#just because her weapon systems still exist in this form does not mean accessing them is easy

[fae-fucker]

Nexus: Chapter 4-6

Chapter 4: Nor

Oh, hey! That rhymes!

Nor is getting prettied up in General Cyprian's old house to film a pointless propaganda video, and she thinks about how Valen is getting weaker and weaker, but that he will be strong because without him, this whole thing is bust. His compulsion abilities are much stronger than hers, y'see, so if he croaks, it's all over for these bitches. Seems like an obvious point of failure. I'm sure nothing will happen anytime soon to indicate that Valen's time on this plane of existence is quickly running out.

Valen’s compulsion did what it needed to do, ensuring that the people obeyed her. But Nor wanted them to love her. To be obsessed with her, incapable of escaping her voice, her name, her image. So from the moment she’d taken charge, the video loops had begun.

We now have confirmation that technically, Nor's videos don't do shit. So why does she make them? Well, because without them, a lot of the plot wouldn't happen. And yeah, that makes them a valid plot device technically, but I still wish there was an internal logic to Nor's actions aside from "eh, she felt like it." Do you not trust your brother's power, Nor? The powers you admitted will break your entire plan if they fail, the powers you admit you must rely on and trust your brother to keep up? Makes total sense.

Anywho, she, Zahn and Darai talk about attacks from the Unaffecteds and how she's worried about them but shouldn't be, because Zahn and Darai think they're just a nuiscance while Nor is worried about how suspiciously organized they are. Almost as though they are being led by someone who coordinates their attacks!

I'm still calling bullshit on a resistance movement forming that fast and that successfully, leader or not, but go off.

'“There is also the matter of the Unaffecteds being incapable of coming out of hiding,” Nor’s uncle said smugly. He signaled the producer to come forward. The man stepped from the shadows, and Darai snatched at one of the man’s four arms, holding it out into the light. Silver veins spiderwebbed their way across his skin. They were beautiful; like artwork in their own right. And a perfectly executed side effect of the Zenith virus, generally appearing a few days after the infection fully settled in. Any who were affected practically glowed with it, like moonlight swimming just beneath the surface of their skin. “That was a clever trick of Aclisia’s,” Nor said, admiring the man’s veins. [...] “The Unaffecteds will have to come out of hiding eventually—to gather supplies, to recruit,” Darai said. “And when they do, they’ll be discovered, captured and made ours.” Nor nodded, smiling at that.

1)"Incapable of coming out of hiding" is very weird phrasing. Wouldn't he mean "unwilling"?

2) Why is he demonstrating this to Nor when she clearly knows what it is already? Oh because the reader must know? Sure, whatever.

3) So did Nor not consider the fact that waiting out the majority of the Unaffecteds is a viable option before Darai informed her? It doesn't make any sense for him not to suggest this in the first place, before this plan was set into motion. Again, why aren't we just poisoning the water supply, if Aclisia has already figured out how to make a space magic mind virus, how to control rain, and how to make the virus glow in people's veins across all species and skin tones?

Nor starts her speech to the cameras and it's very dramatic. She stresses the importance of finishing Nexus in order to root out all opposition in the galaxy.

Nexus. It held all of her hopes and dreams for the future. A massive satellite being built on this very floating mountain, large enough in diameter to rival a small planet. When it was launched into space, it would be the key to everything, sealing her claim on every mind across Mirabel. And giving her access to the weapons systems on every planet in the galaxy.

More proof that Shinsay have no concept of scale. Apparently they are located on a floating mountain in the capital city of Arcardius, and that's where Nexus is being built. Yet somehow we're suppsoed to believe its diameter rivals a small planet? Please look up Pluto in comparison to Earth and then imagine a Halo ring from Halo of that size being built in fucking Nyew Yoahk Citaaay. Seems pretty fucking dumb, right? And that's a dwarf planet, here it just says "small" planet, so that's even dumber!

Anyway, yes, Nexus will not only blast Valen's DNA across the galaxy (his, uh, compulsion DNA, not ... um, other stuff), but it will also, somehow, give Nor access to every weapons system in the galaxy, for reasons. And it's supposed to be finished in a month. Kewl.

Nor busied herself with sweeping the wrinkles from the front of her gown as Darai joined her. “The Unaffecteds will bow in fear soon enough,” he said. “Just say the lines we practiced.” Nor felt a flash of irritation. “I have done this before, Uncle.” “Back on Xen Ptera, yes. But not like this. Not as the True Queen, wearing her rightful crown,” Darai replied.

So that stuff in the beginning about Nor's videos being sent out as soon as she took over was, what, lies? Darai is openly contradicting previous information stated in this very chapter. Or did Nor pre-record those? So why not pre-record this? Oh, I know why, it's so your broadcast can get hijacked by your enemy and the plot can happen! Cool cool cool.

I am losing my mind with how many layers of incompetence this book has. It's like not even a single thought passed between Sasha's and Lindsay's brains while they were writing. I'd chalk it up to them losing interest/enthusiasm after the poor reception of the first book, but that would imply Zenith was better written, and we can't have that.

Anyway, Nor's spiel gets interrupted by someone hacking the mainframe or whatever.

The individual is wearing big scary red armor and talks with a robotic voice, and Nor recognizes the armor as New Vedan, made for the giant people (see: Breck) and used by them in the war against Xen Ptera. Supposedly she's seen this type of armor for years in her nightmares, which we know as the reader because it's been soooo prominent in all her flashbacks and totally wasn't pulled out of Shinsay's asses for the sequel! Then we get this:

The soldier’s words sounded robotic. Horrific. They were spoken in a deep male voice that came not from Arachnid himself, but from a spiderlike droid perched upon his shoulder. The droid’s twelve legs, silver and jagged as knives, dug into Arachnid’s armor. Four red lights shone on the center of its body like unblinking eyes. “You are not alone,” Arachnid said. With each word, the droid’s red eyes flashed and the video feed flickered. Arachnid and the droid turned to pixels, then formed fully again. “Much of the galaxy has fallen to a false queen, but there are still many who have not. To the strong, to those who continue to fight for freedom—I am Arachnid. And I stand as leader for all those who refuse to bow to anyone’s will but our own.”

How does Nor know what this individual calls himself before he introduces himself? Because the description before this mentions only that she recognizes the type of armor, not this specific soldier wearing this armor. (Except it says "this armor" was crafted for the "soldiers" of New Veda, like it's this specific armor for the entire army lmao.) And you might think, well, maybe Shinsay just fucked up, and they meant that she recognized the soldier. This is also wrong, because as it is later revealed, this soldier could physically not have been there when the attacks happened, and if the individual inside the armor stole it from someone who was there, then that's never mentioned or clarified, either. We never find out how Nor knows this is Arachnid before he introduces himself.

Shinsay, did you not even read this back once? Did nobody edit this? Am I going insane?

“Find me. Together, we will build an army. Together, we will destroy the false queen.” Arachnid took a step toward the camera, red armor clanking like a battle ax hitting bone, and Nor felt the weight of his invisible stare land on her. “You cannot compel me, Nor Solis. I know what you plan to do. I know the horrors you will unleash, and I will stop you before it’s too late. Even if I have to drive the killing blade into your chest myself.”

I won't spoil who's in the armor, but I will say that these threats become very questionable once you find out who it is.

Shinsay are masters of manipulation and subterfuge, I'm sure.

Chapter 5: Andi

Andi, Lon, and Dex are trying to figure out what to do about their predicament. Apparently, Gilly's shitty pet survived and is also here on the ship.

Gilly’s bloodthirsty puffball of a feline had grown increasingly problematic in the weeks without its owner, destroying cables, gnawing through the foot of Dex’s cot and leaving piles of stinking waste all over the engine room. She was beginning to wish that the Fellibrag had been left behind on Arcardius, but naturally, Gilly had made sure Havoc was safely tucked aboard the ship before assuming her guard duties at the Ucatoria Ball.

Shinsay will keep doing this every time Havoc is brought up and I'm so annoyed every time, but "feline" means cat, or catlike. In this case, when used as a noun, it's just "cat." YOU CAN'T USE A DIFFERENT SPECIES THAT DOESN'T EXIST IN YOUR WORLD TO DESCRIBE A MADE-UP CREATURE WHOSE SPECIES YOU NAME IN THE NEXT PARAGRAPH. Also why is the name capitalized?

Also, fine, let's say the creature is catlike so "feline" is just a descriptor used as a stand-in. This still doesn't work because, again, we know that the creature is actually, and we also know that it's a literal, spherical ball of fur with three horns, which describes no cat I've seen, no matter how chonky.

WORDS MEAN THINGS!

We find out that Dex managed to hook them back up to the sci-fi internet, so they know that Nor has been pumping our propaganda non-stop.

But [Andi] would not accept defeat. Not when the lives of her girls were at risk.

I get what Shinsay are going for, but the repeated use of "her girls" is so grating to me. It serves to highlight the #feminism and #girlpower the authors are clearly going for, instead of actually telling us about Andi and her relationship with her crew. Like, would she not save them if they weren't all girls? Do they only matter because she arguably feels somewhat possessive of them?

Again, I get what this is supposed to do, but it's so blatant and keeps repeating itself to beat us over the head that this is FEMINIST that it loses all the genuine emotional impact it could've had. They're her crew. Her family. Her friends. Not just her girls. Constantly reducing them to their gender feels counter to the intended message. They're more than just that, are they not? Yes, they matter to Andi more than other people because she loves them, supposedly, but not because they're hers and they're girls. Once again, words mean things, and repitition should be used with clear intent, not for shits and giggles.

They talk about how the silver veins thing means they can't just drop in on a random planet without being found out quickly, so they need a plan.

There's also a reminder that Alfie, the AI that Valen destroyed, isn't online yet for reasons, but he is stored in Dex's watch, so there's that. Although the reason he's offline is because they can't connect him to the galactic feeds, because they're in the nebula, even though it was previously stated Dex managed to reconnect the ship to the galactic feeds, so ... I guess Shinsay have a grand design in motion and he can't come back yet.

Anyway, their three plans are thus: Dex thinks they should dress up as Xen Pteran soldiers and kidnap the girls. Lon thinks they should try to negotiate, but they have nothing to offer. Andi thinks they should go in guns blazing, which even she admits is bad. Dex's plan is the most sensible one, IMO, even if they're all quite bad, but Andi dismisses it partly because they wouldn't have the clearance (I mean, a fine assumption, but still presumes that they'll need clearance and that they can't get it), but mostly because ... Well.

Plus, she had a faint inkling that he just wanted to don a disguise, like the top shows on the social feeds. Those were all gone now, Nor having erased the social aspects of the feeds, replacing them with her propaganda. Dex was always one for theatrics. But she knew better than ever now that theatrics rarely worked in real life.

Ahem. This is genuinely both very funny but also quite sad, because it shows that Shinsay are just going through the motions here of finishing this story they clearly don't care about. You know how I know that?

Well, remember in Zenith, when the Xen Pterans attacked Adhira? Remember how they got out of that, and who got them out of it? It was Andi, who decided they would dress up as Xen Pteran soldiers and steal a ship. I can even tell you which chapter it was: 60. You know why I remember that? Because it was the one and only thing Andi actually did on her own accord that actually affected the plot. The one, single thing she did as a main character that had an impact in that entire 98-chapter book.

And now we learn that not only is this actually a Dex move, but that she would never do this herself, and thinks it only works in movies? That would check out, because Dex was her mentor at some point. But I knew something was up with that theory, so I went back and checked the scene in Zenith, and yup, Dex has no idea what her plan is then, prompting her to explain what they're doing.

Do I even need to fucking say anything here?

Let's just call this one le epic fail and keep on gaming, gamers 😎

Speaking of fails of the epic proportion, Dex says that before they can enact any rescue plan, they need to restock and refuel, because the ship is in bad condition and will die on them any moment. Then this happens:

Memory’s voice cut through the room, pausing the video before it could start. “Fuel supply at thirty percent.” “Damn,” Dex whispered as Andi’s eyes bulged. “Preserve energy use wherever you can, Memory,” Andi commanded. “Command confirmed.” The room went dark, the only light coming from the holoscreen.

Hey, what? Sorry? Pardon?

First of all, y'all are in space, not moving, just chilling the world's densest fucking nebula, so what tf are y'all using fuel for? Y'all have been going on and on about how you're not going anywhere because you don't know where to go, so? Second, why the fuck is the ship's light affected by fuel capacity? Are you using the same fuel you use to fly the ship to light the ship's interior? Huh? Third, and I should've pointed this out in Zenith as well, but is the fuel you use to have space battles (aka moving around locally) the same shit you use to jump into hyperspace (aka teleporting massive distances)? That makes fucking zero sense. All of these would be separate systems requiring different energy sources. The fact that it's all connected to the same fuel is the dumbest, most braindead shit I've ever come across in a sci-fi work. Like I'm not even a hardcore sci-fi enjoyer but even I think this is stupid.

Anyway, Nor's propaganda message plays, as well as Arachnid's warning, pretty much word for word. Should've just started the chapter on them discussing their plans after seeing this mesasge, wouldn't lose anything you couldn't easily recap.

"[...] We need to be smart about what we do. No acting rashly, no arguing on missions. And nobody gets left behind.” Both Lon and Dex nodded in agreement. They’d all been affected, in their own ways, by the loss of Andi’s crew.

Thanks for the reminder. I wouldn't have known, otherwise.

Unironically, I think Zenith and Nexus have helped me find redundant phrases in my own writing. Because it's so glaring how bad this is, it's easier to spot when you do something similar. So, there's that, I guess.

Andi decides, out of nowhere, that they should go to Solera, an ice planet that has a small population, but is a "capital planet," so there should still be supplies for them there. I'm not entirely sure what makes Andi take this leap, aside from plot, and it having a small population. Like I would've assumed it was something about how everyone's usually covered up, because it's cold, so not having visible veins wouldn't be a huge deal, but we later find out everyone lives in domes that are have artificially warm atmospheres, so ... Huh? And we also later find out that the resistance is located on Solera, because of course.

Idk. The plot demands it, so they go there!

“Then are you boys ready to be on the opposite side of the law again?” Andi asked. “If we’re going to infiltrate Arcardius, we do need to take some risks,” Lon reasoned. Dex’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Risk and reward.” “I’m beginning to see what my sister enjoyed about this life,” Lon said with a grin, setting Havoc down. The creature yowled before scurrying away, almost as if it were in agreement with the plan. Andi smirked. “Okay, boys. Let’s go get our girls.”

Lon just saying obvious non-sequiturs, Dex says another weird non-sequitur that's way too upbeat for the tone of the scene, Lon coming in with the curveball of having fun looking for his brainwashed sister, and Andi capping it all off with another cringe line about her girls.

Oh we are SO back.

Chapter 6: Lira

Lira is brainwashed and is training with Nor's other brainwashed soldiers. They've all retained their personalities (which is a genuinely nice touch) but they're all about Nor now, and hate Andi. Breck and Gilly are there also.

Then Aclisia shows up, Nor's scientist we know nothing about but can do all kinds of science whenever the plot demands it.

It was like being in the presence of a legend, albeit a strange one. Aclisia possessed two heads—one of the few left of her race in Mirabel. They both worked in tandem, yet had personalities of their own.

And yet, the heads' personalities are never distinct or distinguished, they use only one name, and are constantly referred to as one entity, which is not how real-life conjoined twins work.

WAIT. I JUST REALIZED.

Is Aclisia Shinsay's attempt at a Zaphod Beeblebrox? That's pretty embarrassing if it is. Also, Zaphod Beeblebrox was still just the one guy, he just had two heads (at least as far as I remember, it's been a while since I've read the books).

Anyway, Aclisia has brought two Unaffecteds (ugh) as a demonstration for the soldiers, to show what happens to people who don't follow Nor. I don't know why, because everyone's already brainwashed to worship her, but ... No, actually, why are we doing this? This chapter is entirely unecessary, and is just there to show that yes, Lira is still brainwashed, and hates Andi now. Cool.

One of the Unaffecteds gets blasted with a dose of Zenith and starts worshiping Nor immediately, while the other is, well, unaffected and is tranquilized and hauled away, presumably to be killed.

I don't get it. So are there people who are resistant but can buckle if they're given a second dose? Or are we saying that these two were found, captured without anyone checking if they were immune or not, and taken to the soldiers for a random demonstration for people who are already on your side? Is the implication that Unaffecteds aren't real and that there's no hope in resisting (again, why show this to guys on YOUR SIDE)? But with how this is presented, they didn't know one of them was actually immune, meaning nobody checked, and just assumed that these people just hadn't gotten their dose yet? But then why is nobody freaking out that their planet-wide infection didn't take and that there are clearly holes in their plan that people can get through?

Sorry, this is stupid on every fucking level and it's really difficult to untangle. Shinsay clearly put zero thought and effort into actually building a consistent world with consistent rules, so we get these random-ass scenes that serve no purpose but to, effectively, confuse the fuck out of anyone reading with half a brain. It's honestly a bit insulting to know they didn't put a single thought into this but still got published.

Anyway. Another post with only 3 chapters, but I went off on tangents again, sowwy 🥺

[redrobin-detective]

Ben 10 lore that exists in my heart regardless of canon

- Ben’s personality in his mid-late teens is a mix of his Alien Force and Omniverse self. On the surface, he’s very cheerful and kind even if he is a bit of arrogant showoff. He makes jokes and plays around and acts as if he isn’t bothered by the things in his life. Those who know him best understand a good portion of his outward confidence and cockiness is just a facade to cover up his insecurities and to project the ideal, effortless hero. While sometimes seen as immature, most beings know Ben 10 means business as he takes his unofficial job and people’s safety very seriously. He’s clever, adaptable, charismatic and empathetic which makes him a formidable opponent and a loyal friend. Doesn’t open up easily but if you get to him, he become so dearly attached. 

- Drinks smoothies so much for several reasons. Comfort food go brrr, reminds him of the good easy times with him Gwen and Kev. It’s also a light but generally nutritous food to give him energy for heroing. Anything too heavy and he’ll be puking (both from physical and emotional stress). Though he jokes about his mom’s health foods, his are a crazy concoction of add in proteins and vitamins/minerals bc he knows he’ll out and out collapse without it. (Still has on occasion bc boy still doesn’t eat right/enough)

- While Fame is exciting for him at first he soon begins to detest it. Not the fans, no, he can’t bring himself to hate the people who look up to him. But he hates the constant attention, that he can’t walk outside without being mobbed. the only place he feels safe is his hometown where most people are so used to him and his weirdness that they don’t react much anymore. Takes to wearing a cape and face shield when going out anywhere so he can actually get things done without being recognized and mobbed.

- Part of the reason Bellwood isn’t concerned with Ben is partially because ben’s been weird and alien for as long as they can remember but also many don’t realize how famous/powerful he is. Yeah that’s just Ben Tennyson over there, sometimes he turns into funny creatures- wait what do you MEAN he’s the savior of the universe?? He cried over a spilled smoothie the other day.

- Does mostly online schooling by the time he’s 15. At first he tries to do half day things to maintain something of a normal life but it quickly becomes overwhelming and dangerous him/the school. Finishes his GED early but the Plumbers and Azmuth make him take additional college level and alien courses to prepare him for his future role. Ben gripes but really does love learning all these things, especially on his terms (ADHD and stress + the public school system do not always go hand in hand). He’s a quick learner when he deems the information important and is made accessible to his learning needs.

- Ben definitely has ADHD speaking of which, it was nearly uncontrollable as a child bc his free-spirited parents didn’t believe in medicating. Ben convinced them he needed it and after some trial and error, found meds that worked. As he became more involved in heroics/growing up he had to change his medicine regimen (resulting in him being a bit more off the rails in OV) and needed antidepressants and therapy to manage it better. As an adult he has a whole litany of coping mechanisms (good and bad yes) and regularly checks in with his therapist and doctors to keep things under control. 

- Has a complicated relationship with his necrofriggian children. Considers himself their mother and worries after them. They too feel a connection to their parent despite this being unusual for their species. A few visit (some more than others) while they grow while others maintain distance. Ben never breathes a word of them to the media for fear of them being targeted. Still he keeps an eye on them and ensures all 14 mature to adulthood (another rarity for the species). Checks in every now and again with the ones who don’t want to see him and those that do. Two join the Plumbers and Ben is both proud and worried. His youngest becomes partners with Rook Ben.

- Just in general loves kids, they’re his favorite fans and while he’ll grumble at pushy adult fans he always smiles and kneels down for the little ones. Not so secretly wanted to have children of his own but knew it was a risk overall and used a lot of that energy with mentoring and teaching. Eventually had Kenny later in life (late 30s-40s) and was over the moon, becoming such a loving and doing parent or as much as he could be with his hectic schedule. 

- Omnitrix can’t come off, never has at any point since it first latched onto Ben’s arm. Azmuth tried and failed to get the device off, doesn’t let Ben know for many years as he feared the consequences. The watch loves and protects Ben even beyond it’s programming making him much more durable to damage and releasing energy charges when he’s threatened. Not even removing Ben’s arm would separate them. They’re stuck for life.

- Ben does have Anodite heritage but the Omnitrix actively suppresses it and uses the built up energy to power the transformations which is why ben is mostly unaffected by what should cause a massive energy drain on him. Theoretically if Ben learned to harness and safely use his Mana at an early age like Gwen he would have been fine but letting it build up without safe outlet meant activation would have killed him. Omnitrix Ben, however, went his whole life not knowing of his latent abilities and how the watch saved his life.

- Ben’s eyes get more green and glowy as time passes from the Omnitrix. At first they think its a trick of the light but by the time he’s an adult his eyes are pretty much glow in the dark. His veins light up too after long stretches of using the Omnitrix. Its vaguely unsettling to people who aren’t used to Ben.

