desperately for Jack in a way he hadn’t in years. Jack had been young and idealistic, a Southern gentleman capable of making his plan a reality despite all that stood against him. Even when Jack had been alive, Hamilton didn’t have the same stubborn belief in America’s better angels necessary to see such a plan to fruition.

As he was assisted into the coach to head home, he felt utterly defeated.

**

The report he needed had been pushed accidentally to the far end of the desk. A quick glance told him his chair couldn’t be maneuvered into the tight space at the edges to allow him to reach. He could call for an aid, of course, or Betsey, but the sting of Jemmy’s immediate rejections, of his inability to sway his own party, of the mocking headlines, were all far too fresh.

His arms trembled as he pushed himself up from his chair, all his weight on the table. Sweat beaded on his brow. His legs were limp beneath him. Transferring his weight onto one hand, he reached out towards the report, muscles shaking.

“Alexander!”

He nearly fell, only just catching himself, his hip banging into the side of the table as he re-adjusted his weight onto both hands.

Betsey was at his side in a moment, her hands sliding around his waist to brace him. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting a report,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll get it. Sit back down,” she urged.

“I’m not helpless!”

She didn’t recoil at his shouting. Her expression was soft as she soothed a hand down his spine. “I know that, sweetheart. I know.”

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his temper.

He felt her lean closer, her nose brushing his cheek tenderly.

“I’d nearly forgotten how tall you are,” she whispered. He opened his eyes and looked down at her face. His trembling arms gave way, and he fell back hard into his chair with a soft curse.

“Which report did you need?” Eliza asked. She looked away as he adjusted himself, allowing him to preserve at least some of his dignity.

“The Quartermaster’s report, please,” he asked, forcing his legs back into place. He rubbed a hand over his temple, a headache banging against his temples.

The sound of a chair dragging across the wooden floor drew his attention. Eliza settled in beside him, the report he’d requested now resting on the tabletop before him. Her hand rested on his forearm, her face open.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Hamilton admitted softly.

“Do you ever?”

He laughed. “Perhaps not.”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Madison won’t listen to me. Not about who to trust in command. Not about where to put our troops. And then, like a glutton for punishment, I raised the idea of offering freedom to the enslaved population to help defend the capitol and the Southern states.”

“Like Jack tried to do.”

It wasn’t a question, but he nodded. “Like Jack. Madison didn’t even consider it. He’s convinced the British won’t attack Washington.”

“It’s the capital,” she said, skepticism written in her expression. “Why wouldn’t it be a target?”

Hamilton shrugged. “He’s obsessed with the Northern theater. I just, I don’t know why I’m even here. What good am I doing? Giving endless advice that no one follows?”

“What do you want to be doing?”

“Something…meaningful.”

“You want to go north.” Again, she didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Not to the front. But…yes. I want to be on the field. I want to try to help in a way that will matter more than pushing paper around on my desk.” He waved to his overburdened table in disgust. “I need to feel like it matters that I’m here.”

She sighed. “Then we’ll go north.”

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Choice

(Hayffie pregnancy. 6 years after the Revolution.)

Effie sat at the vanity in her Capitol apartment. The tabletop was neatly stacked with cases of makeup and bottles of polish, lotions, and perfumes. Nearly everything was in its proper place. She slid her fingers along the mahogany surface and paused on the one item that didn’t belong there; a plastic container which held two pills, the first to help her cervix open and the second to help her uterus contract. “Help,” the doctor had said to simplify the science, but the word felt as out of place as plastic on glossy wood.

She looked up at the mirror. Her face was bare and her hair natural. It was difficult to look at herself with imperfections glaring back. 38 years of smiles, genuine and false, had brought lines to her cheeks and to the corners of her eyes. The creases stayed now, even when she wasn’t forcing a smile. The illusion of agelessness was becoming harder for her to effect.

“Pregnant?? You MUST be mistaken. It’s just a stomach flu.” she had said to the doctor with incredulity and indignation, “I simply can’t be pregnant. I’m too... old.” She held the thought but left it unspoken.

“There’s no mistake, Ma’am.”

The “Ma’am” comment didn’t help matters. She’d glared at him in annoyance.

“Would you like to see a scan and hear the heartbeat?” he asked.

Effie was stunned. “There’s a heartbeat?”

“We should be able to hear it with a vaginal ultrasound. Without one, it will be difficult to assess the gestational age since you’ve been on continuous hormones to prevent ovulation and menstruation for...” The doctor glanced at Effie’s chart. “...Many years.”

“Prevent ovulation... Hah! That’s a laugh.”

“Hormonal birth control is 99% effective when used correctly.”

“Well, OF COURSE I used it correctly!”

“I’m not implying otherwise, Mrs... “The doctor glanced at her chart again. “...Trinket. Even with flawless use there’s still a 1% chance of pregnancy. And, well, here you are.”

Apparently the odds were not in Effie’s favor. She considered the irony and clung to the possibility of a false positive.

“It’s MS. Trinket! And YES I need to see a scan.”

The ultrasound was quick, and moments later Effie was listening to a heartbeat and looking at an image of what appeared to be a microscopic teddy bear, only without ears yet.

“That’s human?”

The doctor stifled a chuckle. “Indeed, Ms. Trinket, your baby is human.”

“My... baby?”

“And in perfect development for 9 weeks gestation.”

“9 weeks?”

Oh, my God... Haymitch.

“And perfect,” the doctor said that word again.

“This is NOT perfect. This situation is not even remotely perfect! I did not intend for this to happen.”

“I understand,” the doctor sympathized, “Would you like for me to explain your options?”

“Yes. Please... Can’t someone else VOLUNTEER for this?” Effie focused on not hyperventilating as the doctor described medications and procedures used for abortion. He also described the course of pregnancy if she chose to not terminate.

In the end, Effie carried the pills home in that plastic container. She also took a digital copy of the ultrasound. Though she wasn’t sure why, because the thrumming of that tiny heartbeat would probably be stuck in her mind forever.

The vanity mirror and the birth control had been tricksters. Effie felt like a fool. An imperfect fool... with a perfect “baby” inside her. Of course any baby she conceived WOULD be perfect. “Nothing but the best for my girl,” she recalled her mother’s oft-spoken words.

Would this baby be a girl too if she let it happen? Or would it be a boy?

Effie stared at the pills, then stared again at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t see a baby. She couldn’t feel anything inside her. She felt alone.

She sent Haymitch a message. “I need to see you. Can I come tomorrow? — E”

He sent a teasing response later that evening. “It would be my pleasure to make you come tomorrow. — H”

Effie couldn’t help but smile, before she started to cry.

***

Six years had passed since the Revolution, and Haymitch considered himself at this point to be a fairly functional alcoholic. One of the ways he stayed functional was to work. His expertise in strategy made him a sought after consultant by both government and businesses in the Republic. But he rejected offers at that life. He decided instead to raise geese.

“A goose farmer?” Effie had laughed years ago at his plans, thinking he was joking about a brand of liquor that was popular in the Capitol. “Yeah, right, I’m sure you’ll be *farming* that *Goose* day and night.”

“Nice try, Sweetheart. But I’m not joking. My mother raised geese. She turned a decent profit on their eggs and meat. Not enough to keep from having to put my name in extra times each year at the reaping, but enough to survive awhile.”

“I didn’t know.” Effie had developed a habit of laying her hand on his chest and stroking the hollow between his collarbones as an offering of tenderness whenever she pitied him. Haymitch hated to be pitied, but he let her do it because the way she did it felt so good.

“Now you know.” He pulled away slowly. Feeling good with her, with anyone, for too long was dangerous. “Some eggs hatched last week. The goslings are still in the incubator. Do you want to see?”

“They’re inside your HOUSE?!”

“For now,” he chuckled, taking her hand and leading her to another room. On a table was a heat lamp glowing red above a slotted crate filled with the chatter of baby geese.”