- Max and the Earth Plumbers work so, so hard to keep teen Ben on Earth when half the universe is blowing up their comm lines asking for The Ben 10 to help with whatever problem of the day. Ben himself doesn’t quite understand when he’s younger the prestige and expectations on his shoulders. Max throws up a million and one roadblocks so Ben can live as normal a life as possible while he still can. Still, while doing that he Still overloads Ben with expectations and responsibilities on earth and beyond. He becomes a soldier again with Ben as their greatest weapon. He never forgave himself of losing sight of his grandson underneath the hero esp after Ben’s breakdown. 

- Rook partnership with Ben ends not long after Omniverse with his promotion to Magister. Ben tries to play it cool but the thought of another loved one/teammate leaving his tears him apart. Max revealing that Ben most likely wouldn’t get a new Plumber assigned partner since he’s almost an adult and won’t need it and Rook accidentally missing their last smoothie run due to a scheduling mishap causes Ben to snap and have the nervous breakdown that had been building for almost a decade. He completely loses it for a little while and needs to take an extended leave of absence from school and heroics that lasts about a year. Spends time recovering both on Earth and Galvan Prime, does some diplomatic training, learns about aliens, actually confronts the stress and loneliness of his life. He comes out the other side stronger but still fragile and exhausted.

- Ben’s above mentioned breakdown brings him closer to all his friends who didn’t quite realize the extent of Ben’s burden. Rook had been under the impression Ben didn’t like him all that much so the knowledge that his departure was the final straw for friend/hero’s collapse was shocking. Ben and Azmuth also become closer, the Galvan becoming fiercely protective of the boy seeing as his Earth family didn’t do well to keep him safe. It takes years for him to get over his anger at Max for putting so much on his grandchild. Ben makes more friends, in and out of the hero business, finally gets a therapist and gets some of his burdens eased a bit. It’s not a sure fire fix and Ben has several smaller breakdowns the rest of his life but its something.

- Azmuth was straight up suicidal before he met Ben for the first time. Ben gave him back hope for the universe and his ability to create items for peace not weapons. The boy infuriates him, frightens him, frustrates him but Azmuth cannot deny in his heart of hearts that he loves Ben dearly. He’s very upset at Ben’s breakdown and doesn’t know how to handle the worst of the initail outbursts. Azmuth talks Ben down from a suicide attempt. He reaches out to Ben that he Too felt overwhelmed by pressure, thought himself only good for war. Ben’s arrival in his life saved him and now he will do the same for Ben. It’s the first positive step forward in Ben’s recovery.

- For no other reason than I like it, Azmuth primarily refers to Ben as Benjamin (mostly to annoy the kid but he likes the way it sounds too) and Ben in softer, more serious moments. 

- Professor Paradox continues to flit in and out of Ben’s life. He says its because Ben is the most equipped to handle universal peril (true) but he’s also just very fond of the boy. Ben, existing in so many forms and having such importance also exists a beat outside of normal reality which Paradox identifies with. Ben is naturally attuned to time related problems because of this (instantly IDing Spanner as from the future before being told later deducing him to be his unborn son). Plus Ben named him, way back when. He’s just drawn to Ben.

- Adult Ben, while being seen as an impressively skilled fighter and champion, really has his strength as a universal diplomat of sorts. Based out of Earth, he helps mediate and defuse conflicts, advocate against tyranny and overall preserve peace and balance. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and sometimes is forced to become violent (and yes kill) but overall is regarded as a peacekeeper, something younger ben simply couldn’t understand. 

- Gwen gets her degree and primarily does work with advocacy and teaching about magic/alien culture. While she and Ben are still close, there’s a bit of a frustrated divide in that she isn’t helping him share the burden of the universe. Gwen never wanted to be a hero and has enough worth to not shackle herself to a job that’ll burn her out. Ben loves heroing but gives too much of himself away trying to fix everything. They get into screaming arguments that it wouldn’t be so bad out there if she just helped him but she refuses to budge and says he shouldn’t make himself do so much. They always make up and thy still are each other’s closest relationships.

- Ben marries Kai in a political move, Kai is Asexual and Ben Aromantic. They didn’t love each other but they got on well enough and Ben was really feeling the stress of carrying the hero burden so Kai also being involved made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Both were also so tired of the universe constantly asking about their love life and said ‘fuck it we’re married leave us alone’. Gwen was always mad about it feeling Ben deserved better but the two of them were happy with it. They had separate rooms, mostly separate lives but they became strong friends and supports with their strictly platonic marriage. They had Ken via Invitro in an incubator and were loving if extremely busy parents. 

- Also from the moment he appeared, Ben knew that Spanner was his future son, Kenny. He played ignorant and then was kind of deliberately teasing him in future encounters. He knew the rules of time and didn’t want to disrupt things further even if he was angry and worried as heck about why Ken felt the need to time travel. When future Ben catches up in the timeline, Kenny gets SUCH a lecture. 

- Ben isn’t quite immortal but he’s also not entirely human anymore either. The Omnitrix not only keeps him safe from most harm but it lightens the effect of aging. Ben 10 is active many, many years when most humans would have been forced to retire. He’s not sure how long the watch will keep him alive and it terrifies him. Gwen too is functionally immortal however she ages like a normal human, then when her natural death came, shed her skin and became a fulltime Anodite. So in the end, it was her and Ben together wondering which of them will die first. Gwen has trouble retaining her humanity as pure energy and swears she’ll let herself fizzle out when Ben goes. When that’ll be however...

[mischiefmanaged71]

Bad Romance - Joaquin Torres X Reader

Song: Bad Romance - (961) lady gaga - bad romance ( s l o w e d ) - YouTube

Summary: The reader is an enhanced individual with the ability to replicate other people’s abilities. A member of the Avengers, she has been working alongside Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes to investigate the Flag Smashers but the man calling himself the next Captain America poses an obstacle when he takes interest in her abilities. 

Author’s Note: Hello! So this is my first time posting a fic I've written. I’ve been writing since 2018 but never had the courage to post anything so I hope you all enjoy my story. Torres has only been in ‘The Falcon and The Winter Soldier’ for like five minutes but I’m in love with him. There obviously isn’t enough fiction out there about him so I took it upon myself to write one. This is an idea I came up with in my head, aside from the plot of the show. Listen to the song for added effect. I’ve inserted timings as well :)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS, Canon-level Violence, blood, romance

Word count: 2.5K

Darkness is all you’ve known these past hours.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours since you’ve last had contact with anyone. Sam would usually check in with you about now, but that didn’t seem a likely possibility. 

Your right eye is almost swollen shut and you’re pretty confident that you have a few broken ribs from how difficult breathing is. The sound of metal creaking echoes in the empty room as you rattle your restraints. 

You’ve been quite literally chained to the wall. 

They weren’t taking any precautions.

Especially after witnessing the dozen agents you could take down all by yourself. 

Leaning against the wall, you try to reach some semblance of comfort, laying some of your weight against the hard-rock. Your neck burns from the collar they attached when you caught you off-guard. 

It was during a recon mission, you were chasing a lead about the Flag Smashers’ next meet up when they showed. Half a dozen armed men in tactical gear. 

They snagged a collar on you, disabling your powers.

You didn’t anticipate this.

All you heard was a piercing noise and then you blacked out.

You couldn’t access your powers as soon as that light buzzed. Trying to summon fire warranted a little electric shock to your system. Little, meaning severe enough to take down an elephant. 

Yeah, so getting out of here would be tricky.

Isn’t it always?

Five guards have remained in the room for the past two days, monitoring, watching. 

For what? 

You have only the slightest idea why.

The double doors which have remained close for the past two days creak open. The blue uniform is familiar to you but the face donning the outfit is not. He’s an imposter wearing a costume, a mock of the real thing. John Walker, along with his so-called ‘American squadron’, had grabbed you as a statement. Sam and Bucky certainly weren’t going to stay out of it because someone told them to. You all followed a code, to protect those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, it's been a while since we met last...I’m sorry for the way you were handled on the way here but it was the only way I could get to talk to you.”, he said, looking at the bruises beginning to form.

He talked nonchalantly as if this were a normal conversation. Your wrists were raw from pulling away from the cuffs, clothes covered in dirt and dried blood. He strode up to you, pulling his helmet off and placing it carefully on a metal crate.

“Now, I know Bucky and Sam had a lot to say about me, but you, you were always silent. I thought we had an understanding.”

‘An understanding?’

You refuse to look at him.

“You talk big words for someone who couldn’t begin to understand the legacy of that uniform.”

“I earned this! I put in the work. All they want is someone to look up to. To show them that justice still exists.”, he paces in front of you.

“Justice. Is it?”, your eyes narrow.

He pauses in thought, seething with internalised spite. Pacing the floor, he turns his back to you.

“Have you had time to think about my question?”

You remain silent, glaring at his mockery of Steve’s uniform.

“No? Okay. That’s fine,”, he whispered.

Walker signalled for a guard to open the doors once more and two more men entered, dragging someone along. You squint your eyes to identify the person as they dump them in front of you. 

“No”, you whispered desperately, your breath caught in your throat.

You spot Joaquin’s dark hair and tan complexion, more so, the blood staining his clothes. The men dragged Joaquin next to Walker, letting him slump to the floor. From what you could see, he had been beaten pretty badly, the bruises already beginning to form on his face. His hands are cuffed behind him and he’s unable to hold his own weight. 

Panic fills Torres as he notices the chains securing you to the wall. The last he heard over the coms was a struggle. He and Sam had been surveilling to get anything they could on your kidnappers.

You could only hear the rapid beating of your heart in your throat as blood rushed to your face. Your breathing quickens as you don’t quite know what will happen next. 

John broke the silence,

“I’m going to ask you again.”

“Then, I'm going to count from three.”, he said, pulling a silencer out from his waistband and cocking it at Joaquin who rested on his knees.

“What are you?”

You stare at him incredulously, unresponsive. 

You look down at Joaquin as he gazes up at you, helpless to move with guns trained on you. He’s telling you to stop, to lie, to do anything but give yourself up.

“What answer do you want?”, you asked, using all your strength to lift your head up.

“You want me to say I’m a freak? A mutant? An experiment? What good does that do you? Everyone knows it.”, you huff, sharpening your glare.

He stares down at Joaquin and kicks his foot out against the ground, clicking his tongue. Walker threw his foot into Joaquin’s back, pushing him into the floor.

“Not that.”

You watch as he points the gun harder.

“Tell me. What. You. Are.”, he grits out.

You clench your jaw hard, shutting your eyes tightly. A burning sensation fights in your chest, spreading to your arms. You suck in a breath desperately, a whimper tearing from your throat as your head drops.

The click of the safety echoes loudly.

(1:26s of the song)

Your eyes shoot open, blazing red and as the chains snap free from the wall. The metal clangs loudly against the floor, triggering the five weapons now pointed at your chest. A surge of fire ignites as you swipe your leg, knocking the agents back. The two standing closest raise their guns as you tilt your head and launch a blast of fire from your hand. The next agent replaces him, firing his gun consecutively, but you strut towards him, swiping them away with blasts omitting from your hands. You send a roundhouse kick with a wall of fire, propelling him through the exit. The remaining three encircle you with their weapons, clicking the safety off.

Your hands burn, glowing red with the heightening energy,

“Okay, you got me.”

You raise your hands in surrender as one of them steps towards. Faltering a step, you inhale deeply as he grabs your arm. Once he sets a hand on you, you exhale, breathing out a stream of fire. You twirl in a circle, the fire pushing them back and blocking their sight of you as they flinch from the heat. Dropping to the floor, you strike the cement and crack the surface. The building’s structure shakes as a cloud of energy dissipates from the contact, incapacitating the last of the soldiers.

Walker fixes his gun on Joaquin but you focus your glare on him. You wait as he stares at you, knowing he has the advantage.

"I'd stop right now, if I were you."

You silently stare at him with blazing fire burning in your orbs. The clicking of the safety reverberates in your mind as all movement stops. The muzzle of the gun is inches away from Joaquin's head.

“Alright, you’ve had your show now.”

You've got mere seconds to make a decision here.

He remains still, as Joaquin’s eyes meet yours and you nod your head slightly. 

It’ll be okay because you’d never let anything happen to each other.

"Walker, you've made your point. Look, it's me you really want, not Torres.", You snipped, grabbing his attention. 

Joaquin’s heart raced faster, 

What were you doing?

You could see the gears turning in Walker’s head, his eyebrows perk up.

"C'mon, this whole thing was to get to me, right? To weaponize me. It's my power. So take it. Just let him go." 

Walker pauses in thought,

"I don't think I will." 

You knew that'd be his answer but he was too busy looking at you to notice anything else. Joaquin threw his leg out, kicking Walker’s shin to knock him off his centre.

Moving quickly, you roundhouse, knocking the gun from his hand and driving your foot into his knee. He lets out a pained yell, ducking your elbow jab and rolling behind you. You roll forwards, swooping your flames across the floor to knock Walker on his back. He rolls to the side, standing again to flick open a compact switch from his pocket. He struggles for a moment as you strut over, but he presses the button down with conviction. 

You falter in your steps as a loud piercing sound breaches your cranium and hearing. It’s overwhelming, threatening to shatter your skull. A whimper falls from your mouth as both hands grasp your head. You can faintly hear Joaquin yelling your name from behind. The pain is unbearable. Joaquin bangs the cuffs on a metal crate behind him, forcing them to break. 

Your vision blurs as you clumsily move towards Walker. Once you’re close enough to him, you throw an uncoordinated right hook but he catches it and returns with a kick to your chest, knocking you to the floor. The pain continues, eliciting a moan from you as it grows worse with each second. Joaquin watches as you scream in agony, sprinting towards Walker and tackling him to the floor. Walker loses the switch from his hand, punching Joaquin in the jaw to get him off. Joaquin hisses as his head hits the floor, but he’s quickly grappling for the switch before Walker can get his hands on it. Scanning the floor, he sights it inches away from where you’re curled up in a ball. He’s crawling over to make it but a grip on his shoulder halts him, flipping him over and punching him repeatedly. 

Over the intense clanging, you see black dots form in your sight as you want to pass out. You hear grunts nearby and the sound of a fist making contact with skin. You flicker your eyes upward to see Walker’s figure looming over someone. 

‘Joaquin...where’s Joaquin?’

You close your eyes and force yourself up, struggling to gain your bearings. Upon opening your eyes, you notice something within your reach. Crawling forward, your fingers barely touch it. You try again and again before you feel the metal beneath your fingertips. Finally, you have it in your hands and crush it. The metal crunches and the ringing ceases. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you push yourself off the floor.

More coherent now, you angrily send a blast of energy to knock Walker off of Joaquin. Scrambling off the floor, he brings his fists in front of him, but you've already there, standing in front of him.

"I’m going to count from three.”, you said.

Striking a wave in his direction, you blast fire into his chest, your eyes imbuing fluttering embers.

‘Three’

You continue your onslaught, attacking him with multiple blows of rage. 

Your figure looms over Walker, blocking Joaquin from his sight.  

‘Two’

Your hands emit a fiery glow as you project flames, igniting a huge blast which sends Walker crashing through the window and down below.

‘One’

Gazing down the terrace, you saw Walker’s unconscious body laying on the crushed roof of a car. The authorities would show up eventually. 

Looking back inside, you finally start to feel the adrenaline rush declining. You move away from the window to find Torres leaning against a crate. Joaquin's face is bruised and cut-up as he holds his side with a grimace. 

"Joaquin, are you okay?!", 

You rush over to hold his other arm, scanning him for serious injuries. 

He stops your moving hands to grip them,

"(Y/N), I'm okay, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about. You almost died. How did you do that?", Joaquin asked, concern lingering in his eyes at the magnitude of your powers.

"I-I don't know. I guess my powers have always been linked to my emotions and then you were in danger. It was kind of instinctive, you know?"

"I could never let anything happen to you. Never.", She whispered silently, not noticing if he had caught it.

Joaquin moved to grasp her chin in his hand, pulling her head up so he could look into her eyes.

"You saved me."

You glanced over his face and the clear pain he was hiding from his injuries. 

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay. I-I was afraid...It shouldn't have been you.", You said to Joaquin, tears glinting in your sight.

"I'm not going anywhere. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.", he said, moving closer as your eyes meet his deep and endearing gaze.

"We should call Sam.", You suggested.

"I'll call him later."

Yours eyes met as he leaned his forehead on yours. You inhaled deeply as he gripped your hands tightly as if you would fall out of his grasp. Joaquin's arms encircle your waist and pull you in his embrace. Your arms rest around his neck, nestling your head against his shoulder.

You hold each other tightly in a moment of calm, seeking comfort from that person. The one person you would always seek out. 

You pull away, but his arms remain around your waist.

"You're so beautiful.", He whispers.

Your breathing shudders for a second before you decide to go for it,

"I-I love you, Joaquin."

You gauge his reaction as his eyes widen slightly. He leans in and guides his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly and passionately, his hands still gripping your waist. You sigh and stand on your tip-toes, tugging the hairs on the back of Joaquin's neck to bring him closer. You both pause, gasping for air for a moment. Kisses linger in between breaths as you both wind down from the intense 24 hours you've had, emotionally and physically.

"For the record, I love you too.", He grins, laughing at your eye roll.

"I didn't quite catch that, why don't you show me again?", You winked, biting your lip as his arms swooped around you again and tugged you closer. 

Barely brushing your lips, he looks between your eyes and then your lips.

"I think we can arrange that."

Your breath catches as your lips brush his. You smiled, closing your eyes, as does Joaquin. You swayed in his arms as his lips encased yours once more. 

Suddenly, red and blue flashing lights breach your vision from below. Sirens surrounded you both. You separated, glancing outside the broken window. 

Police cars surrounded the building. Reinforcements had arrived. His hand still grips yours and you motion to help him take some of his weight, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

"We should get of here.", You pushed open the door to exit down a flight of stairs. 

"Yeah.", Joaquin replied, grinning down at you as you walked out together.

Reblog, like, comment if you liked it and any thoughts xx

[millenniumfae]

Video Game Cooking: Nectar (Hades 2018)

Nectar is one of the in-game items Zagreus can collect. By gifting these bottles of golden liquid to other characters, he raises his affinity with them, which in turn gives him powerup items and advances character questlines. 

Hades (2018) is a retelling/adaptation of the classical Persephone and Hades mythos. All items, settings, and characters are from classic Greek mythology; Zagreus’ foster mother is the primordial goddess of night. Achilles’ personal questline is about reuniting him with his lover Patrocles. Zagreus has spent his entire life sheltered underground in Tartarus, so he doesn’t know what birds are, or what winter is. 

In turn, ‘nectar’ exists in Greek mythology. It’s sometimes interchangeable with ambrosia; both are the legendary foods/drinks of the gods, said to grant immortality to anyone who consumes them, amongst other positive effects. In-game, nectar is the more commonplace counterpart to ambrosia; Zagreus finds nectar as a dungeon drop. But he needs to defeat the champion of Elysium boss to gain a single bottle of ambrosia.

Today, we’re gonna re-create the nectar of Hades (2018) for ourselves! It may be contraband in Hades’ domain, but it’s not like anyone pays attention to that rule, anyways.

Why are we recreating nectar, and not ambrosia? Because there already exists tons of ‘ambrosia’ drink recipes. Maybe not based off of the Hades (2018) version, but there’s nothing new or exciting in making yet another ambrosia drink. Nectar, on the other hand, gives us more room for invention.

Hades (2018) Nectar Recipe  (Makes One Serving)

1 1/3 cups Martinelli's sparkling cider

2 tablespoons orange flower water

1 tablespoon honey

1/4 teaspoon edible gold shimmer powder (make sure it lists all ingredients, and is certified food safe)

A pinch of coarse sea salt

A pinch of lemon zest

A drop of mint extract

The first times Zagreus gifts nectar to npcs, they describe honoring some sort of godhood custom and exchange with him with a ‘keepsake’ - an in-game powerup he can wear. Unlike with gifting ambrosia, their eyes don’t pop out with shock at receiving such a luxurious gift, it’s instead just something nice, even if relatively commonplace. But nectar is still prestigious enough that gifting the actual Olympic gods nectar goes over well.

If ambrosia is the equivalent of Zagreus gifting $30,000,000 Breguet watches to his friends and family, then nectar is the gourmet-wrapped basket of cheese and crackers you see in the ‘gift’ section of the grocery store. Something you spot while on errands, and impulsively buy so you have a hostess gift the next time someone invites you over. It’s a gift borne of societal custom, and implores the giftee to give you something in return, eventually. Everyone from your multimillionaire uncle Poseidon to your humble jailbird neighbor Sisyphus are pleased to receive such a gift, even if they might value its contents differently.

(In the early-access versions of the game, nectar was ambrosia. The final release wrote ambrosia as the coveted, rare prize you earn after defeating the champions of Elysium. True enough, Zagreus can only find ambrosia after defeating the Elysium boss.)

In original Greek mythology, ‘nectar’ and ‘ambrosia’ aren’t two distinct things. Homer describes nectar as the god’s drink, and ambrosia is the food. But in Sappho’s and Anaxandrides’s poems, it’s the opposite. There’s more recorded mentions of ‘ambrosia’, rather than nectar. Some take this to mean that both nectar and ambrosia can be seen as something both food and drink, like honey.

Both share canonical similarities. Ambrosia and nectar are fragrant foods/drinks, sometimes used as literal perfume by the gods. Makes sense that nectar smells good, if in the AD period we’ve taken the word to mean the sweet stuff within flowers.

Other than its smell, we’ve no canonical information about nectar (other than in the Odyssey, nectar is described as either ‘rose-red’ in color, or in scent). Hades (2018) rendered nectar’s appearance as an opaque, warm gold liquid in a cute little round bottle, wrapped with a ribbon to benefit its ‘gift merchandise’ reputation.        

Nobody in Hades (2018) describes the taste/smell of nectar. Ambrosia, on the other hand, is said to be rare ‘vintages’ that you’re guaranteed to like. Sometimes, gifting either results in a cutscene where Zagreus and co. hang out at the lounge, complete with a sound clip of uncorking a bottle and pouring it into a tall glass. You can also see characters drink nectar amongst each other, savoring both the occasion and the taste. Eurydice also offers a ‘Refreshing Nectar’ power up item, which just kinda looks like normal nectar but in a tall glass. 