“I declare! Haymitch Abernathy is a goose farmer. I never imagined myself saying those words.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not a total career change; I’m still a drunk too.” He winked at her, then lifted the lid off the crate.

The goslings still had their downy plumage. They were balls of fluff, and Effie’s eyes lit up like a little girl. The light came from inside her, much deeper than her gold mascara.

“Do you want to hold one?”

“Hold one!? Goodness, no. I have no idea how to do that. I’d probably squeeze the poor thing to death.” She watched Haymitch pick up a gosling and cradle it in his palm. Those hands were lethal in The Games because they had to be. Those hands clutched a knife in sleep. And those hands had such capacity for gentleness. She knew.

“Hold out your hands; you’ll be alright.”

She hesitated.

“Honey, I know how soft your hands are. Trust me; you’ll be alright.”

Effie cupped her hands like a chalice. She squealed a bit as he placed the gosling into her palms.

“Shhh,” he said to soothe them.

“Ohhhh, it’s feet are walking on me!” Effie fussed.

“It’s just a baby, Sweetheart. It’s not going anywhere. You’re alright. You’ll be alright.”

“It tickles,” Effie giggled, natural like a girl again, discovering pleasure in something new. “It’s soft.” She looked at Haymitch. Then back to the gosling she said, “Hello, you.”

Haymitch watched her with amused enchantment. In the months since the Revolution, her appearance had become less clown-like and more authentically her. He was still figuring out who that was, and he guessed she was still figuring herself out too.

“Take it!” she hollered suddenly, “It just defecated in my hand. Take this thing!”

Haymitch laughed as he put the gosling back with the others, and Effie ran to the bathroom. He closed the crate and followed her.

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I feel defiled. This sink is not enough. I need a bath.”

He held her hips from behind, looking at her in the mirror. “You don’t look defiled, not yet. I love this shirt and skirt thing you’te wearing.” He slipped his thumbs under the hem of her blouse, caressing her skin in circles. “I need a bath too. Do you want company?”

She turned around to face him. She might be squeamish about baby things, but Haymitch she could handle. She slid her arms around his waist and untucked the back of his shirt . “Well, I didn’t ride all this way for nothing.”

***

The other way Haymitch stayed functional as an alcoholic was to walk. He walked a lot. The fences that surrounded District 12 for the first 42 years of his life had been cleared away with the rubble during the years of reconstruction. The forest was wide open, and he spent a lot of time in it, just moving. Katniss had warned him years ago to step loudly.

“After everything we’ve been through, I’d hate to mistake you for a deer and shoot you. You probably wouldn’t taste very good.”

“I’m definitely not dear, Sweetheart,” he’d retorted, “Don’t mistake me for that.”

She paused. “Yes, you are. And I’m not the only one who knows it.”

So Haymitch stepped loudly today as usual. As he walked, he wondered about Effie’s message, short and urgent. If she needed a quick fuck, surely she could have gotten that from somebody else without having to ride across the country. Most of the time that’s not how it was with them anyway. Not anymore. Sex between them was loaded with feeling. Way too much feeling for his comfort, but it was too good with her to just stop. He hadn’t been with anyone besides Effie in at least a year. Work, walking, and drinking filled his days and nights. When he wanted more, he took the train to see her, and he never turned her down when she asked to visit.

A couple of months had passed since his last trip to the Capitol. He wouldn’t acknowledge how he missed her and how it felt to receive her message. Last night he dulled the feelings with Scotch. Today he walked and watched the sun move across the sky. The train was scheduled to arrive this evening. Alone in the woods he pretended to not be counting the hours.

***

The monotony of a train ride which she’d taken countless times gave Effie too much space in which to consider and reconsider whether she should have even gotten on the train. Running to the bathroom to throw up during the first few hours of the trip certainly didn’t make anything easier.

She had messaged Haymitch yesterday on inmpulse, in shock really. In the stillness now, reality was sinking in. What would it serve to tell him that she was... pregnant. She could barely think the word. How would she say it out loud? Besides, she was reasonably content with the way things were, and this could screw up everything, not just with Haymitch, who’d grown on her in ways she didn’t understand. But EVERYTHING.

Her glory days as a true fashion icon and escort had died with The Games. But she was still Effie Trinket! She picked herself up and adapted. She fashioned a career within the Republic’s efforts to promote democracy and to honor the fallen. I organize marketing and tours for the entire Memorial Complex for goodness sake! The place would fall apart without me. Effie hadn’t NEEDED anyone for a long time, maybe ever. She couldn’t understand why she suddenly felt alone and vulnerable.

I’ll get over it. Maybe I’ll just get over it. But what if I don’t get over it? Get over WHAT even? Oh, why didn’t the universe just stick to the cards! I had written them out exactly how I wanted my life to be.

She didn’t know.

Somewhere in the stillness, ethics got the best of her or came from the best of her. Haymitch should know about the pregnancy, not just because she felt alone and vulnerable, but because telling him was the right thing to do, regardless of any other decisions she would make and regardless of the consequences.

***

Haymitch sat on his porch beside a purple umbrella. A smile crept over his face as he touched the lace fringe. One gust of wind would destroy the thing, but Effie always prioritized style over function. She probably even had a back-up in her suitcase. She may be impractical but definitely not stupid.

He kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks. Picking out the stickers could wait; he wanted to see her. The door was unlocked; she’d found the spare key. He changed its hiding place periodically. Unfortunately if he moved it when he was drunk, then finding it when he sobered up was sometimes a challenge. Fortunately he didn’t have many hiding spots, nor did he have much inside his house worth stealing. He just felt safer with the doors and windows locked. Not that much safer, but enough to get some sleep occasionally.

Inside he took his coat off and dropped it on the floor.

“I’m in the dining room, Haymitch,” she called out, knowing that surprising him in his house could be dangerous. The one surprise she had for him already felt dangerous enough. “The train arrived early, so I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.”

Haymitch peered around the corner of the nook she called “the dining room.” Effie sat at the table with a glass of Scotch in front of her. A silk scarf which matched her umbrella draped loosely over her head, wrapped once around her neck, and the fringe hung in front just above her breasts. Her blonde hair peeked out from beneath. Her makeup was light, almost nonexistent. Her dress hugged her curves without flamboyance

She was hiding. This understated appearance was Effie’s way of hiding.

He didn’t know why she was hiding, but he wasn’t complaining. He loved her like this.

“This is ‘the drinking room,’ Sweetheart, and I see you’re off to an early start.”

As he crossed the room, she stood up and stepped into his embrace. He smelled of pine trees, crushed mint, and sweat. He was damp and dusty and probably ruining her clothes, but she didn’t care. Not today. Today she leaned into it all, because what if this was the last time she’d have the chance?

He pulled back just enough to unwrap her scarf and drape it across the back of her chair. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good” is such a short word, she murmured, closing the distance he’d created.

“I have longer options for you,” he whispered into the corner of her mouth.

“Then kiss me. For as long as you want. Just once, without holding back.”

Her breath was cinnamon. It had been weeks since he’d tasted her.. Something was up, but he’d figure it out later.

“Just one kiss?”

“For now.”

“Okay. I won’t hold back if you won’t eith....” He didn’t get to finish that last word before she started the game.

Time moved with the speed of their mouths, slowly at first and then quickening. She slipped her hands under his shirt and her fingers played over the muscles along his sides. Through the past few years he’d become stronger with work. She delighted in his body, but wouldn’t admit it.

“Cheater,” he muttered without breaking their kiss. Her dress was too form-fitting to lift, so he held her waist and caressed her through the fabric. His thumbs traced her ribcage and settled on her stomach, jolting her back to reality.

“Haymitch, wait,” she ended the kiss, trying to find her breath.

“What’s going on, Sweetheart?” He said the endearment without any sarcasm. “How about we sit down, and you tell me, okay? Can you do that?”

Effie nodded, slumping into her chair. He pulled up a chair too and sat close enough to touch her. He just wasn’t sure if she wanted him to touch her. So he waited.

She pushed the glass of Scotch toward him. “I poured this for YOU. Let’s start with this.”

He swallowed the liquor in one gulp, wary.

“You’ll need another.” She poured him a second glass, which he drank as quickly as the first.

“If you want to get me drunk you should just hand me the bottle.”

“I don’t want you drunk, just prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

She reached into the bag beside her chair, pulled out a disc and slid it along the same path as the Scotch.

“What’s this?”

“Just watch it.”

“Now?”

She nodded.

Haymitch reached behind him and plugged it into the nearest viewer.

The microscopic teddy bear without ears filled the screen. The tiny heartbeat filled the room.

“Jesus, Effie. What is this?” he asked again, already knowing and not yet believing.”

“It’s an ultrasound... It’s... my ultrasound.” She whispered ‘my.’

“When?”

“Yesterday. Well, 9 weeks ago. I mean, the ultrasound was yesterday. But 9 weeks ago...”

Haymitch did the math.

“How did this happen?”

“Isn’t it a little late for the HOW talk? One of my eggs and one of your sperm had a party and made... that.”

“Mine? Are you sure?”

Effie started to simmer. “OF COURSE I’m sure!”

“How can you be sure?”

“I haven’t had sex with anyone besides you in over a year, Haymitch!”

His jaw dropped, and she immediately softened. She hadn’t meant for that reality to slip out. It said too much about her feelings. It revealed depths of her that she didn’t intend.

He reached for the bottle of Scotch, and poured himself a third glass. “Do you want one?”

“A baby?”

“I was going to say a glass of liquor, but let’s go with your question first.”

He looked right at her eyes, right into and through her. He hadn’t walked away from her, not yet.

“A baby?” she wondered, “In THIS world? Who in their right mind would want to have a baby after so much horror?”

“I’m not asking about *anybody in their right mind.* I’m asking about YOU, Sweetheart.” The endearment was soft again.

“That’s NOT funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny. ...I just notice you’re not drinking.”

Effie reached into her bag again and pulled out the plastic container. “One pill for my cervix to open. Then one the next day for my uterus to contract.”

“You haven’t taken them.”

She shook her head ‘no’.

“Why not?”

The tiny heartbeat kept echoing through the room. Neither of them reached to turn off the viewer.

Effie closed her eyes. “Because of THAT. Because that could become a baby... my baby... our baby. It’s a lot to think about. It could change everything. Even not having it could change everything.”

When she opened her eyes, his were still on her. “It’s been at least a year since I’ve had sex with anyone but you, Honey. Something’s changed already.”

She didn’t expect that response. Everything felt wide open, like her organs might fall out, or maybe it was that thing some people call a soul. He was close enough to touch, but she didn’t touch him.

“When I didn’t care about anyone, it was hard enough. But now...”

“Now what?”

“Now I never stop being scared.” He said it. He’d never said it before.

She caressed his shirt sleeve. “I’m scared too.”

“You’re alright. You’re going to be alright.” He covered her hand with his.

She wanted to ask him the same question that he had asked her, Do YOU want a baby?

She was afraid that his answer would be ‘yes.’ And she was afraid that his answer would be ‘no.’

Mostly she was afraid of her own answer, the one she hadn’t yet spoken.

[impressivepress]

What Charlie Chaplin Got Right About Satirizing Hitler

The Great Dictator—Charlie Chaplin’s masterful satire of Adolf Hitler—began filming in September 1939, right at the start of World War II. By the time it was released in 1940, the Axis had been formed, and Nazis were already occupying much of France.

The threat was not at all abstract: critic Michael Wood notes that the movie premiered that December, in London, amid German air raids. The following December, of 1941, would yield its own devastating threats from the air—this time on American soil, which would clarify for Americans the realness of this war by bringing it home.

It was, in other words, a strange moment to be making a comedy about Adolf Hitler—even a satire holding him to account, and even one in which Chaplin himself, who was at that point one of the most famous movie stars in the world, famous for playing the ambling, lovable Little Tramp, took on the role of Hitler. In 1940, Germany and the US had yet to become enemies; feathers, it was worried, would be ruffled by a movie like this. But Chaplin was already unwittingly bound up in the era’s iconographies of evil. His likeness, the Little Tramp, with that curt mustache and oddly compact face of his, had already become a visual reference for cartoonists lampooning Hitler in the press. And he was already on the Nazis’ radar: the 1934 Nazi volume The Jews Are Looking At You referred to him as "a disgusting Jewish acrobat." Chaplin wasn’t Jewish. But he was frequently rumored to be. And when he visited Berlin in 1931, he was mobbed by German fans, proving that his popularity could surpass even the growing ideological boundaries of a nascent Nazi Germany—hence their hatred.

Chaplin was aware of all of this—and of the fact that he and Hitler were born only four days apart, in April of 1889, that they had both risen out of poverty, and that they had enough points of biographical comparison, overall, to spook any sane person. Let’s not overstate their similarities: One of these men would go on to make the world laugh, and the other would go on to start a world war and facilitate the Holocaust. Humorously, that split would come to be echoed in The Great Dictator. Chaplin does double duty, playing the movie's two central roles. One, the character of Adenoid Hynkel, is a Hitler spoof by way of a short-tempered and preposterously powerful personality, a dictator of the fictional country Tomainia. And in the opposing corner, Chaplin offers us a variation on his classic Little Tramp, a Jewish barber who saves a high-ranking officer’s life in World War I and, after a plane accident and years of recovery in the hospital, wakes up to the seeds of World War II being sewn in his country.

The Great Dictator is a classic for a reason. It's startling in its depictions of violence, which stand out less for their outright brutality than for how memorably they depict the Nazis’ betrayal of everyday humanity. And it's renowned as well as for its resourceful and original humor, which combines Chaplin at his most incisive and balletic with raucous displays of verbal wit. This was Chaplin’s first sound film; his previous feature, the 1936 masterpiece Modern Times, was by the time of its release considered almost anachronistic for being a silent film in a sound era. Dictator avails itself of this technological progress, making perhaps its most successful bit out of the way Hitler speaks, the melange of rough sounds and brutish insinuations that have long made footage from his rallies as fascinating as they are frightening.

The Great Dictator understands Hitler as a performer, as an orator wielding language like the unifying, galvanizing power that it is. But it also understands him as a psyche. This of course means it’s full of what feel like sophomoric jokes, gags in which Hitler’s insecurities, his thirst for influence, his ideological inconsistencies (an Aryan revolution led by a brunette?) and zealous dependency on loyalty come under fire. It isn’t a psychological portrait, but nor is it so simple as a funhouse treatment of the coming war, all punchline and distortion.

It’s all a bit richer than that, which might be why The Great Dictator is on my mind this week, as we greet the release of Taiki Waititi’sJojo Rabbit, a movie in which Waititi himself plays Adolf Hitler, not quite in the flesh, but rather as imagined by a little Nazi boy who’s fashioned him into an imaginary friend. I’m not crazy about Waititi’s movie, which is less a satire than a vehicle for unchallenged moral goodness in the face of only barely-confronted evil. But it does, like Chaplin’s film, nosedive into the same problems of representation and comedy that have plagued movies since early in Hitler’s reign. Should we satirize genocidal maniacs? Can we laugh at that? And if so, can the line we usually toe between comedic pleasure and moral outrage—a mix that comes easily to comedy, in the best of cases—withstand something so inconceivable a mass atrocity?