There’s a clear alcohol equivalence. But nobody references drunkeness in-game. Even original classical Greek culture didn’t have a drunk culture like we do; wine was revered, but it was mixed with water to be savored, not to intoxicate oneself. Maybe nobody in-game can get drunk in the first place; everyone’s either an immortal, or a ghost.

(In my opinion, it’s always a bit weird when videogame characters can nurture deep, trusting relationships purely built upon a system of gifting items. But Hades (2018) does make it clear that Zagreus already has established relationships with most of the cast.)

Ambrosia’s a rare vintage. So what does that make nectar? We need to make something sweet, pleasant, attractive-looking, and also tangibly related to its rarer sibling. So we’re using another liquid that’s distilled and sometimes fermented; apple cider. 

A bit of this decision comes from the soundbite of opening up a nectar in the lounge; it’s a thin viscosity with a slight hint of foam, almost sounding like beer. And the color matters too, since different distillations of apple cider can result in different colors, ranging from dark brown to a light, bright gold.

Apple juice, when fermented, can have alcohol contents going from light apple wine, to brandies that have 10-25% alcohol. As a culinary ingredient, its modest fructose content means a higher temperature tolerance, and its citric acid can be used as a brine. It’s a popular ‘new world’ ingredient in cooking and baking. 

It’s also an ‘old world’ food. Hades (2018) doesn’t take itself super seriously, with its foil-wrapped gyros and french fries as in-game healing items. But any character/worldbuilding they do have, they keep it consistent. 

Zagreus says that Hermes’ symbol “almost looks like a bat wing”, when it’s very clearly a bird wing. Because he’s lived underground his whole life, he doesn’t know what a bird is. Weapons upgraded with the aspect of people like Guan Yu, or King Arthur, are time-bending powers that no one has ever heard of, with hints that these mysterious people live in places with their own gods/mythology. Zagreus catches a trout/bass/sturgeon fish for the first time, and it’s completely foreign to him, but Achilles fondly recalls these Greece-native fish fitting of his Nereid heritage. Characters have discussions about how mortals fear death, despite Thanatos being a gentle god represented by butterflies. There’s no sun, therefore no time, in the underworld. Hades is the god of minerals as well as the underworld, hence gems and diamonds being an in-game loot. 

Apples originated in Central Asia. During the Classical Greek era, they would have resembled what we call crabapples; small, hard, sour, cherry-sized. “At the Sammardenchia-Cueis site near Udine in Northeastern Italy, seeds from some form of apples have been found in material carbon dated to around 4000 BCE.”

It implores me to find ingredients that fit the setting, as with my other Video Game Cooking recipes. No pumpkins, no corn, potatoes, chocolate, tomatoes, vanilla. Instead, we have things like almonds, lentils, oranges, honey, garlic, onions (haha, suck it Achilles)

To reflect nectar’s ‘sweet smelling’ trait, we’re using an ingredient common in Persian cooking - and later the French royal court of King Louis; orange flower water. I found mine in my local Asian grocery. It’s a byproduct of making essential oil, and it’s colorless/flavorless, but with a strong aromatic smell that affects any food you mix it with. It’s also a known ingredient in modern day Greece, called anthonero (ανθόνερο). 

(Eeurydice is confirmed to use both nectar and ambrosia as a cooking ingredient, and her food is apparently amazing. Maybe one day, I’ll make another Video Game Cooking recipe based off of her Pom Porridge, or Ambrosia Delights.) 

And to really make it look like the food of the gods, we’re adding an ingredient found more and more in swanky bars worldwide; edible glitter powder. Originally, people only used this to decorate baked goods and candies, but come Instagram, people are making these really picturesque cocktails that shimmer rainbow. You gotta be careful when buying these for yourself, though; the tiny tins of decorative edible shimmer power you find at Michaels may not actually be as edible as they claim. I found Bakell-brand Luster Dust at a bake-supply shop. If it doesn’t list its ingredients, or certify itself as FDA-approved, then don’t use it for food.

And since it’s called ‘nectar’, we’re also adding honey. Which has long history of its divine status as a holy food. To take down the intense sweetness a bit, the tinest pinch of sea salt - another holy, pure substance. And to really bring out the brightness of the apples, we’re adding a sprinkle of lemon zest. A tiny drop of mint extract brings a complex depth to the orange flower smell.

To make a glass of nectar; cover the bottom of the glass with mint, lemon, sea salt, honey, and orange flower water. Then, pour the apple cider with the gold shimmer dust together, so that the two mix together a bit, to avoid clumping of the powder. Then you mix the drink a bit, so that the honey, zest, and salt aren’t sitting at the bottom.

It only now occurs to me that this recipe might actually be a rendition of Eurydice’s Refreshing Nectar item, rather than pure nectar itself. But just take my word for it; when you open up a bottle of nectar, you get that whiff of blossoms with the slight coldness of mint, and the sea salt/honey taste goes really well with the apple juice. I imagine that Eurydice’s somehow making a further delicious drink by adding a splash of Bailoni and ice. 

Enjoy! Just imagine that you’re hanging out with Zagreus and his three partners, cracking a cold one open over stories about how crazy the surface world is. Did you know that we have machines called computers that instantly relay information all over the world??

[waveypedia]

What’s In A Family?

(ao3 link in reblogs)

~

In his twenty-something years of life (not that he’s an adult) as a definitely real boy, Boyd has had (he mentally counts on his fingers) five families.

He’s lucky. He doesn’t know anyone else with so many families. He’s an anomaly; an outlier.

Not in a bad way.

His first family was formed the moment he opened his eyes. A young, slightly nervous chicken smiles gently back at him. Waves of reassurance and safety wash over Boyd before his internal, online dictionary can define his feelings.

“All systems online. Welcome to the world, 2BO!”

Boyd loves the way young Gyro says his name. There’s so much exhilaration, triumph, and love in his tone. During his time lying in the junkyard, before he powered off for good, he would replay that memory in his mind. His first moment, his core memory.

And his core creator, his core father.

Gyro and Boyd formed his first little family. They were a unit. The two of them against the world. Boyd loved sitting in the lab while Gyro ran tests and completed intern tasks. He would ramble on and on about various scientific things and projects.

(Dr. Akita was there too, and, for a time, Boyd considered him part of his little family as well. But Akita was always distant. He gave Boyd calculating looks he would only come to understand much, much later. Akita never joined them unless he absolutely had to, and he never directly addressed Boyd, or treated him like a real boy, the way Gyro did. Boyd didn’t realize that until Gyro stopped, twenty years later, and Akita revealed his true colors.)

Boyd has always loved science. It’s in his blood. (Well, it would be, if he actually had blood.) It’s in his programming (the good part). But he mostly loves it because Gyro loves it.

Gyro talked endlessly about all kinds of science, especially robotics and coding. Boyd soaked it all up. When Gyro was caught in a ramble of ideas and defining unknown terminology never crossed his mind (more often than not), Boyd would search them up himself inside his brain. He relishes the rush that comes with learning. Boyd takes that original practice and tucks it close against his heart. He uses it to keep himself occupied when Gyro and Akita were busy with other brilliant, world-changing experiments (which only stung just a little), or for the endless ages he was stuck at the junkyard, or late at night, the darkness like a thick, smothering blanket around him, when Mark Beaks or Doofus or whichever family he’s with has fallen asleep.

It’s a link to his past, before he even realizes it. It stays with him when the memories of Gyro and Dr. Akita are incomprehensibly fuzzy and pushed to the back of his mind (but never gone, never gone).

(Someday, in the not-so-far future, Boyd will sit with the kids he’s come to know as part of another family, and pore over studies and science about nature versus nurture. He, Huey and Webby are at the forefront of the research, with Lena trying and failing to pretend she’s not that interested. She hangs just behind them, peering over their shoulders and squeezing Violet’s hand so hard it must hurt, but Violet’s face almost never changes. Dewey and Louie are there as well, less interested in the science itself but just as invested in the final result as the rest of them.)

Besides, while Boyd relishes the pursuit of knowledge, he always prefers when Gyro is a little less hyperfocused on his own projects, and realizes that Boyd doesn’t have the knowledge and experience that comes with three degrees and a mentorship in robotics like he does.

He loves it most when Gyro explains the science and the terminology himself. Out of all the interesting things he’s learned, those are always Boyd’s favorites.

Of course, that all comes to an end far too soon. Boyd doesn’t realize it will end until it does.

He has no memories of Akita hijacking his programming and turning him into a weapon for destruction rather than a beacon of protection. Boyd is thankful for that, more than anything in the world (except for maybe Gyro’s existence, and that Boyd found his way back to him). The last thing he wants to do is know.

Although, maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of him whispers, if he was conscious during that time, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe he’s partially responsible.

Boyd isn’t sure he wants to find out.

He just hopes, with all his heart, that it will never, ever happen again.

He’s a definitely real boy, not a weapon.

Boyd’s memories of the loss of his first family and the aftermath of Akita’s his rampage are few and far between.

(When he looks back on it, after Team Science’s visit to Tokyolk, he thinks he might remember Inspector Tezuka’s fist crashing into his face. He thinks he might have been conscious for a single moment before he blacked out. He remembers sparks and a pain that might have come from guilt for something he shouldn’t be guilty for.)

He remembers a train, and a plane, both very similar in that he was tucked away in an overflowing cargo bay, without a good view. He was tossed in a dump with other malfunctioning electronics. (But he’s not a malfunctioning electronic device! He’s a definitely real boy!)

The junkyard is his clearest memory of the liminal space between Tokyolk and Mark Beaks.

He remembers staring up at the sky, watching it fade from day to night to day again. He remembers calling out - for Gyro, for Akita, for anyone. (But mostly for Gyro.) He remembers nudging and talking to some of the other electronics, looking for something sentient, just like him.

The pure joy that overwhelmed him when Mark Beaks found him, only slightly dampened by the fact that he doesn’t like hugs (Gyro likes - liked - hugs). Boyd rides that wave of euphoria through the two days he spends with Mark.

Social media is completely new to Boyd - it didn’t exist when he was created, and Gyro and Akita were never the type to care what strangers thought of them online. But Boyd loves it, because with social media comes fun activities with Mark.

Beaks messes with his programming after he brings Boyd home from the junkyard. He programs Boyd to be his son, and to think Beaks is his father.

In the junkyard, Boyd wished on all the stars he could see for a family. But it feels so wrong, and he can’t figure out why.

(The memories of Gyro and Akita, but mostly Gyro, are buried deep in Boyd’s memory banks. Beaks shoves some small filters over them, so they won’t be easily accessible, but they’re still there. They will always be there.)

Boyd marvels at how different Duckburg looks from Tokyolk (not that he spent much time outside the lab, not that he can remember). He loves Waddle Headquarters, with its trampolines of various heights and desks made of candy. It’s a kid’s paradise, and Boyd is a kid.

But Beaks doesn’t treat him like a kid. Sure, he takes him to family-fun attractions like the aquarium and the park, but, at the end of the day, Beaks only views Boyd as a tool. A piece of machinery he can use to his advantage, and abandon when he doesn’t need him anymore.

Because that’s what Beaks did to Boyd. He abandoned him. Once Beaks lost Doofus’ bags of gold, he was done.

Boyd’s second family was open-and-shut, in only two days.

But it’s not all bad, Boyd reckons to himself during his first, sleepless night at the Drakes’ house, across from his brand new brother. (A brother! Boyd has never had a brother before!)

He has a third family now.

Life with the Drakes is different from any life Boyd has lived before. They have mountains of toys and games, and a seemingly bottomless fund to buy new ones. He has a brother, a playmate (although he never seems all too enthusiastic to play). He has two loving parents who dote on him in a way Boyd has never experienced, although it comes closest to his earliest memories with Gyro. He goes to school, a rich private school, where he’s years and years ahead of all his science and math classes, and all his schoolmates don’t seem to know how to react to Boyd’s genuine, enthusiastic kindness. (He does make a friend, Skye, who reacts to his friendliness with overwhelming bouts of her own.) He becomes a Junior Woodchuck, with Doofus. (He still sticks out, but he loves learning, and he even has an acquaintance (almost-friend, almost-friend), Jason.)

It’s the closest Boyd has ever come to feeling like a real, genuine kid.

(Not that he isn’t - he’s a definitely real boy. A definitely real boy.)

But something still feels a little off.

Maybe it’s Doofus’ quiet hatred of him, which Boyd never quite understands. Or the way the Drakes seem indebted to him, which makes Boyd uncomfortable.

Or, the fact that Gyro is missing from the equation.

But Boyd doesn’t try and puzzle it out until much later, because he’s happy. He’s a definitely real boy and he’s treated like one.

And then Boyd meets Huey, and finds three new families all at once.

His world turns upside down.

He finds Gyro again.

But it’s not Gyro. It’s not the Gyro he knows. It’s not the sweet, patient Gyro who guided him through various tests and experiments,  comforting Boyd when he was scared. It’s not the kind, knowledgeable Gyro who was always more than happy to share all the schematics and details of whatever experiment he was working on. It’s not the fatherly, loving Gyro who tucked him in at night, even when he didn’t sleep, not really, and comforted him when Akita scared him for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet.

This Gyro screams, leaps up on a table at the sight of him, and gets as far away from Boyd as he possibly can. This Gyro calls him “it” instead of “he” and almost never addresses him directly. This Gyro is defensive, and abrasive, and mean in ways Boyd could never have imagined Gyro would be.

It hurts. Oh, it hurts so much.

Boyd just wants his Gyro back. He just wants his father back.

But Huey and Fenton are there to soften the blow. Huey, Boyd’s first real friend who shares his interests (Doofus is only his friend because he has to be, and Skye, for all her amazingness, couldn’t care about science if she tried). Huey sticks up for him in the face of furious, terrifying Gyro. Huey calls him “he” and “Boyd” and treats him like a definitely real boy (which he is).

Fenton is less understanding, but he comes around. He doesn’t quite understand that Boyd is a real boy. He’s stuck on the fact that Boyd is a machine. But he believes in Boyd’s goodness, and Fenton’s grin after Boyd comes back to himself warms Boyd’s heart.

Fenton believes Boyd can be a hero. He wants Boyd to use his robotics to help other people, rather than hurt.

(Boyd would just prefer to not use them at all.)

Huey, Fenton, and the new, angry aggressive stubborn Gyro, along with Lil’ Bulb, who tops Doofus as a sibling in every way, become Boyd’s fourth family.

But, unlike Boyd’s previous families, it comes with unignorable, unmistakable pain. Gyro, and Fenton to a degree, don’t believe in him. Huey does, but (and Boyd doesn’t know this) there was a moment, after Boyd hurt Fenton, where Huey stared after him with pain and panic clear on his face.

(But even when faced with impossibly clear evidence that Boyd is evil (he’s not, he’s not), Huey roots for him and his goodness. Fenton comes to his senses and cheers along with Huey when Boyd regains control.)

Boyd can’t remember what he did under Akita’s control. But he does remember the moment Dr. Akita wrestled with his will. It was right after Gyro showed him the false core memory (not that any of them realized that), and Gyro’s accompanying explicit dismissal, which felt like a punch to the face within itself. That hurt the most out of everything, but it’s an emotional pain rather than a physical one.

But the pain that comes when Akita hacks and overpowers his systems is physical. Boyd feels it coursing through his circuitry, a moment of blinding, paralyzing pain and panic. I can’t do it he’s taking me back I don’t have control I can’t control myself he’s gonna hurt everyone I’m gonna destroy the city I’m a monster they were right-

And then nothing.

Nothing, until Gyro’s voice, cracking with surrender and panic, reaches Boyd’s conscious, buried under Akita’s mindless worldbreaker program.

“You are a definitely real boy!”

Boyd rights himself and hurls for Gyro at dangerous speeds. In a fleeting moment, his conscious wrestles and tussles furiously with Akita’s hidden programming. There isn’t enough time for him to consciously think about it, but somehow Boyd knows that everything rests on this very moment. If he doesn’t overcome Akita’s programming, Gyro, and probably Fenton and Huey, will surely die.

Boyd is overcome by pure panic, but it’s a motivating panic rather than a freezing one. It spurs him into action, to push every last inch of his energy into battling Akita’s evil programming. To save his family.

Luckily, thankfully, he comes out on top, just in time. Boyd slams on the brakes and crashes, as gently as physically possible given the speeds he was just hurtling at (so, not very gently, but importantly not so hard that he kills or injures his target), straight into Gyro’s arms.

Gyro squeezes Boyd close, and it feels like a tuning fork against Boyd’s sternum. After everything, the innate sense of wrongness Boyd has always felt in his previous families (after Gyro) is gone.

This is where he’s meant to be.

Boyd can feel Gyro trembling, with effort and emotion, and he’s sure that if it was possible, he’d be trembling too.

He opens his eyes (blue) and lets the joy and euphoria of the moment overcome him. Huey and Fenton cheer for him from the ground below (they’re safe) and Boyd finds his family.

The road to get there was a little rocky, but they’re stronger for it.

Boyd treasures his fourth family close to his heart, but he’s overjoyed to meet his fifth family as soon as the Sunchaser touches down in Duckburg. Boyd’s future (as always) is uncertain and unknown to Boyd, but he knows one thing for sure. He has a forever family now, and Gyro is in his life again. He’s there to stay.

Team Science accompanies him to the Drakes’. Boyd loves his third family, but he’s disappointed to leave Gyro. They (the parents, beyond Boyd’s conscious understanding) have always been kind to him, but he feels most at home with Gyro and Team Science. Boyd fits back into his normal routine easily, but the sense of wrongness has returned. Only now, Boyd thinks he understands it.

One day, while Boyd is “playing” with Doofus and texting Huey and his siblings, the doorbell rings. Boyd answers it to find Gyro and Scrooge, the patriarch of Boyd’s fifth and newest family, standing awkwardly on the doorstep. Even Scrooge, weathered and experienced in his 150+ years of age and life, seems a little nervous and out of place, for reasons Boyd won’t understand for a couple hours. But when Boyd breaks into a grin bigger than his usual enthusiastic demeanor (which is saying something) and tackle hugs Gyro against his knees, they both relax into their purpose. They know what they’re doing is right.

While Doofus plays with his superfluously expensive toys and wonders what in the world he did to deserve this torture (a lot, buddy), Scrooge, Gyro, and the Drake parents draw up a custody agreement.

Gyro is the closest thing Boyd has to a biological dad. He’s come to his senses and wants time with his son, and his son wants time with him.

Boyd is far too nice to tell his current parents he wants another. Gyro, for all his aggressive stubbornness, is too awkward to waltz into the Drake mansion and demand his son. But Scrooge, while far from the kindest and most tactful duck, understands family. And, as Gyro’s pseudo-father, and therefore Boyd’s new grandfather, he will fight for his family.

He also knows far too well what it’s like to be forcefully cut off from one’s family.

So not only does Boyd now spend a good chunk of his time with Gyro and Team Science, he also spends a lot of time with his fifth family, the McDuck clan. And he’s never been happier.

He splits his time between the Drake mansion, with doting parents and every possible thing a kid could wish for; the lab, familiar like the one from his childhood but different, and not in a bad way; school, with Skye and Jason (which is pretty much the same as it’s ever been); Junior Woodchuck meetings, where Boyd and Huey break off from the group to do things their way; and the McDuck Manor, which has so many wild but loving new family members.

Boyd makes fast friends with his fifth family. Scrooge, Della, Donald, and Mrs. Beakley, somewhat unconsciously, jump at the chance to have another child under their care, and a sweet one at that. Donald notes with a beaming smile how easily Boyd fits into the ragtag group of kids, which seems to grow every couple weeks. Soon he’s not even the newest addition, after Launchpad brought Gosalyn to the manor once, and she just kept coming back. Scrooge and Della note this, and also note how much happier Gyro and Huey seem. Gyro especially.

Boyd is sometimes overwhelmed with the sheer amount of people that the extended McDuck clan encompasses. He keeps an itemized list stored in his database (...famous adventurer and thief Goldie O’Gilt, Moonlander General Penumbra of the Planet Moon, famously lucky cousin Gladstone Gander, the immortal Greek hero of legend Storkules and his sister, Selene, immortal Greek goddess of the moon…). It grows and grows. Boyd’s families have always been small, so the change is more than welcome. (Not that he doesn’t love his third and fourth families, or fault any for their size. But after a lifetime of minuscules, Boyd loves having people, family, everywhere.)

Boyd notes euphorically that no one gives him a second glance for being a robot. His fifth family is filled to the brim with crackpots and weirdos, both in personality and humanity. His grandfather is 150+ years old, an adventure capitalist, and the richest duck in the world. His grandmother is a retired spy, and her granddaughter, a spy in training. He has not one, not two, but three superhero uncles/fathers. His new sister/cousin is a shadow given life through the magic of friendship (read: a definitely real girl).

Boyd bonds with Lena, and Webby, over their outsider, inhuman syndromes. He bonds with Della over her metal leg and their robotic parts. He bonds with Fethry and Donald over the feeling of being neglected and not listened to.

But he also bonds with Lena because she’s cool and magic and a big sister to look up to. He bonds with Della because she’s been to outer space, which must be far more fun than any flying Boyd’s ever done, even with his rocket feet. He bonds with Donald over his brilliant, futuristic Paperinik tech, and Fethry over all the knowledge he learned in his time alone in the underwater lab. (It opens up a whole new area of science for Boyd to explore!)

Between his families, Boyd finally feels like he belongs.

But even so, one of his favorite parts of visiting the mansion, with all its allure and magic, is leaving. Because Gyro almost always comes to pick him up.

After Boyd has hugged everyone in the mansion at least twice, he takes Gyro’s hand and waves goodbye. They walk down the long driveway, to the small car Gyro bought when he started driving Boyd around. Gyro asks Boyd about his day, to which Boyd is more than happy to launch into an enthusiastic, detailed recount of his shenanigans. Gyro listens with a fond smile and love in his eyes as he drives. Sometimes back to the Drake mansion, sometimes to the lab… but sometimes, to Gyro’s little apartment.

They’ll eat together and watch How It’s Made or read a scientific journal, or work on a small experiment together if Boyd’s lucky. Then Gyro will tuck him in, and Boyd will close his eyes and begin his sleep program.

He’s comforted by the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s still him and Gyro against the world.

Boyd Gearloose has five families. One of them is defunct, and one is problematic at times, but it’s still one of his families. And three make him one of the happiest real boys in the world.

He’s also one of the luckiest real boys in the world, he supposes as a small smile curves his beak, beneath the thin blanket newly gained purpose other than shoved away in the corner of Gyro’s tiny closet.

Boyd is a definitely real boy, and he has so many people and so many families who love him for it.

~

oh my god I haven’t written for Ducktales in so long. I haven’t completed and published a fic in over a year, and the last one was kinda bad :P. So this is so nice!! I’ve really missed writing. I have more fics in mind, especially another Team Science family/Dad Gyro fic that’s more of a traditional fic than a character study :P

My first character study! I took a lot of creative liberties with Boyd’s past and future, and how he felt during the Astro BOYD episode, and how his tech works (it was inspired by Cinder and Iko from the Lunar Chronicles, because they’re cyborg/robot and struggle with society’s dehumanization of robots and cyborgs, similar to Boyd’s character, but use their tech to their advantage and change the definition of what it means to be human.) 

I want Boyd to stay with Gyro and Team Science after Astro BOYD so much, but I know the Drake parents love him, and his presence is so good for that family. So long as Doofus doesn’t pull any stunts, I don’t want to take him away. Just because his “bio dad” is back doesn’t mean he should leave his current family, but that doesn’t mean Gyro should get sidelined either. So this is my idea of a compromise!

I’m in love with the idea of Boyd, after not having a lot of family and friends his whole life, being absorbed into the McDuck clan and suddenly having an influx of loving family. <3

[where-all-the-time-went]

gah, screw it

[ID: A tumblr post from me, reading, “now is probably the time to write my 500-word essay on the politics of revolution of the daleks that gets 30 notes and is never seen again, which i return to in a month to find a lot of typos, otherwise no one will see it, isn’t it,,, “but i haven’t seen jack robertson’s first episode,,,”. End ID.] answer: yes, it is. but im gonna take a while to write this and look up a summary of arachnids in the uk (which i dont wanna watch because i heard its Not Good and you dont have to watch every episode of doctor who to be a fan, ok?) i sometimes talk about politics on tumblr, but rarely do i make political posts--mainly because, as my sidebar bio says, i’m a teenager. i don’t really have a degree in politics, and as much as i have been trying to read up on political stuff, its kinda hard when i dont have access to a college professor to guide me along. still, some things about this episode stood out to me, especially because it’s stuff i’ve noticed in a lot of media. i’m not even sure where i stand politically, but i absolutely love media commentary, and i have so many thoughts i feel like i never get to put out there when im watching movies and tv. obviously, spoilers under the cut (and it probably won’t actually be 500 words. probably.) i’m also gonna assume you’ve seen this episode, because i don’t wanna recap it. if you haven’t, go watch it! tbh, it’s well worth it (my favorite chibs era episode, just ahead of the haunting of villa diodati and demons of the punjab)

Now, um, obviously this episode is political. It’s the in-your-face without down-your-throat type of political we know and love. Still, media can be a direct allegory that wouldn’t bother the average viewer while still having politics that are good, bad, or somewhere in the middle (I mean this extremely subjectively). First, I’d like to address the elephant in the room:

While a Doctor Who festive special would normally film in the summer, this time the episode was filmed well ahead in winter 2019, over a year before it was due to be broadcast in a bid to include it within filming for series 12 (which aired from January to March) and give cast a longer break.

- The Radio Times

I’ve noticed some people pointing out that the episode references the protests that happened this summer. Honestly, I’d love it if that was the intention behind the episode, because then maybe Chris Chibnall’s team really does have a TARDIS, and we can all just time travel out of this mess.

[ID: An image from “Revolution of the Daleks.” A very sleek Dalek stands in front of police who have riot shields. The air is foggy, possibly gaseous. End ID.] However, the protests from this summer and the episode itself do not exist inside a bubble. Police brutality did not come into existence this summer, and it did not end with the autumn equinox. The episode, while featuring a small-scale protest that was eerily reminiscent of the large BLM protests this year, chooses to focus instead on one of the roots of the issue: somehow, capitalism.

I can’t say how purposeful the anti-capitalist messaging in the episode was. Obviously, Jack Robertson is meant to be an American capitalist caricature. Not to mention, Doctor Who is a family-friendly show: you can’t get too overt with what can be considered “radical” coding. Nonetheless, the episode tackles the connection between policing and money, and thus inherently comments on capitalism. 

The Dalek itself only exists to support the police force because Prime Minister Patterson knows that the idea of security will appeal to her constituency. Simultaneously, it could not exist if Robertson didn’t know just how profitable it would be. As they preach security, they create chaos. More importantly, the security they preach is one that bases itself on profit--similar to the weapons of the policeforce, and the prison industrial complex. As a result, the “security” inevitably fails.

[ID: Prime Minister Patterson, in a red coat, listens to Jack Robertson and Leo, in dark neutral-toned clothes both. They stand in front of a brick wall as they discuss the new Dalek plans. End ID.] Unfortunately, while the show presents a clear stance against money in policing, there is never any direct call to action. The political allegory may be straightforward and obvious, but the solution at the end is just to end the Daleks, and watch as Robertson announces his run for President (which, by the way, is very reminiscent of Trump, who does exist in-universe, so that’s weird). Regardless of all that, why am I even talking about this? Well, on the one hand, I love talking about these sorts of things. On the other hand, this post has started to sound like nothing but a rant with some pictures. Earlier, I said that this was something I noticed in a lot of media. For instance, I think of “The Boys,” with its obvious anti-capitalist and anti-military industrial complex messaging. At the same time, the show offers no solutions. Both are afraid of the obvious solution to capitalism: replacing it. To be clear, I say this as a person who is unsure about capitalism. I don’t know where I stand. Like I said, I’m a teenager. However, these shows can’t seem to make a decision either, when they're made by big companies with big budgets and professional adults. Politics in popular media tends to fit perfectly with the popular politics of the time, given that media must do so in order to make profit. Hence, similar to the media we consume, so many individuals seem to recognize that there’s something off with the hand money has in politics, and war, and security, yet no one seems to look for solutions.  Personally, I love talking about politics in the media, and analyzing media in general, because it’s the best way for me to communicate my internal thoughts. Meanwhile, I don’t even know my own internal thoughts. This post’s very existence is ironic. I had said in a very awful post that I wanted to write this when the tag was still trending, because I, in part, want someone else to do the thinking for me. I want people to see this and go, “well, okay, here’s where you’re wrong,” or, “here’s what we do about it.” Do I then have a responsibility to know what I’m talking about? Is the discourse all that matters? Does the media as a whole have to propel revolutionary ideas to get them into the social conscience, or can it just open up discussion?  There is, of course, irony in shows that could only exist in a capitalist world degrading aspects of that system. But no one, not even me, is exempt from the fact that these ideas do not exist in a bubble. The show’s protests look eerily familiar because, as this summer has proven, those protests are profitable (see literally every ad from companies that own sweatshops talking about how much they care about races they don’t represent in their board of directors). At the same time, I exist in that capitalist world, and my opinions have been formed via the capitalist media I was raised with. tl;dr: i know literally nothing. im sure of literally nothing. help, someone tell me about the politics of doctor who. wow, this was a really sad tl;dr, i normally make a shitty joke here. um, uh, EXTERMINATE

[simsadventures]

After All: Chapter 14: Where Are You?

Summary: Bucky’s quinjet gets lost in the air, or at least that’s what you and the rest of the team think.

Warnings: angst, swearing, worried reader, Winter Soldier (no Bucky and reader in this one)

Word Count: 1806

A/N: This is kind of a filler chapter, so that I could move the plot forward. Hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. Let me know what you guys thought. xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

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It has now been more than 5 hours, and there was still no sign of Bucky anywhere near the compound.

When it was just after 2 hours, you shrugged it off, because there were plenty of explanations why his aircraft wasn’t landing in front of the building. Probably some turbulences, there was, after all, storm coming, you heard on the TV.

After a little over 3 hours, you were starting to get a bit anxious, because no matter the weather, the technology in the quinjet should be good enough to get him home in time. But you still tried to make too much fuss about it, because you didn’t want to seem like a crazy, obsessive girlfriend. Which you weren’t, obviously, because you and Bucky weren’t dating. Duh. And you weren’t obsessed, just a little scared that something might have happened to him.

As 4 hours ticked by, your palms were getting sweaty, and you were pacing back and forth in your apartment. You brought it to Tony’s attention that Bucky was still not back home, and despite your multiple tries to call him, it would always end up in a voicemail. You knew Bucky didn’t like to use phones in general, but he knew they were an essential part of everyday life now and he agreed that when he wasn’t busy with the mission, he would either call you or Steve, or at least keep the phone on so you could make sure he was ok.

Tony looked sceptical at first, telling you that you have nothing to fear, that it probably just took a little longer than Barnes predicted. But when you said to him that the quinjet was in the air, and the estimated time to home was a little over 2 hours, and that was more than 4 hours ago.

“I tried to check with the aircraft, Tony, but it won’t let me. It says I don’t have enough clearance, but it was ok the first time I asked FRIDAY. And it’s ok if I don’t have the clearance, but can you please check it? Just for my peace of mind. Please.”

Tony shrugged because he wasn’t doing anything better, and if he could wash the worry off your face by telling you that everything was ok with the quinjet and Barnes on it, he would be glad to.

He looked at the monitor in front of him and looked at which planes were in the air at the moment. But his system showed him none.

“You sure he isn’t somewhere here? The system’s telling me that there is no plane up there at the moment.”

You frowned. “And does it tell you where all the planes are? Like a GPS or something?”

Tony nodded and looked again. “Because Barnes was the only one on the mission these past days, all planes should be back at the hangar.” He stopped talking and checked it all. The frown suddenly appeared on Tony’s face as well, mirroring your own.

“All of them are there, except one. And I assume what’s Barnes’ jet is not showing its location at all. Which is weird because I can’t imagine a situation in which he’d have to switch it off.

“What does it mean, Tony?” You knew what it meant, but your brain couldn’t articulate it. You were shaking now, desperation and fear taking control over your body.

“I don’t know, Y/N, but I’ll look into it. How about you sit down and stop walking behind me like a crazy person? I bet there is a completely normal and understandable explanation as to why it happened and what is going on. Let me just find it, ok?” He smiled at you slightly, and nodded towards the couch behind him, from where you could still see what he was doing, but you wouldn’t be breathing down on his neck.

You sat down obediently, but it didn’t help your nerves one bit. You needed reassurance, and you needed it now, even though you knew Tony was doing everything in his power to find out what was going on.

It took him almost half an hour to go through every possible system failure, hiccup, or something that would tell him why the GPS in the jet wasn’t working. Your hands were ice cold, and your lips bloody, from how much you were biting into them.

Tony was watching some numbers and messages that all the jets send to the central office so that they knew what was going on with each and every one of the aircraft. He squinted and was obviously re-reading the whole screen before he released a long deep sigh. When he spoke up, you thought he was talking to you, while in reality, he was calling for FRIDAY.

“FRIDAY! Let the Avengers know where I am and send them here. Tell them it’s urgent.”

You couldn’t speak. When even Tony thought something was urgent, the game-time was over. You could see the look of determination on his face, and you thought you’d be sick to your stomach. You suddenly didn’t know if you wanted to be there when he told the team what he found out. At the same time, you couldn’t imagine not being there. You pulled your knees to your chin and hugged them, bracing yourself.

First to come in was Steve, with a look of confusion on his face. He looked between the worried brows of Tony and your anxious posture and immediately knew that something was seriously wrong. And if you were there, looking like you might pass out any minute, it was involving Bucky. This made his jaw set and his fists clench, till his knuckles turned white.

It wasn’t even 3 minutes when all of the team marched into the room, all of them wearing the same confused looks.

“Alright, I’m gonna skip the pleasantries, and I’m gonna go right into it. Barnes’ jet went missing.”

There were little gasps heard around the room and a lot of pissed of faces. The realisation seemed to have dawned on all of the people in the room, as they looked at you with sympathy written all over.

“I’m doing everything I can to turn the GPS back on, but something is blocking from accessing the jet from here. I mean, sure, there is this possibility to do it in case shit hit the fan, but I never thought anybody would use, or that anyone even knew this switch existed. Anyway, I looked into as much as I could, and there is some unsettling news.”

Bruce was now sitting next to you, gripping your hand in his, trying to give you as much comfort as he could. And maybe a little warmth as well, because he could feel how cold and rigid your whole body was.

“He was around 2, 2 and a half hours from here when the commotion started. I’m not really sure what happened, I can’t access the cameras in the jet, but the motion sensors are still shown here on the screen. There seemed to have been a fight of some sorts because many of the sensors showed either direct impact or at least some form of commotion. There isn’t much I can tell you as of now because I’m still trying to penetrate it, I just know that after all of that stopped, somebody apparently switched off both the GPS and the access from the central office. His last known position was somewhere over the Atlantic.”

There was a question on the tip of your tongue, but you dreaded to articulate it. You, however, didn’t have to, because Natasha thought of the same exact thing.

“How do we know that the plane didn’t go down? That it’s not somewhere in the middle of the ocean?”

Both you and Steve obviously flinched at such thought, but you both were obviously thinking of the same thing.

“This was the first thing I checked. Someone had to manually switch off the access button, and it’s only possible from the inside of the jet. Why would somebody turn it off and then crash the plane? That doesn’t make sense.”

“So what do you think happened, Tony?”

You didn’t even recognise your voice when you spoke up. Everyone turned to face you, and you suddenly felt so small compared to all of them, staring at you intently.

“My best guess? But you’re not gonna like it. Neither of you will.”

You all just nodded at Tony, telling him that you understand, but you need to know either way.

“I think someone kidnapped the plane and Barnes with it.”

—-

The quinjet was comfortably sitting in front of a vast warehouse, just outside of New York. Noises and clinking of things being transferred could be heard from the outside. The place was swarming with people in their tactical gear, carrying multiple guns of various calibres.

“Welcome, Winter Soldier. We’re glad you could join us,” said the only person in the whole place in a suit. He was sitting in his chair, staring into the cold eyes of the Winter Soldier.

The man sitting in the leather chair turned to Hannah and nodded at her, for which she seemed to be extremely grateful. It didn’t often happen that the boss acknowledged one of the agents. “You’re his commanding officer now, do I understand it correctly?”

She just nodded and hung her head, showing her obedience to the boss.

He hummed, obviously happy with how it all went down.

“Is everyone ready? I want it to happen tonight, while they’re still in the mist of what is truly going on. Stark will figure it out soon enough, so we don’t have much time to waste.”

The agents in the room saluted him and marched outside of his office, to make sure people, guns, and planes were ready for the attack.

“So, he listens to everything you say to him?”

Hannah nodded again, but the boss didn’t really care. He was watching Bucky intently, taking in all the details. They made him a new mask, covering just as much as his old one did. He looked deadly, and the boss couldn’t be happier about it. He wanted them all dead and the Winter Soldier was the most valuable weapon there was.

Hannah stepped forward and looked the boss in the eye. “Should I give him the mission, sir?”

He hummed but never stopped watching Bucky. Hannah spoke up again, but this time to Bucky. She told him what she wanted him to do, giving him all the orders. She watched as his metal arm saluted and she smiled. “Repeat mission, sergeant.”

Bucky turned to her and monotonously repeated after her.

“Kill the Avengers. Take down their compound. No witnesses. No evidence. Nothing should be left after I’m done.”

/ Next Chapter >

After All:

@iheartsebastianstan​ @readermia​ @kolakube9​ @ibookishqueen​ @thewintersoldierswifu @emogril​ @the-melancholyfeels​ @pinkleopardss​ @supervengerslock​ @the-soulofdevil​ @jessyballet​  @bxrnsfeyson​ @38leticia @sparkling-gayyyy​ @deansbbysblog​ @lustgardn​ @wantingtobekorra​ @backflip-into-a-garbage-can​ @thefifthmaraud3r​

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten​ @sebbbystaaan​ @paradisiacalsparks​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @owlyannah​ @lassini​

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove​ @kneel-begyourpardon​

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone​ @sasbb23​ @p8tn0lish​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @waiting4inspiration​

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[schism-au-blog]

Chapter 2

After the speech, Rose and Pearl managed to seclude themselves into Pink’s Palanquin. Rose shapeshifted back into Pink Diamond and sighed. “I’m scared, Pearl,” Pink said. “I think I made the right decision, but what if I messed up? What if they all want to shatter me now?”

“My Diamond,” Pearl said, while Diamond Saluting Pink. “You did not tell Garnet and I Bismuth’s main goal was to shatter you. If you had, I might’ve advised you differently.”

Pink Diamond let her head fall back and let out a moan of frustration. “I really didn’t mean to tell anyone, it just sort of, slipped out. I mean, I was going to tell you once we had some time to ourselves, but I didn’t want to tell Garnet, and I certainly didn’t want to tell all of the crystal gems! How could I be so stupid!”

“You’re not stupid, my diamond.” Pearl paused. “I’m sure I’ve let far worse things slip over time. They’ll probably just forget anyway, and the ones who won’t probably would’ve thought of it themselves. Please don’t worry yourself, my diamond.”

“How could I not!” Pink exclaimed. She laughed, nervously. “I know I said we should act like we’re in front of Yellow and Blue while I’m in this form, but I really want to be Rose Quartz for just a few more minutes. Can you- treat me like you treat her? I know that’s an odd request but-”

“-I understand,” Pearl interjected. “When we’re out there, together, I feel like we’re close, like I really know you. But when you’re- this, it feels like you are my Diamond and I am your Pearl. It’s like all that doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t want it to end either.”

Pink smiled. “When we first started doing this, it was just a mask to get away from Yellow and Blue. A fun disguise for a day. Now, ‘Pink Diamond’ feels like a mask. This is what I was made to be, and yet- it feels so wrong.”

“Rose, you are fighting for everything you get to be one day,” Pearl said, looking away from Pink. “You, just like every other crystal gem, are fighting for the right to be yourself. And that’s terrifying.”

“You know, Pearl, I think you’re the only gem in the entire universe that doesn’t hate me,” Pink smiled, sadly. “Thank you for being here. For doing this with me.”

“There’s nothing, not on this planet or homeworld or anywhere else that I would rather be doing, and not with any other gem!” Pearl exclaimed. “Before I became a crystal gem, I cared so much about what everyone thought of me and if I was doing things right. Now, getting the freedom to define who I am for myself? Thank you for giving this to me.”

Pink sighed. “We should probably talk business again. We have so much to run and figure out and do.”

Pearl nodding, looking back at Pink. “Yes, my diamond. I think your speech was marvelous. Surely the rest of the crystal gems will agree with you.”

“I wish I could have your confidence,” Pink said. “I still feel like with every move I make, Yellow and Blue get closer to finding me out. Every move I make has so many consequences now. It’s exciting, in a way, but it’s more grim. Anything I do could hurt hundreds- no- thousands of gems.”

“But you could also save just as many!” Pearl exclaimed. “Imagine if we succeed. Imagine this world as a haven for gems without orders, gems free to do as they want. A place where humans and gems can coexist. If you remember everything you’re fighting to protect, the risks become a lot smaller.”

Pink smiled. “Right.” She paused for a moment and looked thoughtful. “Where do you think I should put Bismuth’s bubble?” she asked.

The corners of Pearl’s mouth turned downwards. “Hmm. Somewhere respectful. Not on display yet accessible to anyone who wants to pay their respects. We need to make sure it doesn’t look like we’re trying to make an example of her or erase her memory. Where is she kept right now?”

“I think we left her in the room you, Garnet and I discussed whether to tell the rest of the crystal gems.”

“I think we could leave that door open and keep her there. That room is pretty out of the way, and yet easily accessible if you’re looking for it.”

Pink pursed her lips. “You think? What if someone agrees with her and tries to unbubble her? It wouldn’t even take a large faction, just one rogue gem.”

“What if,” Pearl projected a model of the crystal gem hideout Bismuth was currently bubbled in. “We moved these guards,” she shook two guards who were guarding a different doorway in the same hall, “and put them,” she moved them to the doorway to the room where Bismuth was kept, “here.”

“Oh! Yes, that could work quite well! I’ll ask Cherry if she thinks it’s a good idea.” Pink paused. “When’s my next Pink Diamond obligation?”

“Not for a couple of weeks, my diamond. Why?”

Pink grinned. “We can ask her right now!”

Pearl looked shocked. “My diamond, are you really prepared to shapeshift for so long again? We’ve only taken a short break.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes to ask her!”

“But, my diamond, it’s likely other gems will want to talk to you about other things. You don’t want to have to refuse them, do you?”

Pink sighed. “You’re right, Pearl. Is there anything I can do as Pink Diamond at the moment?”

Pearl scowled. “Yellow and Blue DIamond have taken over many of the day-to-day tasks of running a colony, along with a large percentage of the war effort. You could visit the moon base, or check up on weapons operations. However, I think the best way for the crystal gems to win the war is if Pink Diamond doesn’t do much of anything.”

“Ugh!” Pink exclaimed. “I wish we could ask Garnet. But what could I say ‘oh just curious but what could Pink Diamond theoretically do to help us win the war?’ ‘oh look that’s funny she did exactly what you said would help us the most, would you mind telling us what else would help?’ She’d be onto us in seconds.” 