That Chaplin’s movie succeeds where Waititi’s fails is a fair enough point, but comparing most comedians’ work to Chaplin’s more often than not results in an unfair fight. What matters are the things we can all still learn from Chaplin’s work, down to the fact that it so completely and unabashedly honors and toys with the public’s sense of who he is. This wouldn’t be nearly as interesting a movie if the Jewish barber hadn’t so readily recalled the Little Tramp. But because of this familiarity, The Great Dictator feels much the way movies like Modern Times did: like a story about the travails of an every-man who’s suddenly, with no preparation, launched headlong into machinery too great, too complex, too utterly beyond him, for it not to result in comic hi-jinks.

That’s the how barber’s first scenes out of the hospital, as beautifully staged and timed by Chaplin, feel: like watching the Little Tramp turn a corner and walk, completely unaware, into a world war. He sees "Jew" written on his barbershop, for example, but because he’s an amnesiac just released from the hospital, he has no idea why it’s there, and starts to wash it away. This is illegal, of course, and when the Nazis try to tell them so, he, thinking they’re run-of-the-mill brutish anti-Semites, douses them with paint and runs away. Much of the humor, at least in the clearly-marked "Ghetto," where the Barber lives, plays out this way: a terrifying game of comic irony in which what the Barber doesn’t know both empowers and threatens to kill him.

The Hitler scenes, by contrast, are a ballet—at times almost literally—of alliances and petty tasks. The highlight must of course be a scene of Hitler alone, having just renewed his faith in his plan to take over the world, dancing with an inflated globe of the planet, bouncing it off his bum, posing like a pin-up on his desk as the globe floats airlessly skyward. You can’t help but laugh. But that laughter doesn’t mute the brooding danger of it. You see the globe, the ease with which he lifts it up, manipulates it, makes a game of it, and realize that this is precisely what a dictator wants. It's a guileless and child-like vision, from his perspective, of his own power.

The Great Dictator’s famous climax finds these two men merging, somewhat, into one. It’s a rousing speech ostensibly delivered by the Jewish barber, who (for reasons best left to the movie to explain) has been confused for Hynkel by the Nazis and is called upon to speak to the masses. And then he opens his mouth—and the man that emerges is Chaplin himself, creeping beyond the boundaries of character, satire, or even the artificial construct of a "movie," as such.

The speech makes a case for humanity in the face of grave evil. "We think too much and feel too little," Chaplin says. "More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness." You’ll recognize this theme—"more than machinery we need humanity"—throughout Chaplin’s work, and it rings especially true here. Chaplin emerges, fully human, as himself, breaking free of the film’s satirical trappings, to deliver one from the heart.

It’s a scene that plays well on its own, as a standalone speech. For a long while, it was hard to find a version online that hadn’t been modified with dramatic "movie speech" music by way of Hans Zimmer. Youtube comments imply a recent upswing in activity, of people finding the speech anew in the Trump era, and that makes sense. But the scene plays even more strangely, more powerfully, in context, where it’s less easily lent to meme-able political messaging, where it has to brush up against everything else in the movie that’s come before.

It’s startling, frankly. The Great Dictator’s tone to this point never feels so earnest. How could it, what with its balletic Hitler and its foreign dictatorships with names like Bacteria. From the vantage of 1940, Chaplin couldn’t quite see where the war would take us, and it remains the case that some of the film plays oddly—but all the more insightfully for it—today. What’s clear from its final moments, to say nothing of much of the rest, is the power in this tension. Insofar as it can sense but not see the future, you could say that The Great Dictator is a film made in a cloud of relative ignorance. Yet look at how much it says, how far it goes. It makes it hard to make excuses for films made since, which often have the benefit of hindsight yet little of substance to say about what they see in the rear view. We know more, much more, about Hitler today than we did in 1940. Why should we let anyone get away with saying less?

~

K. Austin Collins · October 18, 2019.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Too Good To Be True (part one)

A/N: Alright. Here we go. Part one. This series is a continuation of the 3-part Christmas story It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like... so if you haven’t read that you’ll be missing some backstory here. (there’s also an intro to this series that acts like a bridge between them. this is roughly 4 months after Christmas.) Both you and Benjamin find success in your respective careers, you’re thriving in your relationship, and you’re happier than you’ve ever been. Sounds good, right? 

Word Count: 3,492

Warnings: SO MUCH NERD STUFF. (and this is just the beginning) 

“Benjamin, hi it’s me.” You couldn’t keep the smile from your face, and you could hear the way it curved around his name as you greeted his answering machine. He was out of the country, in Sarajevo for a History Conference on WWI with Dr. Kesting. You knew you wouldn’t get through to him when you dialed his number, but you were too excited to wait for him to get back to his hotel room. You were too excited to even make it to your car, floating down Bloomsbury street like it was paved with clouds, one hand in your pocket and the other holding your phone to your ear. “I have really, really great news and I just,” you shook your head, a bubbly little laugh that didn’t sound at all like yours interrupting your words. “I just can’t wait to tell you about it.” 

I can’t. There were at least 5 people that you could think of off hand that would be free to take your call and hear your news. Mom, Ollie, Beth, Milo, Helene... But there was only one person who you couldn’t wait to give it to. With Benjamin, your triumphs were his and his were yours, and they never felt fully celebrated until they were shared. It had been the same when he had come home from a meeting with Kesting, overflowing with excitement over the invite to join him on the panel. When you heard his key in the lock followed by the door swinging closed behind him, you’d called out to him from the kitchen only to be met with his arms circling your waist to pull you away from the sink full of dishes you were washing. 

“I’m going.” He tried to speak low and into your ear, but the excitement in his voice wouldn’t let him, wavering and becoming louder than he meant to be. You turned in his arms, soaked to your elbows in warm soapy water, slopping puddles onto the floor and dampening his clothes. But he didn’t care and neither did you. “The panel. For the conference in Sarajevo next month? It’s Kesting and one other professor from the department, but they needed a third and,” you watched as his cheeks fought the inevitable smile, your sudsy hands landing on his shoulder and hip. “Well, they...they picked me. They picked me to help present their research and I-” 

You did him the merciful kindness of cutting him off with a kiss, one that he eagerly responded to, laughing against your lips as they pulled away. “Of course they picked you, Benjamin,” you said, flexing the fingers around his shoulder and leaving dark wet spots behind. “Who else knows that paper in and out and upside down like you do?” You shook your head, biting your bottom lip as a grin took over your face. “No one,” you slid the hand on his hip around to his back, pressing him closer, “that’s who.” 

His nose wrinkled up as he smiled, lips twitching before widening. Nodding, his eyebrows flew up, nutty brown eyes growing round. “I’m nervous,” he laughed tentatively as his palms fell to the small of your back, “but I’m excited and I,” he sighed, smile still plastered on as he leaned in, beard brushing your cheek, kissing it before continuing. “I couldn’t wait to tell you.” 

You imagined the way his mouth would drop open, the creasing near the corners of his eyes as his cheeks pulled up into them when you finally got to tell him, and it stole another laugh from your heart. He’s going to be so proud. “Anyway, I hope the presentation’s going well. Call me when you get a chance.” You stopped at the crosswalk, the early spring breeze hitting your face and dancing through your hair. “Miss you, Benjamin. I love you.” You did miss him, but not in that can’t go on without you way, that suffocating loss of the other person from your space. You didn’t miss him because his absence hurt you. You missed him because his presence made everything better, and the difference was huge. You missed him because you wanted to be there to take part in his achievement, and because you wanted him there to celebrate yours. Two more days. You said goodbye to his mailbox and hung up, tucking your phone into your bag just as the walk signal flashed. Two more days, B. 