Pearl nodded. “Plus, if she looks too hard into you, she might see you transforming.”

Pink leaned on her hand. “You said I could check out things from the moon base?”

Pearl nodded. “I don’t think Rose will be missed for that long, and it would be a perfectly acceptable thing for Pink Diamond to do.”

Pink nodded. “Let’s go. I want to see how- would that be spying? To see how they all reacted to my speech?”

“My diamond, if you were able to maintain your other form for longer, you’d be out there talking with everyone and learning this first-hand. I’m sure it’ll be okay. You need to make the most of your time.”

Pink nodded. “You’re right. Let’s head to the moon.”

Pearl and Pink headed out of the palanquin and walked to the warp. Pink had asked her Quartzes to stand a bit away from the palanquin so she could sneak in and out, but once she got to where they were stationed, they followed her. As they got to the warp, Pink motioned to them to let her go alone. She stood on the warp and she felt herself being transported to the moon base.

Pink and Pearl stepped off the warp pad into the moon base. Pink scooped Pearl into her arms and leapt to the observation deck. Pink then set Pearl down and knelt in front of the observation deck controller. Pink gently tapped the globe-shaped controller and the room lit up with a projection of the cliff Rose gave her speech on.

“Where should we go from here?” Pink asked.

Pearl pointed down the cliff and to the left. “I think I see some gems discussing over there!”

“Good eye, Pearl!” Pink tapped the globe again, and they were in the midst of crystal gems discussing Rose’s speech. 

“I feel bad for Bismuth,” they heard Peridot say. “I understand not wanting to just sit around and wait for this thing to be over. I mean, does she really deserve to be bubbled until the end of the war?”

“Exactly!” Snowflake Obsidian said. “I actually can’t believe Rose is against shattering Pink Diamond. I don’t know how I feel about shattering any homeworld gem that I come across- some of those Rubys are just used by the elites, but shattering a DIamond? That should be something every crystal gem should get behind, ‘specially our leader.”

“Quartzes couldn’t understand,” Aschamalmite said. “Us working gems know that the only way to change the system is to get rid of those in charge. Bismuth was right.”

“If only I could figure out how this ‘Breaking Point’ worked, I could probably recreate it,” Peridot offered.

Pearl noticed Pink starting to fret, so she asked “Shall we go see what those gems down the hill are talking about, my diamond?” She hoped that those gems were thinking more reasonably, which would reassure Pink.

Pink nodded and Pearl tapped the globe. The observation deck shifted over to a clump of gems which included Cherry Quartz, Morganite, Jasper, and Ruby.

“So, I don’t know,” Cherry finished, right as Pink and Pearl arrived.

“Yeah, me neither,” said Morganite. “I mean, Rose gave me everything. Without her, I would’ve been shattered long ago now. But I feel like people are going to discard my opinion just because I would be higher-ranking back on homeworld.”

“But you’re off-color!” Ruby exclaimed, “They’d shatter you!”

Morganite nodded. “True, but I still socialized with the other high-ranking gems before they declared me ‘defective,’ so I might be sympathizing with them more than I should,” she explained.

“I don’t think having too much sympathy is possible!” Jasper exclaimed. “I mean, homeworld’s lack of sympathy or empathy is the very reason so many of us defected! They refuse to understand anything outside of what they think is ‘right.’ I understand where Bismuth was coming from, I understand where Rose is coming from. Is either of them right? Who knows! What I do know is I used to fight for homeworld same as anybody else. I can’t shatter my former self. If Pink Diamond is shattered, I’m not going to cry any tears over it, but I don’t think it’s what we should aim for. If we get there, we get there, but honestly bubbling her seems like the better option. Or just getting her to leave us alone.”

“Hear, hear!” Ruby yelled. “When we win the war, I want it to be because we had compassion! We cared! If we start shattering gems, no one is going to join us anymore. Before I joined, the Crystal Gems poofed two of the other Rubies in my squad. If they had been shattered, I never would’ve joined.”

Cherry nodded. “I’m grateful to Rose for making the decision she did. If I had been in her place, I probably would’ve froze enough for her to shatter me.”

“Plus, homeworld has a lot nastier tech than what they’re using right now,” Morganite said. “They’re trying to not make us look too sympathetic and add gems to our numbers, but if we started shattering gems, I’m sure that would be a lot less of an issue.”

Pink set her hand on the globe, turning the observation deck back into a normal room. She sank to her knees to be around eye level with Pearl. “I don’t know, Pearl. That first set of gems seemed awfully confident. I’m so scared about what will happen.”

“Do you have enough energy to talk to Cherry and Garnet?” Pearl asked. “That might give you some extra clarity.”

Pink nodded. “Let’s head back to the palanquin, then back to the base so we can chat with them and everyone else.” Pink was careful not to exclude anyone.

Pearl nodded, and back to the base they went. 

[razieltwelve]

Berserker (Fate/Zero x Final Rose)

Sigrid looks at the… man who had summoned her and feels nothing but pity. Yet as he speaks, as this haggard, sickly, wounded man tells her of his reason, she feels nothing but all-consuming rage. Dimly, she is aware of her Semblance activating, of Saviour’s restrictions releasing one after the other as the primal, basic desire to protect flares in her chest, as hot and heavy as magma.

“He dies now.” She ignores her Master’s startled cry and tears a hole through space and time. They reappear in the basement, and the rage she feels grows even greater. Her ears are ringing. Her jaw is clenched. Yet everything is crystal clear. It always is with Saviour. Beneath her, the… horde of worms convulses and recoils. 

“So… you managed to summon a Servant?” Zouken sneers. “And a powerful one at -” He trails off and stares dumbly at the sword sticking out of his chest. And then he laughs. “Really? Do you think something like that can…” He trails off. 

A savage smile crosses her lips.

“You are unworthy of life, unworthy even of existing. You may think yourself immortal, but my sword can sever the very foundations of Creation itself. You were dead the moment I came into this world.”

Saviour can craft weapons that embody and even transcend concepts and ideals. It can craft weapons that can overturn the very rules that govern Creation. One of the very first she learned to create was a sword capable of not simply killing whatever it hit but also extirpating the very idea of it. The sword didn’t kill things. It didn’t even erase them. It removed the very possibility or idea of their existence in the first place. Of course, the tricky part had been managing the effect to not go to far. It wouldn't do, after all, to use the sword on an opponent and wipe out everyone descended from them too.

In the case of Zouken, it removed him and all of his familiars, crest worms, and other horrors. 

As the Worms vanished, Sigrid leapt forward to catch Sakura. The girl stared at her with vacant eyes, and Sigrid’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. If only she’d been summoned earlier. Even just a little bit earlier…

“Here.” Sigrid stepped and reappeared next to Kariya. “Take her.”

“I…” He bowed as deeply as he could and then took Sakura in his arms. “Thank you.”

“We still have a Grail War to win,” Sigrid murmured. “But for tonight this will be enough.” She could feel the Grail even from a distance, and the corruption within it grated on her nerves. It was tempting to simply purge the accursed thing from existence, but she wanted to know more before she acted. “Wait.” She frowned. “When I killed Zouken, the taint within you was removed as well. However, your body has already been severely weakened. I can reverse the damage.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” he asked quietly. “I… I just want to get Sakura away from this place.”

“Tomorrow then,” Sigrid agreed. “Do you want me to burn this place to the ground?”

“Yes,” Kariya replied. “Zouken… that… bastard sent the rest of my family away in case something went wrong during the Grail War. There’s nobody here but us. He gave me access to some accounts to help fund things during the Grail War, so we can find a hotel room or something.”

“All right. Once we’re out of here, I will destroy it. Perhaps later, it can be rebuilt, but the very ground here is impure. It will have to be cleansed first.”

“If I live through this,” Kariya said. “I’ll buy another house, somewhere else, somewhere without all of this… history.”

X     X     X

Sigrid was not especially renowned for her sneaking ability. It was largely a product of how she was used on the battlefield. Saviour had the finesse of a rapier… with the power of an avalanche. It was more efficient to force the enemy to gather its force, so she could crush them in a single decisive blow.

Of course, just because she wasn’t renowned for sneaking didn’t mean she was bad at it. Her mother had been on of the greatest huntresses the Yun had ever produced, and her cousins were all exceedingly sneaky as well. Through a combination of training and osmosis, she’d learned how to conceal herself with the best of them.

And weren’t the results from this little sneaking sessions fascinating?

With her presence concealed, she had a front row seat to the debacle that was Rider, Saber, and Lancer doing a combination of talking and fighting. Their masters were also nearby, and Saber’s had concealed himself particularly well. Assassin was lurking around too, but she had little interest in him. It as not arrogance but fact to say that someone who relied on surprise and concealment had little chance against Saviour.

And then Archer appeared.

His technique was interesting enough, and she wondered what expression he would have if she disrupted it. After all, Saviour was fully capable of cutting off the links between pocket dimensions and the normal world. True, such severance could be countered, but she wondered if he was capable of it. Still, in combat, she’d save that trick for the split-second before she attacked. By the time he noticed anything was amiss, he’d be dead.

Of course, that was when he decided to assert his dominance by spamming projectiles at everyone. In her mind, Kariya asked her to intervene. He despised Tokiomi - and Sigrid did too after learning he was the one who’d handed Sakura to Zouken - so he could hardly let him get an advantage this early in the game even if they had no intention of letting it play out to its conclusion.

Glad that she’d chosen to wear a suit for her sneaking (she did so love her mother’s sense of style), she leapt out into the open and summoned one of Saviour’s lesser blades. It would still suffice, and annoying Archer seemed like it would be fun. Certainly, Saviour wanted her to.

She landed in front of the group, and her blade swept out in a blur, too fast to follow. Half a dozen of Archer’s projectiles shattered like glass, and she bit back a smile at the look of outrage on his face.

“You dare!” he snarled as more portals formed. But even as he prepared to attack again, she could see a hint of wariness in his eyes. He must have taken a closer look at the sword in her hands. “What is that sword?”

“This?” She smiled thinly and tossed it aside. The blade disintegrated and another, slightly different one formed in her hands. “A trinket for one such as myself.”

She felt the unease of the other Servants behind her. From her understanding, just looking at her weaponry gave magus headaches since they were akin to Divine Constructs yet different in that they should not be able to exist. That made sense. Saviour itself was a Semblance that set itself apart from all else, imposing its will on everything and reshaping rules as it saw fit. If it happened to break all the rules, well, that was simply the cost of doing business.

“Hmph.” Archer sneered again. “It would seem you mongrels are in luck. I’ve seen enough. We shall finish this later.” He vanished, and Sigrid let him go before turning to the other Servants.

“Berserker?” Saber asked warily. “But…”

“I seem too lucid for one?” Sigrid understood the classification system. She had, at some point, been driven almost insane by her Semblance when awakening the third level, but she’d regained control. Still, it was enough for her to qualify, and she could feel Saviour’s influence more strongly now than at almost any point in her past life. Thankfully, her control was still intact. Right now, her Semblance wanted to slaughter all of her enemies and conquer the world. Still, it was curious seeing a counterpart from her earlier life summoned as Servant although from this world, not Remnant. “There are reasons for that, I suppose.”

Sigrid is not the master or reading people that her cousin, Victoria is, but she’s not half bad either. And Saviour really does see everything. It can see the protective way Saber has moved to stand between her and the white-haired woman. Rider, likewise, has moved his bulky frame between her and his Master. Only Lancer is more relaxed, and that is because he thinks his master is still concealed. It’s a joke, of course. Relying solely on magic for concealment is foolish. 

“I’m not here for a fight. I was ordered to observe. However, my Master wished to see if i could handle Archer’s projectiles. It would seem I can.”

“Your sword?” Saber asked. “I do not recognise it.”

“You wouldn’t. My legend was never about my sword. And I’m as good with a spear as I am with a sword, anyway.” The air shimmered beside her, and a spear appeared. Lancer’s eyes gleamed with interest, and she glanced at him. “Another time, Lancer. Your Master’s patience must be fading already.”

He winced and nodded. “I am being ordered to withdraw. My apologies. Perhaps next time we meet, we can test each other’s skill.”

The others withdraw soon after. Sigrid feels something in her stir at the sight of Saber and Irisviel. She knew them in her other life, or people who looked and acted much like they did. Still, it is Rider who has the parting word.

“Would you not join me?” Rider boomed jovially.

Sigrid inclined her head. “You are a king, are you not?” He nodded. “Then I must refuse. I have only ever served one royal family, and I see little reason to change that.” 

X     X     X

“You know,” Sigrid drawled. “If you hadn’t called to have the building evacuated, I’d have killed you where you stood.”

Kiritsugu fired on her without a second thought. She caught a bullet out of the air and letsthe others simply veer off into the walls of the construction site, a casual application of Saviour’s ability to bend space that had long long since become second nature. “Saber -”

“Save your command seal,” she said. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered to reveal myself.” She sat down on a slab of upraised concrete. “I’m simply curious.”

“About what?” He is wary, and he is right to be. She could sense Maiya moving into position, but a casual flick of her wrist embedded a sword in the wall beside her head. Of course, she could have just fired a projectile, but they didn’t know she could do that yet. “We’re having a polite conversation now. If you’re smart you’ll keep it that way.”

His eyes narrowed, and Maiya backed away. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Why the Grail?” she asked. “You’re an assassin. Perhaps the Einzbern hired you, but I doubt that’s the whole story.” She glanced back at the collapsing hotel. “Oh, and Kayneth isn’t dead.”

“What?”

“We’ll come back to that. But why do you want the Grail?”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

So, this is just an idea I came up with. I’m just poking the metaphorical tree to see what falls out. Out of the first three bearers of Saviour (Lightning, Averia, and Sigrid), Sigrid is the one most likely to be summoned as a Berserker. Otherwise, she is likely to arrive as either a Saber or a Lancer. Unlike Averia, she probably wouldn’t qualify as an Assassin since Averia actually did a lot of those missions whereas Sigrid was more commonly deployed as the proverbial big gun for Arendelle.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here.

[legionofpotatoes]

My assorted musings/theories about Control in one post!! I am having a lot of fun dissecting the implications of all the information we’re getting tiny peeks at. This WILL be a thought torrent so I won’t make any literary-essay-level structuring promises; click through at your own risk of losing sanity over my tangents.

So the base axiom the lore stands on is that reality in Control is shaped by the collective human subconscious in unpredictable ways, causing altered world events, subsequently creating altered items imbued with archetypal properties in correspondence with their historic context, and generally having things go way out of whack. 

But, as seen with the whole slide projector hubbub, we also know that other realities/dimensions exist in their own right and can, by virtue of their agenda, and not that of our thought, attempt to invade our reality through resonance-based means. Their motives can run the gamut but we know that their involvement/influence can have far-reaching consequences on our reality.

(there is an argument to be made that both the Hedron and the Hiss could have been extremely potent creations/projections of Jesse and Dylan’s minds altogether, especially since Polaris exists within one of them inherently, and that the slidescapes could simply have been an extension of the slide projector’s astral power still fully fed on human perceptions. But this theory sort-of runs everything else to the ground and makes us the center of the universe, and I don’t like that too much).

This is where the Oldest House comes in! And I love its deeply rooted historic/theological implications just as much as its impression at face value. I believe that since time immemorial, the Oldest House was a stabilizing element, a kind of ward against dimensional rifts threatening our reality. And it did that by presenting itself as a guide for human thought; a house of worship, a monument to service, whichever concept happened to elicit inherent respect and trust in that period of time, allowing the House to then control (ha) our thought through belief systems. Today, it’s a brutalist office building with no windows, which is, like, so on point. But anyway.

The Board. We know that it controls the Oldest House to an extent. Whether it represents the gods and deities we once made up is hard to tell, but its influence over the House’s functions is clear. We know that it had chosen individuals in the past to possibly represent the House’s intentions (today – the Directors of the FBC), giving them access to the Service Weapon and a direct link to the astral plane. I believe these would be our Thors and King Arthurs and Greek heroes and what have you. We KNOW that the Service Weapon is, by definition, the archetypal concept of “weapon” as shaped by human thought, and that the BFC suspects its past forms may have included Mjolnir and Excalibur among others. Today, it’s a handgun. Again, the implications. Delicious.

And I think the Oldest House is the same way; constantly shifting form, shape, and even geographical location to best fit its own archetypal concept, which I conflated with place of respect and/or worship up there, but even that can change to best fit the agenda of, what I think, is stabilizing and warding our reality against foreign resonances. It does this by presenting itself as a guidebook for human thought, tapping into our inherent astral potency, and utilizing resulting constructs – the Service Weapon, the anointed Director, and certain altered items – to serve its own upkeep. As directed by The Board.

(I believe that is also part of the reason why the FBC ended up discovering the House when it did – The Board allowed it per the alignment of the Bureau’s motives with its own. They both wanted to identify, neutralize, and contain AWEs both external and internal in order to keep the public – and by extension their thoughts – fully under control. I believe this had happened numerous times in the past, as well)

But to circle back – why does The House need upkeep at all? My guess is, it’s an extension of the initial agenda, and we KNOW it is inherently tied to (read: contains) thresholds, or dimensional rifts, or just other worlds. Let’s call them other worlds. The Oldest House is an ever-shifting place of power that both shapes and is shaped by human thought, in order to keep that very human thought – our “resonance” – the sole dominating astral force in our dimension. It focuses all incoming “traffic” within its walls and creates the thresholds as bottlenecks – while the traffic it can’t focus on itself, it contains, and brings in anyway - and finally, it uses the Director to keep all these foreign rifts and aberrations in check.

We are the House’s assistant. Familiar word? There’s one person in Control who keeps calling us their assistant despite our formal title being a peg above that definition. It is the Janitor – another very common archetype of stabilization, maintenance, fixing things up; in this case, Ahti – The Janitor – is simply a way for the House, and not The Board, to communicate its intent. The Janitor is as much part of the place of power as are its walls and rooms. They are one and the same. And a Janitor is a role that would be chosen with very particular intent. He knows the House’s innards as intimately as he knows how to keep them functioning.

So to recap, again – The House both feeds on and forms human thought constructs in order to keep other worlds at bay and is very much willing to directly cooperate with people when that agenda is mutually expressed. What if this whole entire system then, of a dimensional hub, a place of power trying to keep our resonance separate from others, is in itself a construct, an ancient expression of a basic human need? Or rather, a basic human emotional response? To go a bit meta, as a story with thematic underpinnings, that would make a sensible endgame to Control’s ideas and messaging. 

The Oldest House exists because we needed it to exist, and by consequence, we saved OURSELVES from the Hiss. Among a lot of other things in the past, I’d reckon. And The Board is our “representative” in the astral plane. We made them, too. We cocooned ourselves in constructs that would protect us from all outside resonances – all outside worlds – all outside points of view.

So what am I saying? Is The Oldest House a staunch apotheosis of conservative thought given form? I’m not willing to bet my life on it, but again, it all oddly falls into place. Think about it.

TRENCH let the Hiss in. Why? We’re told the Director of the Oldest House grew irrationally scared of the Hedron’s (arguably benevolent) influence and opted to fight it with fire; with an otherworldy horror. My guess is the House made him do that. The Board, sorry, made him do it. As firm believers in isolating humanity’s resonance from all others, they feared the Hedron’s presence as a variable incompatible with that agenda, and brought the Hiss in AS A WAY of proving their point, of keeping the cycle of fear strong in humanity’s thought, by killing Hedron and then using a newly appointed, freshly brainwashed Director Faden to remove the Hiss from the equation, as well. 

Status quo restored, all branches clipped, everyone agrees other dimensions bad.

The emotional response I mentioned was fear. We created The Oldest House out of fear. Fear of the unknown. And it became a feedback loop that disallowed us to ever consider anything else outside of our world as anything other than a threat.

Oh and you know what’s a real swanky way to impose fear on a willing humanity? *guitar riff* religion babyyyyyy

To wit, The Board refers to the House as a Tree at one point. We can find a scribbling of a tree in the Foundation. Ahti hands us a cassette tape from “his old friends” – and the band that starts playing call themselves the Old Gods of Asgard. So a tree connecting worlds. A housekeeper who is a friend to Odin’s pantheon. A chosen hero wielding Mjolnir. Did the House parade as the Yggdrasil at one point? Followed by some other nexus of blind human faith or a system of belief? Or just as religion itself?! And since now we all worship capitalism or some other forms of financial labor/revenue funnels and shoot each other dead in the streets, our Oldest House is an office building smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, its Director carries a literal handgun, and together they keep us safe from outsiders.

It all makes sense with a big ole asterisk that spells out “Yikes” in the end. 

Except there’s a caveat here cause!!! Within Jesse lives a spark left behind by Hedron; within her lives Polaris, a remnant of the slidescape, of the outer worlds; a hope for maybe liberating human thought of the endless cycle of fear that keeps it under its own Control. Will we bring the Oldest House down in a possible sequel? Is Jesse a Trojan horse? A byproduct of the Board’s arrogance? I mean we KNOW the pyramid is a hyperfocused, almost blatantly jealous entity that downright bribed us with healthcare plans in order to steer us away from The Former, another extradimensional being that was trying to get in through altered items. So maybe the House itself can be preserved, and its agenda retrofitted, and it is the Board we will have to tear down. It still all fits.

The Board is our projection of fear, the Oldest House is the wall we built to protect ourselves, and Jesse is poised to bring it all down. That’s my theory in a nutshell!!!!

I think I’ll end here for now. I could be entirely wrong about EVERYTHING here but the JUICE in this story is too damn nourishing, dudes.

[bigskydreaming]

russianspacegeckosexparty said: @bigskydreaming One of the settlements is a huge tower reaching up into the clouds, and very caste system hierarchy with the ones at or nearest the top of this spire are the royalty and nobility, and others are low rank.

Looooooool get out of my brain. Like, this can’t be a Faetown but only because this is basically the logline for a novel from my Citadel ‘verse, literally the one I was working on and getting ready to self-publish like....back when my jaw broke on me three years ago and derailed all my plans. I even had a cover commissioned for it and everything. Well okay not quite. I had an illustration I commissioned for it that I was going to use to design the cover from, and like, I really loved the tone and atmosphere and background the guy came up with and some things about how he illustrated the magic, but the character he featured front and center did uh....not mesh up with the breakdown I gave for what she and her armor should look like and also she’s doing one of those “This Is Anatomically Impossible And Also Ow I Hurt Just Looking At It” poses so.....I was like, ugggh, I like a lot of it (and the fact that I spent money on it) too much to just toss it out but like no way does it work as is so I still haven’t gotten around to figuring out if I could layer in the title in such a way as to obscure or hide part of her....contorting. I’ve added the illustration below the cut so you can see what I mean. LMAO. I think I might have posted it once before actually, but without the context of the story.

But seriously, this is The Elevation of Contempt in a nutshell. My prompt for myself for this one was literally “Class warfare, but make it magic.” LOL. And the towers thing is like....directly tied into the magic of this world.

So the world this novel is set on is one created by the goddesses of the sun and the moon. Back during the Holy Wars before the Citadel was split in pieces, they were lovers who found and shared dominion of the Solarium and its power, which when exiled by Seshan with the rest of the pantheon, they used to create this world and its inhabitants and its magic.

The basis for the magic system of this world is that magic, like matter, has different phases. Only while matter’s phase is dependent on temperature, the state of magic varies depending on altitude - basically, how close it is to the sun/moon, the source of magic in this world.

So each goddess created their own parallel form of magic, sun magic and moon magic, and it all operates by the same principles. At its furthest distance from the sun and moon, basically the surface level of the planet, magic condenses in its solid form, with specific properties while in that state. Once you reach a certain elevation however, magic exists in its liquid form, while at the higher elevations, it exists in a gaseous form, as clouds and vapor.

Which means the people of this world, upon discovering this, built their cities not outwards but UPWARDS. Using the magic of the Lower Realms to stabilize enormous towers and enable them to be built soaring to impossible heights....and ultimately a caste system formed, with the ruling class of the Heights lording their power over the Middle and Lower Realms....because magic in its gaseous/cloud phase is the most potent concentration.

But also, there’s the fact that the key to tapping the magic is art, basically. Due to the fact that the goddesses who designed the magic had been artists in their mortal lives, before ascending to godhood.

So the magic of the Lower Realms, the Depths, where its crystallized in the form of a kind of magical gemstone......magic in this phase just enhances what’s already there. Moon magic focuses on the physical realm while sun magic is about the essence of things, the spiritual realm. So crystallized moon magic, these silver/blue/purple gemstones which glow at night, when their magic can tapped and accessed....it basically can be used in various ways that all revolve around enhancing the already existing physical nature or properties of things. How it does this and in what ways, what properties, what degrees of enhancement....these depend on the artisans who take these gemstones and use them to craft jewelry and decorative elements, ornamentation, the patterns and imagery of which are what channel the moon magic into performing specific functions. 

Thus the ornate layering of gemstones throughout the foundation of the cities of this world are what keep the towers of the city capable of being built higher and higher without toppling. (But they’re layered so deeply into the foundations of the cities that its not like the people who live in the Depths could use this to hold the cities hostage so to speak, like threatening to destroy the foundations if their lives aren’t improved upon....they couldn’t really GET to the core foundations of the city to destroy the moon magic keeping it stabilized and refreshing that stability night after night, like....without the forces commanded by the people of the Heights stopping them long before they got to that point).

Then sun magic in its crystallized sunstone form, which can be tapped or accessed during the daylight hours....this enhances the existing spiritual properties or essences of things. Basically, solid-form sun magic makes things more of what they are on a kind of primal, existential level. Moon magic can make fires burn hotter, stone stand sturdier, weapons with moonstone-laden hilts more durable, sharper, less likely to break. Sun magic makes things with medicinal properties or tools of healing more effective, make weapons more deadly, in like an esoteric kind of way.

But both sunstones and moonstones, the crystallized forms of the magic, once brought to a certain elevation...they automatically melt into their liquid forms upon crossing that invisible threshold at which point solid magic becomes liquid. It doesn’t matter how expertly the crystallized sun and moon magic was wielded, crafted...it just simply doesn’t exist any longer in that solid form the second it reaches a certain height.

And this is the primary obstacle to people climbing the ranks of the city, socially as well as physically. Because thanks to the stranglehold the upper classes of most cities hold over the arts and education......the lower class living in the Depths simply lack the knowledge and skill to make use of the magic once its liquified and exists in those forms....because they’ve been denied those things. Sure, there are prodigies, people it comes naturally to without needing much education or training in tapping the magic via a ‘higher’ form of art in order to do so, but the ruling class works hard to ensure the number of people this includes - or who are aware that they possess such skill or the potential for it - is finite, or when a prodigy’s talent is undeniable, they ‘elevate’ them through the social ranks of the city and relocate them to one of the higher levels to keep most of them unmotivated to use these skills on behalf of the lower class they were once part of but no longer. Ones who rise through the ranks while still holding their old loyalties are either ‘disappeared’ or they learn to keep such loyalties well hidden.

In the Mids, the Middle Realm of the cities, where magic is concentrated in its liquid stages, sun and moon magic are tapped and channeled via painting and illustrations....their liquid forms being used as paint that artists then paint directly onto buildings, artifacts and even peoples’ skin as a form of magical tattoos.

Thus painters and tattoo artists are the real power brokers of the Mids. There’s bound to be one with a shop, selling their services, at every city level of the Mids, in every tower throughout the city. Aqueducts beginning at the very top levels of the Middle Realms collect the sun and moon magic the second the cloud and mist versions of the magic descend to the elevation at which they condense into a liquid, and then pipe that magic all throughout the middle levels of the city into reservoirs tapped by the various artists of the Mids in varying amounts, depending on their personal wealth and social standing. These aqueducts flow all the way to the Depths, where they leave off at the point where the liquid magic crystallizes in the ‘quarries’ at the upper reaches of the Depths. Thus in this fashion, the ruling class of the Heights also controls how MUCH magic reaches both the Mids and the Depths to begin with.

As with both the Depths and the Heights, the moon magic of the Mids is related to the physicality of things, while sun magic is related to their spiritual essences. Liquid moon magic, when channeled at night when its power can be tapped.....basically gives form and substance to whatever imagery its painted in.

So an artist can paint wings onto a person’s back with the silver, blue and violet hues of liquid moon magic, and upon nightfall, that person can activate that ‘tattoo’ at which point the wings lift off their skin and spring into being as physical things they can actually fly with. Someone could have a fireball painted onto their palm that will burst forth into real flames the second they command it to. People can commission artists for painted tattoos of weapons they can ‘peel’ off their skin into a state of physical being, or lightning bolts they can throw or even snakes that unwind from their forearms and attack or some kind of large cat like a panther that leaps free of the canvas of their back to attack an enemy. 

The only real limitations are that for an image to be ‘cast into being,’ ie pulled free of its canvas of skin or stone or whatever its painted upon and called forth as a real, three dimensional physical thing....it must be on the surface of whatever its painted upon, exposed to the night. So if you’re wealthy enough, you can commission an artist to paint several layers of ‘tattoos’ upon your skin, atop each other....but only the upper most image can be called forth at any given time. So if the tattoo that a person really needs at the moment is buried under two others, they have to ‘shed’ and waste the two tattoos atop it, burn them off so to speak, in order to reveal the one they’re trying to utilize as they can only then call it forth.

The other limitations are that any moon magic in a state of physical being when dawn comes vanishes with the sunrise. “Dormant” images, ones that are still painted on skin or stone or canvas but haven’t been tapped or called into being yet....they remain. Still useless during the daylight hours, but they haven’t been wasted, you don’t HAVE to use them up all in one night. But anything that’s been conjured with moon magic already, be it a weapon or a creature or wings...those will all vanish the second sunlight filters through to the Mids. 

Similarly, the creations of liquid moon magic only exist at the elevations moon magic exists in its liquid form. So if someone were to call forth a moon-crafted weapon from a painting in the Mids, and then carry that weapon with them down into the Depths....the second they crossed that invisible threshold into the altitudes of the Depths, their moon-conjured weapon would crystallize into a formless lump of solid moon magic. At the other end of things, if say, someone were to call forth wings of moonlight and use them to fly.....even though their wings could carry them all the way up to the elevations of the Heights....the second they crossed THAT threshold, their moon-conjured wings would effervesce into the formless mists of moon magic in its gaseous state. The weapons and creatures and creations of liquid moon magic exist ONLY in the Mids. They can’t rise or sink into either the Heights or the Depths; they cease to exist and either evaporate or crystallize into unshaped solid or gaseous magic.

Liquid sun magic has all the same restrictions and works by the same principles....but while liquid moon magic calls the imagery its painted in into being as a physical conjuration, liquid sun magic conjures the spiritual, the essence of things.

So a painted tattoo of a lightning bolt, if painted with moonlight and tapped during the night hours...will be called into being as an actual physical lightning bolt someone can cast forth as a force of destruction. A painted tattoo of a lightning bolt, if painted with sunlight and tapped during the day, however....that will conjure the essence of lightning, of electricity....channel its spiritual nature into a form the magic-user can wield. Such as by surging through them in the form of temporarily enhanced strength and speed, as though their nervous systems have been briefly supercharged, allowing for impossible feats. Sunlight painted images of creatures will allow someone to channel the spiritual properties or essences of such creatures. 

A called forth image of a serpent, for instance, could allow someone to poison an enemy with a temporarily venomous touch or a now poisoned blade. Tapping a sunlight-painted image of fire could cause a weapon or a door or even a person to glow with heat and burn to the touch, even though no physical fire is actually called into being. The painted tattoo of a hawk could temporarily give someone the keen vision of a bird of prey. And so on and so forth.

But again, as with the Depths, no matter how skilled or imaginative a painter, no matter how educated or practiced they are in the liquid arts of magic.....none of this does them any good if they were to try to climb to the city’s Heights uninvited.....because the magic simply doesn’t exist in that form to be used in that way once a certain elevation is reached.....and the music the ruling class uses to manipulate and channel magic in its most potent, gaseous forms...that’s the most carefully maintained, overseen and doled out form of artistic training of all.

Because the magic of the Heights, the magic of the sun and moon when flowing shapelessly and without limit or boundary through the vast reaches of the Upper Realms in the form of plentiful, wastefully abundant clouds and mists both at day and at night....

That’s the magic of transformation.

Mist moon magic when tapped and channeled at night, via the playing of flute-like wind instruments that breathe in and breathe out the ambient mist-magic and direct and shape it in the form of songs...mist moon magic allows a musician to transform the physical shape and structure of anything the mists touch, anyone who breathes them in. All via the direction of their music and the messages their songs are meant to convey, the images they conjure in the musician’s mind and from there are imparted upon others as the magic reshapes everything or everyone it touches to match the musician’s imaginings.

Thus the buildings of the Heights, the upper most levels of a city’s towers, are wrought by magic into strange, wondrous, impossible shapes. And often reshaped night after night. Musicians change their own shapes and the shapes of others at whim or upon request, transfiguring them into otherworldly visages and transforming animals into creatures born of imagination. A musician can’t change their own shape into that of some kind of animal, as they’d have no way to change themselves back if now lacking the ability to play their instruments and sing their songs....but they can change others into predators and prey, dragons and birds and tigers and anything else they fancy....with the other being entirely dependent on them to transform them back. The Heights are full of unearthly gardens filled with flowers and trees that could not exist if not for the moon magic and imaginations of the musicians who wield it. And unlike magic in its other forms, those of the lower elevations....the effects of moon magic don’t vanish with the sun. A transformation, once rendered, remains as is until and unless its transformed again.

And of course sun magic in its mist and cloud state works much the same way, though it renders transformations of the spirit....which is in many ways even more dangerous and potent. The music of sun magic changes the essence of things without changing its shape. Makes something other than what it is - impossibly so. It can make water burn like fire. It can make darkness illuminate brighter than the day. It can make a medicine intended to heal into a poison that kills, give a man the mind of a beast and a beast the mind of a man, make a solid door as see through as glass and someone submerged deep in a pool able to breathe it in as easily as if it were air.

The songs sung with sunlight, its said, can even make an honest man into a liar, a thief into a paragon of virtue, or the most loyal of allies into a traitor intent upon your death.

And as with songs woven of moonlight, the transformations rendered in the sun last even after night falls...unless and until another transformation is wrought.

And by keeping a tight leash on who they allow to become musicians at all....the ruling class maintains a stranglehold on the power they’ve amassed in the Heights. Even if the citizens of the lower levels were to climb to their elevation, they’d be unable to make use of the plentiful magic all around them, with no experience and instruction in using music to weave the magic into specific shapes....since those things have been deliberately withheld from them. By contrast, those of the Heights have no such restrictions in learning to utilize the illustrative skills and magic of the Mids or the jewelry-crafting of the Depths, even if they tend to view this as dabbling for the sake of idle entertainment....still, it means that when they venture forth into other elevations of the city....they are in no way hampered or impaired in making use of the magic there, even without aid of the music magic they’re most used to.

I think the gist of the plot (Class warfare, but with magic) is pretty clear from there, lol.

But the main characters of The Elevation Of Contempt include one of the most acclaimed painters of the Mids of one city: a ‘tattoo’ artist of great renown who teaches children of both the Mids and the Depths the art of music in secret lessons aided by her lover, a rebellious noblewoman who despises the rule of the Heights.....a young prodigy from the Depths and his best friend who in turn rises to become the pupil and protégé of an eccentric professor obsessed with legends of a time before their world, who maintains that none of this was as their creator goddesses intended and they would have intervened long before now, if they were not preoccupied with their own war against the god of another world, Alyon the god of Darkness and Despair, who holds dominion over something the oldest legends refer to as The Well.....and lastly, a thief from the Mids who was punished with a cruel transformation by the laughing nobility of the Heights, and who has since found a way to turn their punishment into his power and with it has sworn to make them all pay....

And all of them becoming entwined with the conflict between three mysterious strangers, who unbeknowst to the mortals of this world are gods of other worlds themselves: Azai-Dhak the God of Gamblers, who abandoned his own world in order to flee from Korim the Goddess of Vengeance, who has a ten thousand year old score to settle and eternity to stalk her prey......and Ramzi the God of Revels, lord of the Great Hall. Though what the latter could possibly want with the world of Sura is anyone’s guess. Only the goddesses of the sun and the moon have ever had much luck shining light on his motivations, and well. They’ve been a bit busy these past two thousand years.

Anyway, this is the illustration I’m still trying to figure out how to make work as the cover......you can uh...pretty easily see what I mean about the anatomy, I’m fairly sure. LMFAO.

[athena1138]

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday, and Happy Pride Month! Tell us a little bit about how gender and/or orientations are expressed in your world

Oo!! You’re gonna spoil me lol. Thank you!! 

So, it varies from race to race. On the whole, the general tone of the world is, “It’s whatever, man.” Most races don’t care about gender identities not matching sex, nor about if a relationship is hetero or not. A lot of hate and stigmatization of the subject has long since been eradicated or at least toned down from the places where it existed. It happens, of course, but on a much, much smaller scale. Drevora is a pretty damn gay place. Deets below the cut. 

Humans are as they are irl, there’s “2″ very distinct sexes with associated gender roles, but it’s beginning to break a little thanks to increased interactions with other races and their cultures. Things like gender fluidity and transgender identities are a little less stigmatized and beginning to emerge a lot more than they have in the past. Orientations are traditionally very m/f, but the past 200ish years have shown a large-scale acceptance of same sex relationships, though there does still exist a resistance to it. 

In the Mountain Folk tribes, it’s not so much what’s in your pants as how well can you wield a weapon. There’s very few gender roles and as for presentation, it’s pretty much whatever. Typically, the differences are subtle and easy to change. Like, if a MF wears their hair a certain way or wears a specific necklace, those are easy ways to present. Which also means agenderism is very common. It just kind of depends. In their tongue, there are no words for “she” or “he” or anything following, it all just translates to “they.” The only time it’s ever taken into consideration is when the desire to have children is involved which is its own thing entirely. Same sex or even polyamorous relationships are super common among the tribes and very rarely a problem, unless there’s a particular case. (Like Theni, who is very, very gay, but who is soon to be the chief of her tribe and whose marriage to the male son of an up-to-now-enemy tribe has been arranged since her birth. That’s a pretty big problem because promises like that cannot just be broken in the MF culture.) 

Dwarven culture is also fairly agender but that’s because Dwarven women also grow facial hair, and their muscular frames make it difficult to at first glance determine if one has breasts or not. To an outsider, distinguishing male from female can be quite difficult, but within their own culture, they know. There’s braids which only females wear and which only males wear, there’s subtle greetings, etc. But, like the Mountain Folk, these are all easy presentations to change, so it’s very common for identities to change from one day to the next, and it’s not questioned at all. With the introduction of surface races and their cultures some 3 or 400 years ago, things have changed a bit. Things like makeup and tight clothing have found their way into Dwarven society. The old ways still persist, the old forms of presentations and the like, but they’re accentuated with the new ways. (Like, my Dwarf Marynn, she shaves her beard maybe once a week, wears makeup, and wears tight clothing like shirts whose V’s go down into the waist band of her pants. And it’s not a problem at all, that’s just how she is.) Queer relationships are very, very common, but due to the reclusive nature of Dwarves, it is hoped that most couples would endeavor to have at least one child in their lifetimes. Medical practices on par with in-vitro and an extensive and accessible adoption system have been common place for centuries by this point, so it’s generally not a problem. 

Elves are a little more staunch, like humans, but not aggressively so. It’s not unheard of for a male Elf to wear a gown and let his hair down every now and then, but it is a little stigmatized, just as it is for a female Elf to wear her hair up and don “male” robes. It’s more... private. It isn’t questioned, and it isn’t against any rules, but it’s just... not something which is spoken about. Queer relationships do happen, but it’s not a very loud thing. Indeed, in some places they’re seen as even a little taboo. Not illegal or worth disowning, but... taboo. (This rigidity is what lead to Darsys being sent away from her home.) 

Dragonborns, since they produce asexually, really don’t give a shit about any of it. The whole concept of gender and its correlation to relationships just... don’t exist. They high-key think the mammalian races are fuckin crazy with that shit (which is valid.) There are some DBs, (like my girl Ellie,) who have observed the notion of gender in other races and decided that they enjoy that idea, so they adopt it for themselves. It’s not common, but it happens. Within the DB culture, this can either be seen as unnatural and gross, or it can be treated like these individuals are just of another soul and seeking their true self. 

Orcs are patriarchal af, like humans squared, so the idea that their genders could be different than their bodies in any way is frankly very affronting. They are not generally a tolerant people. They care a little less about relationships because sex is just sex, but lifestyles are a different matter.

Gnomes and Halflings both are fairly chill. Like by nature they are a very chill pecies. It’s unusual but not a big deal for an individual to present differently than their body, and usually same sex relationships are alright. They’re like the hippies of this world, it’s just whatever, man. It’s so whatever that one of the first questions a Gnome or Halfling will ask a new person is, “What are your pronouns?” A common way for them to ask sexual orientation is, “What pronouns do you seek?” (though this is usually reserved for individuals seeking to begin a relationship. It’s a fairly rude question.) (These habits are fairly deeply ingrained when raising a Gnome/Halfling child. Idani, despite having been raised within a temple by humans for 20/30 years of her life, she still remembers them.) 

Let’s see. Gah, there’s so much going on here.

Oh, Sirens. Yeah they don’t give a shit. It’s very, very rare that Sirens will form connections with others because they’re just... So damn reclusive. So, relationships at all, let alone queer relationships, just kinda don’t happen except for producing offspring, so it wouldn’t really matter if it was hetero or not because it’s still gonna be weird as shit. As for presentation, it doesn’t really matter. Nobody would know or care if your identity didn’t match your organs, so it’s not a big deal. There’s more important things to worry about anyways, like protecting the literal entire world from the Realm Beyond, like Iko does. 

That’s about all I have the brain space for right this moment, but there’s probably more still. Thanks again!! 

[lesbianmonsterlover]

Waterfalls & Whirlpools (5)

Double post part deux!  The fifth installment of my camp nano project.

---

The sun has just begun to peek above the horizon somewhere distantly, the sky is still mostly dark but ever so slowly lightening and birds begin to wake from their nightly slumber.  Erin sits heavily at her desk.  It is possible that she’s suddenly begun sleepwalking and sleep writing, despite no history of it otherwise in her life.  She isn’t on any of those odd sleeping meds that sometimes make people do strange things in a fugue state.  If it isn’t her though, that means it has to be something or someone else, and the only response her brain can cook up is magic.  She doesn’t exactly feel...great, when she thinks about it that way.  What else could it possibly be though if not magic?  She isn’t willing to pull apart the book to find out, so with that resolved in her mind she returns her attention to the fresh passage in her journal.

I’m sorry it’s taken me some time to respond, things here are progressing at a fast pace and preparations cannot be halted, even for the most interesting conversation I’ve ever had.  We’ve settled in for the night though, after a rather long day at the armory and smithy.  Tell me about your work, what do you do?  I would suppose you can tell that I am something of a mercenary.  

‘No’ thinks Erin ‘I cannot.’  She supposes that it makes sense, in the context of the messages and now knowing what she knows about what the world on the other side of the page seems to be like.  She wonders what sort of something is progressing over there, what kind of adventure or battle they’re headed into.  Mercenaries tend to be hired by armies, right?  Right.  Well, that makes her feel a little bit inadequate in the face of likely a literal warrior who deals with death on a likely daily basis.  Still, Erin doesn’t have it in her to lie, besides what would she even claim to do that she could back up with enough knowledge that doesn’t make her look like a weakling any more than being a librarian does.  

I am lucky enough to travel with dear friends and work to keep the realm safe.  We handle niche problems that larger forces cannot.