You continued on down the sidewalk on your way to the car park. Crossing Great Russell Street, you couldn’t help but glance down the road even though you were unable to see the entrance to the massive building where you’d soon be working. Doesn’t feel real yet. You’d only just left your office after learning about your new contract, and the weight of it had yet to sink in. As accomplished and successful in your career as you’d become, you were still blown away by this recent development. I’ve wanted to do work for them since… Since you’d first visited when you were 8 years old and learned that art preservation and restoration was a viable career path. You knew that you were able to do the job, had confidence in your ability and skill level, but that didn’t change the fact that the whole thing  felt surreal. Shaking your head for what must have been the twentieth time that morning, you tore your eyes away from the unseen structure and forced yourself to keep walking to your car. I’ll be there every day for three weeks, it will feel real then. 

The drive home had gone much more quickly than it usually did, and you’d spent it by calling the five other people on the need to know list using the bluetooth speaker. Ollie had found a way to tease you while simultaneously congratulating you, as was his way. Beth and your mother had had similar reactions, though Beth’s vocabulary was far more colorful. “Of course they bloody chose you, they’d be dumb fuckers not to!” Your good friend Milo had of course been thrilled, sharing his own news of a new contract, and Helene, from whom you’d learned nearly everything you knew, had told you that she was proud of you, and that she couldn’t wait to see the exhibit once you were finished bringing it back to life. By the time you pulled into your driveway that afternoon, you were beaming again, cheeks aching from how happy you were. 

You busied yourself with some Spring cleaning chores around the house- popping the screens from your windows and cleaning them, switching out heavy linens in the bedrooms for lighter blankets, and vacuuming vents and grates. You tried your hardest not to watch the clock as you worked so that you wouldn’t be focused on how soon you might hear from Benjamin, but you caught yourself checking the time at least twice. All kettles boil eventually, but watching them doesn’t help. You heard your mother’s voice in your head and rolled your eyes at yourself even as you mentally agreed with her, and decided to move into the garage- there were no clocks in there- to move the terracotta flower pots to the front door and back patio. Almost time to plant, have to stop at Penny’s to grab some soil and seeds and- 

Your plans were forgotten as you felt the vibration of your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, and you nearly dropped the hefty planter that you were carrying in your excitement to answer it. That’s got to be Benjamin. Stopping yourself from shattering your largest flower pot, you set it down carefully on the patio, brushing your hands off on your thighs before pulling out your phone. The caller ID told you that you were correct, and you felt your lips stretch into a grin as you swiped the screen to answer. “Hey you,” you greeted him, crossing to the wooden L-shaped bench that bordered one side of your patio, plopping down and pulling your knees to your chest. “How’s everything going?” 

“You tell me,” he responded, the tone of his voice already indicating that he had a hunch about your news. “You sounded like you were practically bursting to spill something when you called before.” 

“You caught that, huh?” You bit your bottom lip as he chuckled into the receiver, the sound of his laugh enough to send a warm bubbly feeling through your chest. “I do have news, but I want to hear about the presentation first.” Go on, Benjamin, brag about yourself for once. “How was the Q & A? How did your portion go?” 

“You really want me to go first?” You could hear how difficult it was for him not to erupt with words, not to just explode with excitement over speaking at his first panel, imagining him flopping onto the bed in his hotel room. Wish I was there with you. The little hum that you gave in response drew another laugh from him. “Alright, then, it was,” he paused, blowing out a breath. “It was brilliant.” I bet it was. You leaned back into the bench and closed your eyes, pretending that there wasn’t a time zone between you. “Kesting and Oberman, they let me take an entire section of the presentation, and then,” he laughed again, a gust of air leaving his lungs in the form of happiness. “Then, during the Q & A, they actually deferred to me on one of the topics. They actually-” Of course they did, B, you did all their fact checking, they wouldn’t have been there without you. “Someone asked about the Bolshevik Revolution and I, well, I can’t quite remember the question now, but-” You muttered about Kerensky in your sleep for weeks. “But it opened up a whole discussion and we ran long, but no one minded, no one stopped us.” No one stopped you, Benjamin. “It was…” you heard him swallow, and when he spoke again the excitement had drained, giving way to something that sounded like that surreal feeling you’d been carrying with you since you left your meeting. “Incredible. It was incredible.”       

“Good.” You sat forward, planting your feet back on the ground. “Good. It should feel incredible. You deserve that feeling.” You do, more than most. You were so happy for him, so proud of the man you loved for climbing to a new peak in his career, for working as hard and as long and as much as he had. “But it’s not incredible. It’s not unbelievable.” Those words were meant for things that couldn’t be explained, that made no sense. “It’s you, Benjamin. It’s the way you…” you sighed, “It’s the way you take everything you do so seriously. It’s the way you prove how passionate you are about the things that you love. This panel? This is just the beginning for you, Benjamin Greene, I know it.”  

“You…” you heard him release a breath. “You have so much faith in me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

I wish you’d have as much faith in yourself. “I do. And you know me, Benjamin, I don’t trust anyone.” 

Your response had the intended effect and you were rewarded with a laugh. “A wise course of action, love. I’m just glad to be one of the few.” He paused, then, tone changing to something a few shades more sincere, he spoke your name. “Thank you. For believing in me and….for believing that I could do this on my own. No one’s ever...before you, no one’s really thought much of me and, and I know I wasn’t going about things the right way, but-” 

Oh, Benjamin, of course I… “You’re welcome.” You knew that he was right, that he’d been secretive and that he’d spun silken white lies so fine he’d gotten lost and tangled up in them, that he hadn’t gone about earning people’s trust the right way in the past. But what example did you have to follow? Who did you have to learn trust from? You knew that he’d been tuned into survival mode since...well, you didn’t like to think about it because it made you ache for him, but since he was far too young to be concerned with such matters. You knew he was truly just trying to scrape up a life for himself, that he hadn’t ever meant to hurt anyone. You knew that his inexperience with trust was what had led him from one disastrous relationship to another. He thought Allie could be trusted, he thought Julia trusted him, and neither turned out to be true. By the time the two of you had met, he’d finally found his feet, finally stopped the constant evolution that his secrets and elaborations demanded, finally learned who he was and what he was about, and finally learned that who he was was enough. “You make it easy to believe in you, Benjamin. I believed in you before I loved you.” You thought back to the 10 days that the two of you spent sharing the reference room in the library, both of you immersed in your work. I believed in you then.  

Where he once would have answered with something slightly self deprecating- you’re too good to me, I don’t deserve you- his response was simple, but full of truth. “I love you. So much.” 

“So much,” you replied, leaning back into the bench again, wishing that you were resting against his chest instead of the blue striped cushions. The sun was starting to set, the air temperature cooling off enough to make you pull your long sleeves down to cover your bare arms but not enough to chase you inside just yet. A light breeze shook the branches of the Silver Birch near the gate, the tiny green buds clinging tight. You took a breath through your nose, inhaling that cool, earthy scent that always preceded the first bloom of the season, as though the slow, persistent reaching of the bulbs and roots had churned up the dirt enough that you could smell it. Spring had always been your favorite time of year, when color came back to the world and seemingly anything was possible.     

He cleared his throat. “Now that I’ve filled you in, can you please get to your exhilarating news?” 

Your smile-sore cheeks flew upwards at the excitement in his voice. “Well,” you began, “I had a meeting this morning.” 

“Yeah..?” He knew full and well that you had a meeting this morning. You’d gotten an email from some chairperson on some restoration committee for some organization- they chose to remain anonymous, not even sharing the name of the foundation or affiliation that they were representing until you agreed to meet one of the members in person- and you’d been buzzing about it since you’d accepted the meeting the day before he left for Sarajevo. You pictured him sitting up straighter, pulling his glasses away from his eyes, eyebrows raised as he bit down on the curved plastic temple tip. “Well how’d it go then?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, closing your eyes as an unexpected wave of emotion forced you to swallow a lump in order to continue. “It went,” you felt the tingling prick of tears gathering under your closed lids. “Benjamin, I got the job.”

“Well of course you did! You’re only the best conservator in the country, in the world, really.” Let’s not exaggerate too much now. But there was no exaggeration in his tone, tears gently rolling down your cheeks as your grin widened at his overzealous but completely genuine support. “Go on, tell me. What’s the mysterious project?” 

Wiping at your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve, you licked a stray tear from your top lip. “It’s...well, I’ll be,” should I tell him the exhibit or the location first? Your heart beat with wild adrenaline, more now than it had when you’d told anyone else. No one else knows that it’s my dream to work for them. Not even Ollie. “I’ll be working on restoring some pieces for a new exhibit on shipwrecks.” You decided to save the best part for last. “Divers, recently I gather from what I was told this morning, they recovered some items from the wreck of the Lusitania.” You heard the stunned little gasp he let out as you mentioned the name of the doomed ocean liner. Knew you’d like that. Though his work had a very specific focus for the most part, you knew that Benjamin was an absolute sucker for any and all WWI related topics, the world’s second most famous shipwreck being one of them. 

“What did they find?” You knew he couldn’t help himself but to ask, and you could see the shake of his head as he realized that there were more important questions that needed answers. “I mean, what will you be doing?” 

Such a swot. You both threw that word back and forth at one another, and often, both of you so immersed in academia and art and history that it was hard to tell which of you was deeper in. “Turns out they found some sculptures from the ballroom, sconces and busts and, well they tell me it’s a lot, really, so I can’t even,” you laughed. “I don’t...I don’t exactly know all of the pieces, but I’ll be getting a full inventory on Monday. I’ll have the week to prepare, go over photographs, outline a plan, and then I’ll start working the following week.” 

“Right so now it’s down to who you’re working for. Smithsonian? Or, no, it was the Irish who found the engine room telegraph a few years back wasn’t it? So it’s the National Museum of Ireland? Are you working on location?” His questions spilled out as quickly as the salt water had spilled into the massive vessel to sink it.”I’m sorry I’m babbling, I’m just excited for you. So are you off to D.C or Dublin?”

You let out the breath you’d been holding while he speculated. “Neither. I’m not off anywhere I’m, well that’s not entirely true, I’ll be in a hotel Monday through Friday for the length of the job. They want to cut my commute time so I have as long with the restoration as possible, but it’s, the job, it’s here. It’s in London.” That had to be a giveaway. 

“In London?” The way he asked told you he’d worked it out. “In London, well that’s… it’s got to be…” 

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “It’s the big one, Benjamin. It’s the British Museum. It’s-“

“I knew it. I knew it was-“ he let out a whooping laugh and you heard a smacking sound as he slapped his thigh. “Congratulations, love, that’s wonderful. That’s, this is your dream and I,” he paused and your tears continued to slip silently from your eyes by way of your heart. “I can’t think of anyone who deserves their dreams coming true more than you do. I’m so proud of you and I, well I just wish I was there with you right now to see the look of it on your face. To see you.”

“Soon,” you choked out, stubbornly wiping at your eyes again. I wish you were here now, too. 

“So soon. Two more sleeps.” He’d already been gone for 4 days, returning the morning after tomorrow, and the only reason you hadn’t gone with him was the meeting. “And I can’t wait to celebrate everything with you.”

“I can’t wait either,” you said softly as the sun finished sinking beneath the horizon. You couldn’t. Couldn’t wait for him to be home, couldn’t wait to celebrate both of your successes, couldn’t wait for him to wrap you up in his arms and warm you with his smile. 

You chatted for a few minutes longer, going over some more details from your meeting and asking if he felt prepared for the last day of presentations tomorrow. When it had finally become too chilly to stay out on the patio any longer, you surrendered to the fact that it was time to go inside, make dinner and start wrapping up the evening. With a shiver you stood from the bench and yawned. “Alright, I should let you get some sleep so you’re sharp for the conference.” He reluctantly agreed. “I love you, Benjamin.”

It had been nearly 4 months since those words first tumbled forth, and their meaning had only grown stronger every day. “I love you,” he responded. “Sleep well.” 

You ended the call and went inside, finishing out the evening with a few more chores, a steaming cup of tea, and when you eventually laid yourself down in bed-on his side, because his pillow smelled of him- you drifted to sleep, cheeks still round even as your eyes closed.

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire  @suchatinyinfinity​​ @thesumofmychoices​​  @gollyderek​​  @malionnes​​  @becs-bunker​​ @warriorqueenofnarnia​​  @elanor-of-imladris​​  @traeumerinwitzhelden​​ @songtoyou​​  @michellemybelles-world​ @obscurilicious @breanime

[aion-rsa]

Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s Funniest Guest Cast Characters

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Warning: contains Brooklyn Nine-Nine spoilers.

Brooklyn Nine Nine is one of the funniest sitcoms around thanks to its fantastic ensemble cast and just-broad-enough humour blended with almost-realistic cop show elements. But that great regular cast are supported by an equally brilliant array of recurring characters and guest stars. In this list, we’re celebrating the funniest of the show’s less often-seen characters, those guest appearances who’ve turned up once or twice to inject a fresh burst of comic energy into the show.

Note that we’re not counting regular recurring characters like Adrian Pimento, Madeline Wuntch, or Kevin Cozner, aka Mr Raymond Holt. If they turn up more than once a year, or in more than three episodes in one season, they’re off the list.

12. Adam Sandler, played by himself in Operation: Broken Feather, Season 1, Episode 15

Adam Sandler’s appearance as himself in Season One is beautifully self-deprecating as well as funny. His deadpan delivery of “I’m a serious person” is hilarious in just the right way – of course the real Sandler is, presumably, as serious and as complex as anyone else, but he knows his own public persona and just how to play on it in the right way to raise a different kind of laugh. The interest in antiquities, the planned film about the Russian Revolution, it’s all funny – and somewhat undercut, even more amusingly, by his taunting of Jake straight afterwards. The whole scene did help to flush out a criminal though, so it wasn’t a total loss for Jake.

Funniest moment: Admitting his “serious” Russian Revolution film features Kevin James as Trotsky, and a wife who doesn’t wear a bra through the whole film.

11. Geoffrey Hoytsman, played by Chris Parnell in two episodes in Season 2

When Jake’s lawyer girlfriend Sophia uses her boss as a transparent excuse to break up with him (by going on ‘pause’), Jake wilfully misunderstands and decides that the boss is the key problem, so he sets off to make the man like him. It all goes horribly wrong when Jake finds Hoytsman snorting cocaine in the bathroom, which Hoytsman claims he was doing accidentally while screaming loudly that Jake is arresting him to the whole room of lawyers. Sophia somehow still ends up blaming Jake – probably because she simply wanted to break up with him in the first place – and Hoytsman ends up returning to take Jake hostage and quite seriously threaten his life later in the season. Parnell’s over-the-top performance as a character who is, of course, high for much of the time, is what really sells the character.

Funniest moment: Sniffing cocaine off his collar in the middle of the police precinct.

10. Jessica Day, played by Zooey Deschanel in The Night Shift, Season 4, Episode 4

Back in 2016, both New Girl and Brooklyn Nine Nine were active Fox sitcoms, so the network decided to do a crossover event in which the New Girl characters travelled to New York City and ran into the 99. Most of the crossover scenes actually ended up in the New Girl episode, but Zooey Deschanel’s character Jess Day did make a brief appearance in the otherwise stand-alone Brooklyn Nine Nine half of the crossover. While the New Girl episode provided a lot more context for Jess’s feelings about New York and her stress level surrounding Schmidt’s mom’s car and the soup she’s carrying, her appearance as an apparently slightly nutty woman who resists Jake’s attempts to commandeer the car is an entertaining interlude during the half hour.  

Funniest moment: Insisting that Jake’s oath to serve and protect applies to her soup.