“Am I reading a fucking D&D backstory?”  Erin vacillates between this being real and this being some kind of giant hoax being played on her by the town.  She suddenly regrets moving so far away from her care team and being here without a therapist.  Arthur had been the best, and was so very confident in Erin’s progress that he encouraged her to take this job so long as she would stay on her medication and continue practicing her mindfulness.  Sighing a little and rubbing her eyes, Erin decides once and for all to just...go with it.  If this is what’s happening, then she’s going to roll with it for now and keep evaluating things as time goes on.  

I wouldn’t have guessed you were a mercenary!  Considering that isn’t particularly commonplace in my world.  I am a librarian, I work in a small library at a school.  I didn’t love working in the city library system, and I’ve always enjoyed working with children, so being a school librarian was much more my speed.  It’s boring compared to what you do I’m sure!  But I enjoy it because it’s so quiet and predictable.  I find it hard to believe that the most interesting conversation you’ve ever had is with a librarian from small town Washington, but I’ll take it as the compliment you intended it as! 

Erin pauses briefly in her writing, considering what to ask next, whether it’s even appropriate to comment on the quest her writing partner is set to go on, when ink begins to flood the page again but not from her hand.  

Ah, don’t be so hard on yourself.  You’re a keeper of knowledge, it’s an important post.  Just because it isn’t dangerous doesn’t mean it isn’t impressive.  Besides, of course you’re the most interesting conversation I’ve ever had, you’re the only person I’ve ever talked to outside of our world.

“Well that sentiment is certainly mutual.”  Erin mumbles to herself out loud as she watches the writing seep to life.  

You’re certainly the only person I’ve ever talked to from outside of my world.  I keep wondering if I’m insane or if this is actually happening.  Magic isn’t real!  But apparently it is?  Or maybe this is one of those ‘sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic’ scenarios.  But I’m rambling, and I thought I only did that verbally.  

What do you mean magic isn’t real?

Erin is interrupted by a frantic and barely-legible scribble.  

I mean, at least in my world, magic literally isn’t real?  Except for apparently it is because we’re talking like this?  I mean, people have their own beliefs and whatever but there’s no like proof that magic exists.  It’s not like someone can just conjure fire or whatever, I’m hesitant to even tell anyone about this book because I’m pretty sure they’ll think I’m nuts and toss me into inpatient treatment because I’m essentially talking to myself. 

That’s the crux of it really, isn’t it?  There’s no one that Erin can show this to, no one that she can go to with this cool, weird thing that’s happening.  No one she can trust to share this with who would not immediately call for her to be evaluated for some sort of disorder.  It’s surprisingly easy to vent this into the journal, to get those anxieties out on the open onto the page.  The writing being scrawled beneath hers is frantic and once again barely legible.  It takes her some time to parse it out, and even then she isn’t one hundred percent on every word. 

Wait so you’re telling me that you don’t have access to magic at all?  But...how do you...how do you do anything?!  Does healing just take forever?  How do you treat illnesses?  Poisonings?  You’re telling me you’ve never been cursed?!  Can you at least enchant weapons?  How do you fight otherwise?!  You’re telling me you can’t even light a simple fire?!

You can almost hear the panicked voice on the other end, yelling about the lack of magic and all of the things she’s supposedly missing out on because of it.  “I mean, I can’t say I want to be cursed…”  Erin mumbles a little sourly, she’s almost pouting.  It feels a little judgmental but it’s not like there’s anything she can do about it.  “I can light a fire just fine, thank you very much, it just takes a lighter.”  She sticks her tongue out at the book as she talks out loud before drafting a response. 

Well, we’ve got technology?  We don’t really need to light fires that often, we might for pleasure in a fireplace or at a bonfire but we have electricity for heat and light, we have machines to help treat illness and we work hard to prevent it whenever possible with vaccines and immunizations.  We fight here I’d guess similarly to you guys in a lot of respects, although something tells me you all don’t have guns or explosive warfare.  If you could see a gun you would understand why we don’t need enchanted weapons, at least here in our world.  It’s not like we fight anything other than each other and the occasional wild animal.  No, I cannot say I’ve ever been cursed, at least that I know of.  

Erin watches the ink from her partner’s pen meet the page to start a word only to stop a few times.  Giggling to herself she leaves the book where it is for a few minutes to make a pot of coffee, bringing back a large mug of it doctored with cream and sugar.  Her writing companion had started and stopped a handful of times, leaving a smattering of dots and lines on the page before scrawling out a few more questions in a slightly steadier hand. 

Electricity like lightning?  You can harness that kind of raw energy?!  And you say it isn’t magic?!  

Erin laughs at that, taking a deep sip of coffee and trying to figure out how to explain electricity to someone whose only experience with it is in the form of raw lightning.  Of course electricity is terrifying, it can fry through you and stop your heart in seconds, or leave you with permanent injuries and melt off skin or even whole limbs.  Lightning strikes are no joke, and the damage they do can certainly leave you in awe of their power.  She herself doesn’t even really understand how it works, she knows enough to know that if she plugs her phone in, it charges.  If she puts a fork in an electrical outlet, it will kill her.  Something about resistance and ohms and circuits floats around in her head from her schooling, but nothing concrete or sure enough to do anything other than make her more confused.  “I mean I guess I could pull up a wiki article on the basics and do some transcribing…”  

That’s how Erin spends her early morning, trading messages back and forth with Urzash trying to explain the basics of electricity to them while being peppered with questions about how in the hell any of this could possibly work without killing someone. 

Well, a lot of people have died working with electricity.  It’s incredibly dangerous, it’s safer now than it’s ever been but especially in the early days a lot of people died because they didn’t know what they were playing with.

She completely loses track of time with this conversation and the rabbit hole she’s gone down, and it isn’t until her emergency late alarm goes off that she realizes she hasn’t even started frying the donuts, let alone showered or gotten dressed.  Her closing message is slapdash, apologizing but admitting to losing track of time and needing to leave like right now.  She feels a little bad about it, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it as she turns on the deep fryer before running to the bathroom to throw some dry shampoo in her hair and brush her teeth.  Grad school work, if nothing else, taught her about how to efficiently get through a routine in no time.  She’s only ten minutes late pulling into the school and running in with an apology about the donuts taking too long.  Mrs. Forrester laughs and waves off her apology as she pulls the foil covered tray from Erin’s hands.  “You can be late all you want if you bring me homemade donuts darling.”  

Erin blushes but laughs, pushing down the thoughts of the journal waiting for her back home and the reason she was actually running late this morning.  The unused dough sitting back in her fridge would get fried up later for her own donuts, and Mrs. Forrester didn’t need to know the dozen in the tray were only half the amount she had meant to prepare.  Breakfast is fun and quiet, the town gossip from Mrs. Forrester is pretty tame all things considered and mostly consisted of particular family rivalries that might rear their heads when it came time for classes to start.  “You’ve got to watch out for the Harrisons, by the way.  Their eldest daughter, Brianna, has been known to take books out of the library without actually checking them out in order to keep other children from using them, and has started teaching her younger brother Evan to do the same.  Their parents put a bit too much pressure on them for their grades and class position, so I understand where that instinct is coming from, but we’re working on teaching them better habits.”  

Erin sighs and snags a second donut from the tray (Mrs. Forrester already halfway through her third) taking a bite from the sugary cinnamon donut before taking a deep drink of coffee.  She could get used to this, listening to the older woman chatter on amiably while they drink coffee and eat sweets.  It’s bittersweet that Mrs. Forrester is retiring, but hopefully with enough of these early morning coffee dates Erin will be able to convince the older woman to keep meeting up occasionally outside of work.  The shrill ringing of the school bell interrupts her train of thought though, and Mrs. Forrester stands before recovering the donuts with foil and putting them in the bottom drawer of her desk with a wink.  “Alright darling, duty calls.  We’ll have some more of those at lunch, and you absolutely have to give me the recipe.”

[fakesurprise]

Digging Into Pasts

The universe is very large. But there are times I feel that biases are larger still. They my credentials are in order is never the issue. But they ask questions, demand to know the access of all my staff. My tail twitches slightly despite my effort. I have long since grown out of believing the gods of my people but even so the old story tugs at me. The arrogance of bipedals is often without limit. I move past the last of the security officers, catch one comment about ‘slithering’.

I could have their postings for this, even this far from Hive. But it is not worth shedding skin over. Dekai is hissing softly as I approach, eyes narrow slits.

“They insult us,” Dekai says, deliberately hissing the words. “You should not allow for this, Chord.”

“Insults are the consolation of fools; consider that a lesson.”

“And a fool who is taught nothing remains only a fool,” Dekai shoots back.

“You would teach them to fear us, then? If history offers any lessons, it may venture ones about how unwise such actions are.”

Dekai moves away, murmuring furious words. Too young to know history.

“It is easier to be feared than loved.” I turn, surprised, and realize the student-aide is behind me. “But eventually fear turns into a luxury that cannot be afforded. And so the object of fear dies, or is driven away.” The aide has a smile that speaks of a fresh molting, but eyes that hint at the secrets the earth holds.

“It is one reason we are here, yes.” I move to a viewpane, activate it with a thought. Outside the Krilv-built space station lurks the Shifting. A piece of the universe in constant flux, for reasons no one knows. Few travel into it, and fewer still emerge. Dekai is here because youth believe they are immortal. Squam seeks truth. Colub and Storeria have remained back with our ship seeking to apply very expensive scans and equipment to both us and the Shifting.

Dekai was rude to them until the student-aide told him that to watch people go to adventures was sometimes braver than having them. To wave one away and to await their return took more bravery than heroism. I don’t think Dekai believed it, but it did work a little. The student-aide was here to have a bipedal among us, in part. And volunteered, which meant the budget people insisted we accept the aid.

The aide moves closer to the window. Squam’s tail gently wraps about my chest, slipping away as I glance over.

“Hardly the time for that,” I offer, half-laughing.

“I thought you could use a distraction from Dekai.” Squam’s voice lowers. “And some information.”

“On the Shifting?”

“Our Aide.”

“The records all checked out –.”

“Yes, yes. But Colub did a deep scan. To test the system, mostly; the Aide is – surface-only. No details could be gleaned by the scan.”

My tongues slips past my lips for a moment. “That is – not possible, I would have said. The Hive is the largest centre of learning in a dozen galaxies, but not without enemies. A spy?”

“It is hard to know, Chord.”

The aide comes walking over, winding an easy path through people who part without thinking. Nice. Quiet, in a way that listening, bipedal because it is always useful to have one. I had no idea what species; I sent a message to the Hive to find out as we joined, made conversation. So easy with us, for a bipedal, but it did not have to mean a spy.

Dekai returns. Permission to enter the Shifting is at least easy to gain as almost no one survives it. The aide puts on a shiftsuit meant to aid in survival, pauses.

“We have no need of such things,” Dekai says smugly. “We can shed a skin that will survive this.”

“Ah.” And the aide says nothing else.

I turn my head to the door, that opens at a push from my will. Normally we pretend to interface properly, but I a little on edge. There are few scholars here, but even among scholars few ask how a people without arms nor legs made their way into space, or simply assume we were aided. That we could make energy fields was known; what we could do with them, we kept to ourselves.

The exit into the Shifting was the only place in the station devoid of merchandise and glorifications of the Shifting. We reach it without hassle; Dekai insists on going first, moving into the shunt and being hurled into the Shifting. Space that is not space. Twisted, changed, colours and forms and readings that existed nowhere else. A weapon, a wound, the result of some strange love affair? There were more theories than even I knew, but nothing beat exploring it in person. Assuming we survived.

I close down most of my senses, moving into the shunt and then out into the Shifting. By the time the people running it realize that I, Squam and Dekai apparently had no protective suits it will just be another story to add to all the others. The aide follows Squam in silence, even after the Shifting beings to assault. Up, down, left, right: nothing makes sense. There is no sense here.

Energies shimmer about Dekai, will manifested in visible spectrums. “There is a lot,” Dekai hisses softly, tail twitching nervously.

“Pressure,” Squam agrees. “More than we expected.”

“The suit is holding,” the aide offers.

We move. The shifting is difficult to navigate in all the stories, but we are smaller than others who come here, and slither through spaces they could not. Perhaps it is why the Shifting notices. Presses. Shifts about us in wild colours, ideas, notions too alien to be grasped.

“Chord,” Squam says, almost nervous as we slither together. Dekai joins us. The aid floats close, having kept up somehow.

“It is aware,” Dekai says. “Of us. Perhaps punishing us for arrogance?”

“Preposterous,” Squam says. A favourite word, delivered in the tone of one academic we all gently mock. It does not even win a hiss of laughter from Dekai. “We could test it.”

“No,” I say swiftly. “Just shielding ourselves is taking all our strength; we cannot shield you if you decide to press energies out into – this.”

“I know. But will we have a chance to learn like this again?”

“Don't,” the aide says.

But Squam pushes energy out even as the aide speaks. Power, force. We are dangerous in ways we hide, but the Shifting – it lashes about us, and I barely hold my shield. Dekai wraps their tail around me, sharing energy, trying to keep us alive.

The aide just – stands. The shiftsuit has been destroyed, but the bipedal one just stands in the middle of the Shifting unharmed.

“What is this?” I do not trust my own voice.

“I tried to keep the shiftsuit together, and Squam.” The aide lets out a sigh. “The danger of hiding is that one gets out of practise in some things.”

“Hiding. Like hingari do?” Dekai hisses, baring fangs.

The aide – the person – smiles a smile that is gentle despite the hate in Dekai's voice. “I came because of your report on the hingari, if you must know. Few believe they exist, but there were once the most feared species in over a dozen galaxies. Shape shifters, body changers. Able to hide and to be whatever they needed to.” The aide holds out a hand, the shifting flowing and moving. Steadying, somehow. “And now almost forgotten. This is where their last warship was, long and long ago. Dragged out a shiftspace, weapons primed. Four hingari, no more, to pilot a craft that could have decimated a galaxy. And they turned it inward. Destroyed the engines, every weapon core, themselves.”

“They made the Shifting,” I say, half a question.

“An attempt to be remembered, at the ending of all they were.”

“And what are you, to know this?”

“Not hingari. They were very good spies, but I am not that. I was old when they were young: they rose so high, and I was around to see them become legends, and they are barely even that now. Someone told me once that we die twice. Once when we die, again when no one remembers us.” His smile takes my breath away. Numberless skins are shed in it. “Sometimes I think everything I do pales next to remembering. But there are limits even to memory. Live long enough, and things become – tangled. And there are limits to how far I can go back,” he adds, barely a whisper. “How often, and why, and when.

“One day I almost forgot what her eyes looked like. I went back to remind myself. I could have asked myself when I was younger, but there would have been a judgement I did not wish to face. But there are limits, too, you understand. I am – what I am, and I cannot go back to the same precise spot, the same exact time in the past too often or things can be… damaged.

“I can do things now that I never could have imagined when I was younger, but sometimes I would rather lose power in favour of the freedom I once had.”

“Your words make no sense,” I say, even though they do.

“Squam is dead. Many have died, and you – you let the Shifting remain?” Dekai demands.

“It was their final attempt to be remembered. It seems wrong to destroy that.” He stares out into the Shifting. “But your people are energy as much as flesh. Perhaps more than, in times to come.” And the aide – held out a hand, and Squam was there. Translucent, energies pulled together from this placed. Shifted, shaped.

“Squam?”

“Chord? I am missing flesh.”

“We can share mine,” I offer, not understanding.

It hurts. Attempting to hold two people in one body, and then it no longer hurts.

“A gift,” the aide says. “So that you will remember your own in ways others never will.”

“What are you?” Dekai demands.

“A traveller. A seeker, like yourselves. I have been – trying to be forgotten, because it may be safer for others if I am.”

“And what happens when you wish to be remembered, like this hingari?” I am not sure if it is me or Squam. I no longer know where my tail ends and Squam's begins.

“A point. And one I will need to consider. My name is Jay, if that helps,” he offers, and then isn't there.

We make our way back the station. Squam and I together are enough for shifting, and Dekai forces a path. It takes all our strength, but we returned, survived, and for that we rest in free lodgings and no one asks questions. But they do make stories.

It is Colub who slithers in slowly days later. “You were more than foolish.” “We were,” Dekai says. No anger, no boasting. Just a fact.

“And Chord. You are –?”

“Squam. And Chord. Something new that in time will be old as well. A way to remember.”

Colub considers that, offers a small nod. “I will want to know more. The bipedal?”

“Gone. Under their own power. They were – never what they claimed, at all,” I admit.

“I searched the Hive. There was a species known as humans, and they had many forms over thousands of years, but are long gone. The aide looked like one of them, but even by those standards lacked even rudimentary wings, or gills or any useful adaptation humans had been able to graft into their forms.”

“Old, then,” I say slowly.

“I have had time,” Dekai offers diffidently. “While you and Squam have been – adjusting. I searched the Hive from here – we can discuss the cost later – and this Jay might be one Jayseltosche. Something old, and alien, and helpful and strange. Almost every file is classified at levels I do not have access to. I do not know why they were with us, Chord.”

“Perhaps to be remembered, even if Jay cannot be forgotten. I do not know either,” I say, and I think that may be the deepest sorrow in all of this.

[kivaember]

Prompt #17: Without A Trace

(CW: disturbing themes in this one, because Allagan experiments are pretty fucking awful and Aza also does questionable things) 

Aza eyed the rusting interior of the elevator with a healthy amount of scepticism as it groaned and shivered its way down into the bowels of the Allagan Ruins. Unlike Azys Lla or the Crystal Tower, this facility had not weathered the march of time well, having been buried beneath several hundred thousand tonze of ice, snow and granite, discovered only by the ambitious expansion of a nearly exhausted Ishgardian mithril mine in the Coerthas Highlands.

Aymeric had promptly ordered it cordoned off and all access heavily restricted – he had heard enough stories from Aza about the nasty surprises that lurked in those ancient facilities and, understandably, didn’t want a too curious knight accidentally rousing the defence systems and having them spill out into the Ishgardian countryside. For a week, the mine had been as heavily guarded as a fortress, which… well, it probably pinged that something was up with the other Eorzean Alliance members, but from what Aza knew Aymeric was being very coy and secretive about the discovery with his allies.

Aza didn’t get involved. He left politicking to his far more experienced partner. He dealt with spelunking dangerous, ancient ruins of precursor civilisations that had a terrible habit of locking up unstable, powerful Primals; a mission that was always simpler than the treacherous pitfalls of international diplomacy, truth be told.

However, due to recent events, a relaxed yet interesting mission to explore an unknown ruin and potentially deactivate its defences had become something a little thornier. Aymeric, bless him, had been stubbornly insistent that Aza dragged along a group of knights with him, just in case that damnable Calling struck him at the most ill-opportune time. Aza had whined, Aymeric had put his foot down, they squabbled, and the result was Aza ending up with three knights clustered at his heels like little unwanted ducklings as he prowled through these old, rusting ruins.

Well, perhaps that was an uncharitable comparison. The three knights were discreet, skilled and professional. They didn’t touch anything unnecessarily, they didn’t get under Aza’s feet, and they kept a respectable distance, staying quiet as he poked and prodded at certain parts of the security system, just in case they lurched to life.

Which, they didn’t. The facility was eerily, worryingly quiet.

The thing about Allagans was they built their shit to endure. Even if that facility was part of an artificial moon that broke into the atmosphere of another planet and exploded thanks to the very angry Primal sitting at its centre, its remnants still functioned. So rarely did it seem rusted either – the alloy always kept up a silvery, bright polish, no matter its age or the exposure – so to stand in the middle of a positively ancient elevator, listening to it groan and wail, with its walls and floor holey and stained brown with rust was… disconcerting.

The aether moved oddly too, almost as if…

The elevator lurched to a halt, and with a high-pitched screech that had his ears tilting back in irritation, the doors ground open to reveal a wide hallway lit up in the sickly green of emergency lighting. Overhead, a robotic voice slurred out incomprehensible Allagan and teeth-clenchingly shrill static – all Aza caught was “testing” and “laboratory”.

Fuck. He hated Allagan laboratories.

“Alright,” he turned to face his three, heavily armoured ducklings, “It looks like this has an Allagan lab in it. That means we might be knee deep in their bioengineered weapons, so stay on your toes.”

The three knights nodded grimly, and Aza let his gaze trail over them. Josephine, a spear knight that was the tallest of the lot and broad enough that Aza suspected she had some Roegadyn in her bloodline somewhere, Isidore, a sword and shield knight who looked perpetually sleepy, and Clovis, a medic who was thankfully softer and gentler than Allert – and possibly mute, as Aza hadn’t heard Clovis utter a single word since this expedition began.

“Let’s go,” he finally said, satisfied with his inspection, and as one they tromped into the facility.

The hallway was long, and Aza felt his fur prickle at the heavy press of aether. It wasn’t that heralding the presence of a Primal, but the aether felt almost… stagnant? As if the millennia that passed by had just layered more and more and more in the depths of this facility, until it felt almost treacle-like and pressured. Aza didn’t quite like it, and judging by the nervous shifting of the knights behind him, neither did they.

There was a single set of doors at the end – the automatic ones that littered all Allagan facilities. Except these ones had been blasted open by something, dark scorch marks accompanying the claw marks that scored over the interior of the warped, metal doors. Aza paused, feeling his surroundings out, but the Echo gave no warning, no whisper of hostility and danger, so whatever had ripped those doors open long ago was either dead or long gone.

“By the Fury…” Josephine muttered behind him as they cautiously inched past the blasted open doors, and into the murky, spacious room beyond.

It was definitely a laboratory – it was simply massive, the ceiling stretching high with many catwalks and stairs connecting each level that loomed above them, for lining the walls, crammed in as tight as sardines, were hundreds of dimly lit statis pods, almost all of them occupied. Some, closest to the door, were smashed open, as if from the inside, glass littering the floor and leaving a trail of claw and scorch marks all the way up to the door.

“These are… dragons? No, something’s not right…” Isidore said quietly as they gravitated towards the pods with a sense of morbid curiosity, “Those are…”

“Hybrids,” Aza said shortly, utterly desensitised to the abominable things the Allagans did now. Standing before one pod, it was about two fulms taller than him, and twice as wide. Inside was a thick, goopy liquid that shone an off-yellow, thick bubbles floating up to show it was oxygenated. Inside was a creature that looked almost child-like – it was curled up, knees to chest, with its head covered by a metal mask of some sort, hiding its features. It didn’t hide the thick horns that sprouted from beneath the thick mass of floating hair, or the pointed ears that looked disturbingly Elezen-like. Its body appeared slender too, covered in patches of soft scales, with its arms twisted into what resembled closely to Wyvern wings.

Useless wings, looking closer. They were stubby and awkward, and forced its arms into painful looking angles. Its tail was too long as well – twice the length of its curled up body, and its feet looked like Chocobo feet, with thick, ungainly claws that looked too big for its body.

All in all… it looked painful.

“Halone have mercy,” Josephine murmured quietly, “These poor creatures.”

The next pod was just the same – slight difference, smaller wings, or the next pod, bigger wings, the next pod, wings on the back, too big, the next pod, fully scaled with massive clawed hands, on and on and on, until Aza came to a very disturbing conclusion.

This laboratory was where they were perfecting these hybrids. A melding of dragons and… whatever base Spoken they were using. Elezen, it looked like, judging by what little humanoid traits he could see. He didn’t bother thinking of ‘why’, because he’d long come to the realisation that Allagans tended to do horrible things just to prove they could. Always pushing the line, always trying to pervert nature and twist it into something unrecognisable. These creatures? Their very existence looked agonising.

And they were still alive.

He could feel it in the aether – could untangle the layered, dense feeling of it. Pain. Thousands and thousands and thousands of years of pain, just like within the depths of the Coils, where the Meracydians languished in agony to feed Bahamut’s existence. Except there was no reason, not even a bad one, for this. They just existed, abandoned and forgotten, without a single whisper of their trace in history or in the land above. They just sat here.

Aza turned away from the pods, let his eyes skim for- ah, there.

Leaving his knights to uncomfortably gape and snuffle at the room’s prisoners, Aza strode over to the console that sat innocuously in the middle of the room. There were several screens mounted to it, and when Aza reached it and tapped at the console, they flickered to dull, unstable light. One screen was just static, but the others still worked.

Like he said, Allagans built their shit to last.

He couldn’t read Allagan, but he let instinct guide him as he began tapping at the console. There was something, beneath the thorny prickle of painagonyhelpmehelpme that pervaded the very aether itself – something cold and ugly that made it feel like someone had cracked a cold egg down the back of his armour. So many cries for help, so many in pain, all placed into a deep sleep, dreaming and hoping to be put out of their misery.

He could feel it now, all that dense layer. Thousands of years of prayers, of aether gathering and condensing in this single point. The building blocks of a Primal.

Thankfully, everything was too aimless for him and the knights to be in any danger. At the moment it was just a concept, an unintelligent clump of aether that understood something was crying for help but lacking the mind and form to do anything about it. There were no crystals here, nothing to power or give form – except time. Lots of time.

Aza supposed it was a good thing the miners hit this facility. It wouldn’t have happened any time soon, maybe a hundred years, maybe a thousand more, but eventually a Primal would’ve been born here, with only agony and hatred as its base components, and it would have ripped free of this flimsy, rusting facility to devastate Ishgard above.

And the creatures here? That Primal wouldn’t put them out of their misery. It would keep them here to sustain it, and the poor fucking things would just suffer more and more.

He wouldn’t let that happen, now that he was here.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, barely louder than an exhale, heard only to himself, “You can rest easy now.”

And with the gentle urging of instinct, or perhaps the Echo helping him guide his way through the incomprehensible Allagan, he switched off the statis pods.

Instantly, the lights went out in each individual pod, and the low, groaning gurgle of the life support systems went quiet. The silence almost felt like a physical blow at that point, and the aether around him trembled – Aza pushed the feeling aside. He gathered up the awful, sickly feeling in his gut, boxed it up, and put it out of mind. It was for the best. Every Allagan facility he went through, these type of creatures… the moment they were freed, they attacked everything within sight. He could risk it. Couldn’t open them up for what looked to be thousands of bioengineered weapons in hopes that a single one wasn’t in crippling agony and was reasonable.

But this was the kind of shit he had to do, was meant to do. He made these decisions, out of sight, out of mind, so the rest of Eorzea and Hydaelyn remained safe. It didn’t make him feel any better, didn’t help him ignore the feeling of death starting to trickle into the surrounding aether like a stream, but clinging to ‘this was necessary, an awful necessity’ made it easier for him to turn and look his escort in the eye.

“We’ll have to check each pod, to make sure they’re dead,” he said emotionlessly, “These systems are so old it wouldn’t surprise me if some of them didn’t obey the master controls.”

The knights saluted him with impeccable professionalism. If they disagreed or were disgusted by his actions… they said nothing. Good.

The knights scattered, and Aza lingered by the console, looking up towards a ceiling so high it was nothing but a black shadow. Aymeric would understand – he understood unpalatable necessity, but still, Aza was kind of… the Warrior of Light was not very ‘Light’ at all, was it? A true paragon of goodness would have attempted to find a better way than what was easiest, but Aza was slowly accepting that he wasn’t a paragon of goodness.

He wasn’t even a nice person.

Some would argue he was good… but he wasn’t nice. Things like this just cemented it. But that was for the best, wasn’t it? In these times, you needed someone with a decisive hand, someone who would willingly be the monster to fight the other monsters that preyed on them. Aza would willingly be that monster. He already was one in a way, really.

Shaking his head, Aza moved off, steeling himself for an emotionally exhausting day of putting these creatures to proper rest. No one but himself, the knights and Aymeric would ever know of their existence, but they deserved something better than sitting alone and cold in these damnable tubes, forgotten history of the Allagan Empire’s ever increasing crimes against humanity.

[wordsworkweekly]

BITTER NOSTALGIA: Modernism in the Now, the evils of Social Media, And how to recapture the modes of Mental and Physical Production

Note: this essay was included in a little book I made by hand for a class I took a few years ago.

What does it mean to be modernist within the modern context? Like those who have called themselves (or have been called) Modernist, one must, to label oneself as such, engage with the convention of “the now” (or what has become the convention of “the now”), within the ticking-clock – second to second – context of one’s own lived life.

This is an interesting pursuit – to know what is “the now”, to engage with it, to kill it, and reincarnate it as “the new” – because it seems like movements of thought, of art, of politics (etc) in the modern context come and go quicker than the tides. To know what is “the now” and what is “the new” seems like an impossible task with how quickly ideas spew forth via digital means. Movements (and the thoughts that inspired them – political, artistic, or other) that once took years to coalesce and take root before being considered convention, now go through an unnatural life cycle and become convention within months of being planted (their life spans, in extreme cases, sometimes limited to weeks or even days due to the speed of our Internet connections and the other tools that service our naturally flighty attention spans). The coming and going of exciting thoughts (and movements) is “the now”, it has become the conventional norm.

To make something “the new” until it becomes old, until either you kill it or some other idea comes along to smother it in its sleep (i.e. death by becoming convention), is the paradoxical goal of the Modernist. In other words, to be a Modernist is to always be in a state of de-stabilization, in a state of active “Boredom Murder” (because what is more boring than the rotting remains of some old idea). The modern context has provided us with the weapons (of mass destruction) we need to kill boredom, but, I fear, that some of us aren’t discerning in how we use these (potentially) destructive tools. Instead, we find ourselves being used by the weapons we think we wield (to maintain and nourish their development and existence instead of our own).  The big question I want to explore is how do we recapture the modes of production. The simple answer: do what Virginia Woolf would do.

The Digital Revolution as the Epitome of Modernist Thought

Something that was “the new” in recent memory and had a huge, destabilizing impact was the digital revolution. Technology is the rocket fuel to a (potentially nihilistic) fiery human instinct that was embodied and popularized by the likes of Pound and Woolf and their fellow travelers – “to make it new”. This, inherently, is a destructive force. It is a mode of thought that advocates the deconstruction of tradition and convention, but not necessarily in favor of a new structure or mode of thought (the deconstruction is its purpose). As Mimi Parent writes in her essay “The Poetics of the Manifesto”: “The spirit of modernism is characterized… by its refusal of description, for what it conceives of as its own form of reality; art, representing often simply itself.” (Caws xxviii). Modernist thought exists only for itself, but cannot exist without a tradition or convention that precedes it (it cannot exist without something to tear down and rebel against).

John Lehmann’s attempt at a late Modernist movement (via his New Writing) was a reaction to the destabilization Pound and Woolf et al. advocated and practiced. He wanted art to be a stabilizing force and, in someway, he saw the –isms that emerged in the early years of Modernism as destabilizing and destructive forces. Lehmann wanted New Writingto be “…a more coordinated interpretation of the world “ (Bort 670), and saw the artist as social agent (someone who might effect change not just in the world of his or her own art, but in the world at large – i.e. he wanted artists and their art to be a stabilizing force within broader society).

Even though I agree in general with Lehmann’s premise (that –isms are by nature a destabilizing force), I disagree with him that art and artists should be a stabilizing force. This was also my issue with Lehmann’s oft-published contemporary Louis MacNeice’s writing during World War II. MacNeice serviced the structure of society over the expression of his own art and his own mind (or as Woolf so brilliantly puts it, “If we use art to propagate political opinions, we must force the artist to clip and cabin his gift to do us a cheap and passing service.” [as cited in Mc 72]). MacNeice clipped and “cabin-ed” his own gift to be a stabilizing force within a mass of people and for a government body. This is an absurd and narcissistic pursuit – one, I fear, we’ve all embraced too heartily in the modern, digital context. We no longer look to destabilize convention, instead we look to bolster political discourse and ideology with our own 2 cents (yelling at Presidents and Prime Ministers and other elected officials online, repeating slogans and systemic thinking from other eras, and all the while doing this on publishing platforms we do not own or control with thoughts and content recycled by our interactions in the digital sphere).

The problem with Lehmann’s concept (that to make something “new” is to shake the foundation of existence as it is currently known – even if it is a minor, subjective crisis), is that his movement strives for stabilization and therefore is striving for convention ad infinitum (no revolution, only boredom).  There is an intriguing thread that emerges when you look back at this particular intersection of public people known for the exploration of their private selves and how, strangely, this once revolutionary act has become the norm. The digital revolution has allowed us to gut our private lives for the consumption of others. We have clipped and cabin-ed our own gifts and do our thoughts and ourselves a cheap and passing service indeed.

Our thoughts now, in the digital age, once spewed into the ever-expanding digital sea evaporate like rubbing alcohol on skin. Even though there’s more thoughts and places to put them, spewed by infinite anonymous hordes (of all classes, creeds, racial and gender categories – a good thing, in concept, to be sure), these so-called democratic tools that have seemingly given the horde’s voice has simultaneously erased those voices by hiding them amongst the infinite others (amongst themselves).  What at first shook the foundations of what was conventional (music, book publishing, newspapers, etc), now functions to stabilize itself – it has become the convention. But the barriers we now face have been made invisible (or, if not invisible, seemingly insurmountable). The revolution of digital publishing gives us a delusion of free speech, of control, and blinds us to the fact that we are throwing our thoughts, precious pebbles, into a vast sea. The advent of the internet and publishing platforms like Twitter or Wordpress or Tumblr or Facebook (etc) has at once democratized access (provided the ability) for anyone (despite their class, creed, racial, or gender categories) to build “intellectual capital” without, seemingly, the praise or approval or allowance of a Gatekeeper or a “Beadle” (ala Woolf’s “Beadle” from A Room of One’s Own). Yet what has really happened is that the Beadle has become the platform and our thoughts are its food (they exist for its sustenance and not our own).

One might argue that modern digital revolution has done for everyone exactly what Woolf advised other women writers to seek out: provided “money and a room of one’s own” (2) without acknowledging that the room and the money are made of 1s and Os (or, in other words, they’re made out of nothing or, perhaps, made out of a lie agreed upon).  When we publish into the digital sphere via these platforms, we are not in control anymore – despite appearances.

But it is not all bad. Sometimes miracles do happen – pebbles do float! People find each other. Communities are made. Revolutions are turned. And awareness that the digital realm is a sledgehammer and not the one that wields it, can lead to new ways of destabilizing what has become convention (of thinking and being and interacting with the world that, ultimately, in even microscopic ways, shift the ground beneath our feet).

But the question becomes, if this is “the now” what is “the new”? My answer: the new is the old. It is to treat our thoughts as precious and to give them a fighting chance to be seen in a light that transcends convention, to access or create an audience looking for a way out of “the now” and to move all of us toward “the new”. My answer is to follow in the steps of Virginia Woolf and make my own little book.

This is not necessarily a profound idea – to make a book. But it does do something interesting – it reclaims the means of artistic production. Not only the physical, but also the mental. It treats the thought as precious and as a commodity that the individual (not the platform) gets to exploit as they so choose.

Virginia Woolf

In A Room of One’s Own, Woolf advocates a private reckoning with the self as “writer” and she advocates this for women in particular but also, by inference, all classes of people who identify themselves as human beings. Her self-printing methods, adopted and adapted into the Hogarth Press and its methodology, created a system that promoted content and conversation over aesthetic concerns of physical production (i.e. content and thought over pretty books). Her “cheap” publishing methods (meant to eradicate barriers) anticipate, a century later, a mode of publishing — the Internet — that, virtually, has no barriers (“virtually” being the operative word – because digital publishing, again, is still the domain of the privileged… those with a minimum of an internet connection and a device to connect to it, but also those who control platforms and social networking hubs).

The fact that we have the ability to self-publish hardcover books using almost identical methods to Virginia Woolf and her contemporaries (that all of us so privileged with an internet connection and a printer and access to paper and video tutorials can do this) is a tiny miracle. Virginia Woolf’s ability to exploit one aspect of her privilege (money and a room of one’s own – or, at least, a table in the stockroom of the Hogarth Press) and then use that to disrupt the convention of her Gatekeepers (in this instance: the male dominated publishing industry) by cutting them out of the publishing process was a revolutionary act.  By doing this, she burst through the barriers of the context in which she lived (her “now”), but also added value to her own output (she created her own market without asking for permission to do so). Another way of thinking about it, Woolf’s decision to self-publish and then create her own publishing house, turned her (and Hogarth) into a Lighthouse on a craggy coastline, a beacon in the dark, where other like-minded ships would be drawn to and a community (and market) formed around this simple, revolutionary act (of seizing the means of production – figuratively and literally).

This, I think, is something we have forgotten (or, at least, neglected) in our modern context. We’ve moved on from Woolf’s revolution, perhaps in a way Virginia Woolf, at least at first, would support. We live on digital platforms and publish directly to our peers. The trade off, invisible to be sure, is that the platform is not “ours”, it is an illusion controlled by folks with their own interests and goals, with their own terms of service (that might not have anything to do with our thought or expression of it, who have agendas that do not align with our message, but who exploit our participation for their own profit motives). In their modes of commoditization – these Pavlovian algorithms that trigger dopamine responses i.e. the pleasure we get from getting “likes” and “favourites” etc. – they, at once, attract a mass of humans (creating a market to exploit) and, at the individual level, intentional or not, alter the individual’s thoughts and language to comply with its meager rewards (with their system). These social media platforms have become our modern day Beadles telling us where on the grass we can sit. But the magic trick that these modern platforms have pulled off, the sleight of hand, is that they do this without confrontation. They use positive reinforcement to alter human behavior and make themselves masters (or, at least, profiteers).

Woolf, of course, had some thoughts on how to break these invisible chains. She said, “I’m the only woman in England free to write what I like. The others must be thinking of series’ [sic] & editors.” (as cited in Mc 64). What gave Woolf this freedom, of course, was her taking control of the modes of production of her own thought (mental and physical). In ’Opening the Door’: The Hogarth Press as Virginia Woolf’s Outsiders’ Society”, McTaggart articulates Woolf’s epiphany, “[as] she sewed bindings and set type, she saw that literary communications were not ethereal, free-flowing conversations, but material interactions between physical and mental labor” (66). Like behind the scene documentaries of films, Woolf deconstructed and stripped the “magic” and “power” out of the book making process, making it accessible to all sorts of folks from all backgrounds and, in her way, diminished the power of any gatekeeper (or “Beadle”) who would stand in her way. By making her own little book, Woolf recognized the inherent absurdity of the concept of the “Gatekeeper”. Why should we ask permission to have private thoughts or to share those thoughts with whom we like? Even though women and people of certain backgrounds and classes had to face real world Beadles, where real doors were locked and controlled, I think Woolf acknowledges that these Beadles (and the one’s that reside in our minds) embody the mass’s demand for the individual to comply in some way with broader convention (even though the mass doesn’t really demand it, it is not a thinking creature, civilization does not have a brain). Instead, these demands come from a small minority of people (white men with a vote and some coin, perhaps – be it in the British parliament or on the board of Twitter). But also it comes from the individual writer’s or artist’s or thinker’s mental projection and personification of the Mass and its conventions and traditions. These mental projections can be just as intimidating as any real world “Beadle” with a stiff collar and can hinder and block the freedom of one’s thoughts from within.  

Social Media publishing platforms and their “likes” and “favourites” and “retweets” have become the “editors” and “series” and imaginary “Beadles” of the modern era – something we have in mind as we compose our thoughts before we publish them (something that makes us mindful of where we step). By doing this, these digital publishing platforms subvert another freedom Woolf held dear – the ability for us to earn coin via the exploitation of our own minds. The design of self-publishing today creates a simulacrum of control (who needs to publish a book when you have a twitter account?). But to say Woolf would advocate our current state of publishing is perhaps a misreading of Woolf because if you examine her actions in regards to the mental production of literature vs. the physical production, in both instances she advocates the seizing of the modes of production – control over one’s own mind and selfhood and, also, over the mechanical tools and labor associated with the expression of one’s thoughts (to sell one’s thoughts via publishing, to earn the coin that allows one to have independence in this endless capitalist era, to “[e]arn 500 a year by your wits” and follow down that same path Aphra Behn and Austen and Bronte forged out of a history that did not look kindly on female or lower class writers [Woolf 76]).

A twitter account only provides the illusion of such publishing freedom because its very nature is not to service its users, but for its users (in the act of publishing) to service it. These places – twitter, facebook et al – like any system – have no value but the value we give them with our complicity and participation. McTaggart notes that Woolf had some things to say about complicity with popular tradition and convention (in this instance British masculine ideology) and how it “forces women not only to betray feminism but also participate in the violence of the empire.” (70-71). Complicity with the broader, pervasive ideology (of any time) should be a concern for any individual pursuing a critique of that problematic ideology. There needs to be an awareness of what is the controlling motive as we express our thoughts and where we express them (and be aware of what might couch and cabin them before they are put out into the world). Woolf, above all else, wanted people (women in particular) to acknowledge their own freedom of the mind, to find it any way they could, and be willing to pursue their thought as their own (not by satisfying some echo of tradition or convention for some “reward” or “treat” or “like” that, at best, has diminishing returns and, at worst, locks you in invisible chains).

Conclusion

So if “the now” is this illusion of control and we can acknowledge that Twitter  (and platforms like it) are the Gatekeepers and Beadles, how can we defy them? How can we be free, like Woolf, to write what we like? The answer is simple: do not comply. Create a space for yourself (digital or physical). And attempt to pursue freedom on your own terms. For me, the answer was simple: seize the mode of production (do what Woolf did and create your own publishing platform).  What is interesting about this simple act of seizing the physical mode of production is that it was its impact on my mental labor. It stripped away the awareness of the “Editors” and the “Series” (the “likes” and “favourites” and “retweets”), even the ambiguous concept of an “audience” or “followers” or “friends” and allowed me to engage with my own thought, to say what I was thinking and to say it without being complicit with some convention (or gatekeeper) of “the now”.

Woolf wrote, “Literature is no one’s private ground. It is not cut up into nations; there are no wars there. Let us trespass freely and fearlessly and find our own way ourselves.” (as cited in McTaggart 64). It is a good message. And if you look at our world now, the borders of literature have seemingly spilled open in the wake of the digital revolution. But new borders have formed, new nation-states have emerged and become powerful because we have mindlessly bolstered and supported them under the false pretense of freedom (and, by doing so, we have undercut our own positions in the market – we have shut off access to that “500 a year” and that room of one’s own… we’ve thrown it away for 1s and 0s).

If literature becomes too common, too ubiquitous, demonetized (or “re-monetized” to favor the platform over the contributor), there’s no way to set one thought apart from the next. We have become careless with our precious thoughts. They are pebbles (gems!) and what modern technology has given us in our ability to share these gems, it has also, by its nature, created a vast sea in which to throw them away. Some of our gems miraculously float, but not enough and never for too long. And this is where my little book comes in to play. It is to steal Woolf’s greatest advice (the self, the room, the money), recapture the mode of production (mental and physical) and in one simple act, undercut the Beadles of the modern era (digital publishing platforms). Instead of tossing my thought into the sea, I built it a little paper boat. It might get lost out there, caught in some storm that’s waves crash over the gunnels and sink it where it will rest amongst the millions of other pebbles long covered in sea weed and barnacles and bloated with the eggs of crabs, but at least it will have a chance to see the sun. Those few who can see it in this light (before sinking) might wonder why I have gone through the effort of building a boat for a tiny pebble in the first place. They might begin to wonder about the value of their own tiny pebbles and how they might give them the best chance to stay afloat on an infinite sea. Hand-making a book is only a tiny revolution, but if enough others were to join me in this pursuit, it too (like it once did in Woolf’s lifetime) would become the conventional now. And then we – like all good modernists – would have to respond and create “the new.”

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