9. Philip Davidson, played by Sterling K. Brown in The Box, Season 5, Episode 14

If this were a list of the show’s ‘best’ guest characters, rather than ‘funniest’, the top ranked would surely be Philip Davidson, played by Sterling K. Brown. ‘The Box’ is a tight, taught bottle episode that takes full advantage of Brooklyn Nine Nine’s hybrid status as both sitcom and cop show, and Brown’s Davidson forms a strong third of a triangle in this three-header with Holt and Peralta. It’s a really strong performance, but given that he’s playing a tough-to-crack murder suspect, not really the funniest, exactly. Still, he gets a good few laughs when appropriate over the course of a really engaging half hour of comedy/cop show crossover.

Funniest moment: When Davidson finally cracks, he cracks hard – his confession is equal parts triumphant, cathartic, and hilarious.

8. Karen Haas, played by Maya Rudolph in Coral Palms Parts 1&2, Season 4, Episodes 1&2

Maya Rudolph has a good line going in slightly weary authority figures (see also: The Good Place). Handling Holt and Peralta while they’re in witness protection is not an easy job and her exasperation at Jake’s refusal to accept his situation is well played. Haas is really funny, though, when she starts bringing her own issues into her official duties, clearly trying to get permission to cheat on her husband from someone, anyone – and Holt is happy to oblige.

Funniest moment: Whoever it is she wants to sleep with is “really young” – something that clearly shouldn’t be funny, but the face Rudolph pulls as she says it is what sells it.

7. Lin-Manuel Miranda as David Santiago in The Golden Child, Season 6, Episode 9

Miranda is marvellously smarmy as Amy’s too-perfect brother, her demanding parents’ favourite, who snubs popular culture and shows off by saving people’s lives (including Amy’s own husband). Amy’s delighted reaction when he’s arrested for cocaine possession and deep disappointment when he turns out to be innocent are highlights, but the funniest scene by far is the dance-off between David and Amy, in which both comprehensively demonstrate that dancing is not among the Santiago family’s many strengths.

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Funniest moment: David thinks elbows should form a bigger part of a dance routine than they really should.

6. Frederick, played by Nick Offerman in Ava, Season 3, Episode 8

Any time we meet Captain Holt’s friends and family, many of whom share his stoic, Vulcan-like demeanour, it’s always hilarious. JK Simmons as his old friend Dillman very nearly made the list, but he was just pipped to the post by Ron Swanson – sorry, Nick Offerman – as Holt’s ex-boyfriend. There’s a lot of crossover between Parks and Recreation and Brooklyn Nine Nine among the cast and crew and Offerman isn’t even the only Parks & Rec alumnus to appear on this list, but he’s probably the one whose appearance most quickly calls to mind his earlier character. The idea that Holt’s ex-boyfriend is Ron F-ing Swanson is just genius. OK, Frederick lacks Swanson’s magnificent moustache (though he has a glorious beard) and he’s even more brusque and stand-off-ish, but he’s a perfect match for Holt, even more in their post-break-up mutual antagonism than we imagine they were in their relationship.

Funniest moment: His straight-faced insistence at the door that they have a “wooden-duck situation”.

5. Mark Devereaux, played by Nathan Fillion in Serve & Protect, Season 4, Episode 14

It’s always funny any time police characters in a cop show visit the set of a TV cop show, and for added meta humour, in this case the actor playing the fictional detective is played by an actor who works on a cop show (albeit as a non-cop character). Phew! That’s a lot of layers of meta. Nathan Fillion’s pompous star who apparently thinks playing a detective makes him a detective is very funny, and it gets better when it turns out that was a ruse to cover up his own petty criminal activity before he folds like wet paper. It’s just a shame we didn’t get to see more of him.

Funniest moment: Devereaux tries turning on the angry detective act from his show to cover up his own crime, only to be confronted with quite a lot more than a “shred” of evidence and fold immediately.

4. Eleanor Horstweil, played by Kathryn Hahn in Hostage Situation, Season 3, Episode 11

We heard a lot about Boyle’s ex-wife over the first couple of seasons, partly because Boyle was still living in her basement, hanging out with her new husband Hercules. We knew what sort of person Eleanor was when Boyle explained that he gets the beach house from December to February. When we finally meet her in the flesh, Kathryn Hahn does not disappoint – Eleanor is surely one of the most purely horrible characters we’ve seen on the show (and yes, we’re including all the murderers). She hits a 90-year-old priest with her car and then destroys Boyle’s frozen sperm, all with no apparent sense of guilt, and she largely gets away with it, too. But she does it all with a perfectly deadpan expression and carefree attitude, each horrifying act funnier that the last.

Funniest moment: She goes further than Jake ever thought she would when she “shoots a hostage” – i.e., throws some of Boyle’s sperm down the drain.

3. Seth Dozerman, played by Bill Hader in New Captain, Season 3, Episode 1

Bill Hader’s screentime on the show is relatively brief, but he is hilarious from start to finish, attacking the squad with every shouted command like he’s firing metaphorical bullets at them. It might actually have been really cool to see the squad try to deal with him as their Captain for more than one episode, with his extremely demanding requirements and very highly strung personality, but on the other hand, perhaps this is a joke that works better in small quantities. Any character whose dying words are “Tell my wife I love her work ethic” is probably a character better enjoyed for a shorter period of time. 

Funniest moment: Both heart attacks are very funny, but the first (non-fatal) one just pips it for the sheer suddenness of it.

2. Caleb, played by Tim Meadows in three episodes in Seasons 5 and 6

Jake is shocked to discover his only friend in maximum security prison is a cannibal (though he would prefer to be identified as a wood-worker), having assumed everyone in protective custody was a wrongly accused police officer. Caleb is surely Brooklyn Nine Nine’s best streak of really, really dark humour – not only did he murder and eat nine and a half people, they were small children too. Every reference he makes to his “nightmare” past is sickly hilarious, and gets worse and worse every time, including a reference to his “skin suit”. But he really does care for Jake, even if he still kind of wants to eat him. The sheer audacity of the black humour surrounding this character is fantastic and always funny.

Funniest moment: Caleb shows that he has a softer side when he saves Jake’s life – but he immediately deeply regrets it and would not do it again.

1. Doug Judy, played by Craig Robinson in multiple episodes (one episode or two-parter per year)

Yes, we carefully defined a recurring character as someone who is either in more than three episodes or who appears more than once a year specifically so that we could include Craig Robinson‘s Doug Judy. It’s our list and we make the rules. There’s something twistedly beautiful about Jake and Doug Judy’s tender but tense friendship, even in the early years when Judy is constantly double-crossing poor Jake. The two of them have perfect comic chemistry, and each running gag in their friendship, especially their fondness for swaggering out in a new outfit or disguise, just gets funnier and funnier. Long may Doug Judy continue to turn up roughly once every twelve months to harass his long suffering best friend.

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Funniest moment: Having escaped yet again, Doug Judy leaves Jake a pre-recorded message in a karaoke booth – complete with a full hour of pre-recorded singing for Jake to duet with.

The post Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s Funniest Guest Cast Characters appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3kZOKSD

[thisbentleyplaysqueen]

The Angel, the Demon, and the Not-so Holy Ghost

                                                  Chapter One

Thank you to SuperiorDimwit for helping me by editing this chapter!

Next Chapter

Soho, London, 1881

    The sun has just risen over the city, but Aziraphale had never gone to sleep. Rather, he sets down the book he had been rather engrossed in as the sun slips through his dirty windows. With a small sigh, he pushes to his feet and begins his morning routine by putting the kettle on.

Angels needn’t sleep. This was true, and Aziraphale never had seen any reason for sleep. However, he prided himself in a concise morning schedule: put the kettle on, make some bread and jam, enjoy a nice cup of tea while deciding when to open the store for the day- or whether to open at all! He loves the liberty of choice. 

 A gentle smile graces his face as he considers the loaf of bread, just bought the day previous. He slices the first slice. The butt of the bread is viewed differently among different cultures. Some treasure the first slice, others find it beneath them to eat such a piece. For Aziraphale, he couldn’t bear to throw out even a morsel, no matter the meal. Crowley would always flash him a knowing smile, aware of the angel’s concerns, and would always slide his barely touched dish over. Crowley always seemed to know the perfect time to ‘tempt’ him…

 A frown grows and he finds he had long stopped slicing the bread. He sighs, and sets down the knife and allows his hands to unclench. Even as his hands relax, a knot begins in his stomach. He turns away from the bread and intends to cross the kitchen for a deep breath at the window, but freezes at the sight of the book on his countertop. Any previous trace of a smile has long been forgotten as he slowly nears. 

The book seems to be his instruction on the birds of Europe. It is still open, and the only sketch on the page is of a duck. Aziraphale cares not to read what type of duck it is as his fingers trace the sketch. 

‘Do ducks have ears?’ The voice in his head wonders, in that familiar lilt. ‘Must. How would they talk to other ducks?’

Aziraphale’s lips twitch at the thought, but then immediately disappears at the recognition of the voice and the memory drags its burdens along. He slams the book shut much harder than he intends, but merely huffs as he moves the book off the counter. He turns back to the bread, cutting the second slice with much less grace before turning to the jam.

It has been twenty years since his argument with Crowley, and he hasn’t heard from the demon since. As an angel, he shouldn’t worry, let alone about a demon...but Aziraphale has never been very good at angelic things. He ate, he drank, and he worried about demons who he had refused a means of suicide. At the time, he thought it was wise to not give in to Crowley’s request. Now, he wonders if Crowley even existed anymore, or if he had found his own means...oh, he can’t bear to think of it-

The door opens and slams shut, and Aziraphale jumps. Instantly dragged from his brooding, he stiffens and calls. “We’re closed!” 

Now that he thinks about it, the door had been locked…

Catching a breath he didn’t need, he holds it as he creeps around the corner into the shop. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to stop his shop from being robbed, he thinks as he gathers his angelic power, but he didn’t think it would ever happen this early. Why it wasn’t even noon yet…

“Aziraphale!” Aziraphale jumps at his name, and whips around, hand poised to defend himself. He freezes, though, as he connects the familiar voice to the face. 

“Gabriel?” He lowers his hand, before hurriedly clasping them behind his back as he clears his throat. “I...I wasn’t expecting you.”

Gabriel waves him off. “Just dropping by for a quick word.” He glances around, “I see you’re still attached to this...mortal collection.”

“The bookshop.” Aziraphale clarifies before nodding. “Yes, it helps establish a cover for me and connects me with many humans-”

“That’s great, Aziraphale.” Gabriel interrupts, sitting down in Aziraphale’s favorite chair. The other angel tries not to make a face at that as his superior relaxes into it. “We need to talk.” 

“What...what about?” Before Gabriel can answer, the kettle begins to whistle shrilly from the kitchen. Gabriel covers his ears and glares. 

“What is that infernal sound?”

“Oh, that’ll be the kettle. I will take care of it.”

Aziraphale bustles off to the kitchen, and hurriedly moves the kettle to a cooler plate on the stove. The kettle quiets, and he reaches up into the cabinet and pulls down two teacups. 

“What is that?” Aziraphale nearly drops a teacup as he whips around to find Gabriel in the doorway, nose wrinkled. 

“Erm, tea.” He places the tea leaves before pouring the hot water. “Would you like a cup?”

The wrinkle in Gabriel’s nose grows and Aziraphale’s smile fades as he sets the kettle down. “Right.”

“Right.” Gabriel agrees, before clearing his throat and crossing the room. “Now about that business…” 

Aziraphale is cornered against the counter as Gabriel towers over him. 

“Normally this would be a mission reserved for angels of…” He decides not to finish that sentence, instead giving him a grin and a chuckle that seems forced. “However, seeing as you are the only unassigned Earth agent, this will be your mission. You need to go to Paris.”

“P-Paris?” Aziraphale stutters out, remembering his last experience in France. That time in the bastille was simply awful, he really had been lucky Crowley had been there… His thoughts break off at the demon’s name and at Gabriel’s sharp look. 

“Yes, Paris. To one of those human...singing places. The unangelic ones. I believe it has something to do with the word Populaire…”

“The Opera Populaire?” Of course, Aziraphale knew of that! Before the French revolution, Aziraphale had taken quite a liking to the opera, especially in Paris. However, it’s been so long since then… “What about the opera?”

“There have been...rumors.” Gabriel raises his eyebrows at that. “The humans have been letting their imaginations run away with them, it seems. Talking of a spirit terrorizing the place, scaring the humans that are there. I’m sure it’s nothing, just a silly story. However, if there is a spirit, then you must stop them. They do not have permission to remain on Earth and must be dealt with accordingly. Do you understand?”

Aziraphale nods. “Just...how exactly am I supposed to find this spirit?”

Gabriel grins and claps a hard hand against his arm. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But get to Paris, and stop that spirit.”

With that, Gabriel snaps and disappears. 

“...Right.”

                                                          ---

The next day, Aziraphale finds himself in a train car, watching the world pass him by as he attempts to read. This train would take him to the Channel, where he could take a ferry across, and then another train to Paris. It was much less convenient than a miracle, but he had no doubt Gabriel would consider it ‘frivolous’, especially when he might have greater needs for miracles on this journey. 

Most spirits are content to pass from Earth to the afterlife. After all, they are the souls of humanity, and many have been told of a paradise or of a new life waiting for them. Some got lost on the way, and so angels would be sent to guide them to their judgment, whether it be the paradise of Heaven or the heat of Hell. Those spirits (ghosts, as he learned humans called them) were often apologetic, and pliant the rest of the journey. 

However, there were some who had become attached to Earth. Aziraphale couldn’t necessarily blame them, but everyone had their time to take their leave. He dreads the day, but he would go willingly when called. That’s what these spirits don’t understand. They drag their feet, clinging to a belonging treasured  from their life that is often in the hands of another human, bringing terror to the new owner. Removing those spirits were nasty business: attachments were destroyed, humans were traumatized, and often that earned the spirit a one-way ticket to Hell. The memories and stories of those spirits send a shiver down his spine as he clutches his long-forgotten book between his hands. He may need every miracle and power in his inventory. Who knows if this spirit has simply lost their way, or has no desire to travel to the afterlife at all? 

For the moment, he needs a plan. He needs to sneak into the Opera Populaire himself and see if he can reach out to the spirit, show himself to be a peaceful guide to the afterlife. That will be much harder with humans in the way, and he would rather not force many humans to look the other way. No, that will gather too much attention...

He blinks and suddenly realizes the train has come to a stop. The scent of salt in the air and the muted cry of seagulls turns his attention to see the train station and the docks beyond. His ferry waits for him, and he still has not a single plan. Perhaps he’ll think of something while crossing the Channel.  

“This is my stop.” He says to no one but himself, closing his book and slipping it into his carpetbag. He rises and reaches above his head for his suitcase. With a huff, he grips both bags, and shoulders his way out of the compartment. He hears a gasp of air wrenched from his someone’s lungs and a loud BAM. A cane clatters to the floor, and Aziraphale drops his bags in horror. 

“Oh, my dear boy, I am so terribly sorry!” Aziraphale fumbles for an apology, and instantly bends to grab the cane. Unfortunately, so does the man, and their foreheads collide. Stars dance in front of Aziraphale’s eyes as he winces, both men clutching their heads. “Oh, how clumsy of me.”

“Satan’s sake! This is the last thing I needed this morning!” 

Aziraphale freezes and the man suddenly stops when he finally looks at Aziraphale. 

I know that voice…

 After a pause, as he prays his eyes aren’t deceiving him, Aziraphale’s gaze travels up, meeting the shaded gaze holding what he knows to be snake-like eyes blown wide, just like his own. 

“...Crowley?”