#just like Vasco ironically enough

[canisalbus]

genuinely can't think of Machete having a normal italian name

this wet beaste cannot be called Mario or something

.

[nicklloydnow]

“The scenes are too familiar. Turn off the colour and they could be photographs from Eastern Europe in the Second World War. So, yes, it certainly feels like the end of an interwar period. And now, you might think, only the details of this turning point need to be finalised.

(…)

The return of the brutal Russian bear has shattered the illusion that peace in Europe was a free lunch paid for by the Americans and cooked on Russian gas.

Even the staunchest of Brexiteers now see the point of co-operation with the EU to build 'strategic autonomy', as French President Emmanuel Macron says of his vision of a continent united on security and defence.

Others see an even bigger turning point. Francis Fukuyama, who shot to fame in 1989 with his essay The End Of History, has confidently predicted an 'outright' Russian defeat.

He wrote 'The collapse of their position could be sudden and catastrophic', adding: 'Putin will not survive the defeat of his army.'

What's more, 'a Russian defeat will make possible a 'new birth of freedom', and get us out of our funk about the declining state of global democracy. The spirit of 1989 will live on'.

I sincerely hope he's right, but I am not so optimistic. I remember 1989 vividly, having spent much of that summer in Berlin before the Wall fell. And while largely peaceful revolutions swept through Central and Eastern Europe that year (it was only three years later, in Yugoslavia, that the death of Communism sparked war), there was no such turning point in China, where 1989 also saw the Tiananmen Square massacre.

With the benefit of hindsight, the survival of Communism in China was a more significant historical phenomenon than its collapse east of the River Elbe.

Stefan Zweig's book Decisive Moments In History, originally published in 1927, is one of the boldest attempts to identify history's true turning points. Some are obvious: the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans in 1453, Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo in 1815, Lenin's return to Russia in 1917.

Others are more obscure: Vasco Núñez de Balboa's first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean (1513), John Sutter's discovery of gold in California (1848), Cyrus Field's struggle to lay a transatlantic telegraph cable (1858).

Zweig's point was that economic and technological changes can cause turning points too. In fact, looking back, we can see that the emergence of the internet marked a bigger historical shift than the raising of the Iron Curtain.

And so we come to 2022.

I am more pessimistic than Fukuyama because I fear we may be exaggerating the Ukrainians' ability to hold out, heroic though their defence undoubtedly is.

Technology has been a factor in this turning point, too, as the Russians seem to be waging a 20th Century war against a 21st Century defence. Nevertheless, despite the frantic efforts of Nato countries to supply arms, the Ukrainians lack the most sophisticated defensive weaponry that would protect them from cruise missiles and high-altitude bombers.

Yes, they are inflicting stunningly heavy casualties on the invaders – an estimated 7,000 men in just three weeks. And yes, Putin's original goal of seizing Kyiv and toppling the Ukrainian government is now slipping further out of reach.

But no one should underestimate Putin's willingness to keep this brutal war going until he controls enough of southern and eastern Ukraine to demand the kind of concessions that might just be dressed up for the Russian public to look like victory. People talk, too, as if the economic sanctions imposed on Russia are unprecedented in their severity. But there is evidence to the contrary.

Russia's biggest bank, Sberbank, hasn't been fully sanctioned. And, crucially, most of the West hasn't yet stopped buying about $1 billion of Russian oil every day.

As for Putin's imminent downfall, it's possible that the Russian elite's increasing disillusionment with his rule will bring him down in a palace coup. But I wouldn't bet on it. There is an equally plausible scenario in which Putin is driven to drastic action by his own military failures, economic pressures at home, and the readiness of the West – particularly of the US President – to call him a 'war criminal'.

Anyone who watched Putin's splenetic address to the Russian people on Wednesday night realised with a shudder that we are not dealing with a calculating game theorist akin to the chess players of the Soviet era, but with a bona fide fascist.

Declaring that Russia should undergo a 'self-cleansing of society' to rid itself of 'bastards and traitors', Putin made it clear that heads will roll – because the blame always lies with the treacherous fifth column within, never with the dictator himself.

Until then, I had been inclined to say that Putin's threats to use nuclear or chemical weapons were a bluff, which succeeded in getting the Biden administration to pull back from lending Polish MiG jets to Ukraine. I now begin seriously to worry about what he may order from his bunker.

(…)

Finally, there are worries about the Western public's chronic attention deficit disorder.

Currently, we are hooked on the hideously fascinating imagery of war: burnt-out Russian tanks, flattened Ukrainian cities, fleeing refugees, the inspiring speeches of that country's President Zelensky. But how long will we sustain this engagement?

Eighty-nine per cent of Germans say they are 'worried' or 'very worried' about the plight of people in Ukraine; but 66 per cent are just as worried about disruptions to energy supplies and 64 per cent about a deterioration in Germany's economic situation.

The world is now facing its most serious inflation problem in a generation and domestic bread-and-butter issues generally trump crises in faraway counties.

If the siege of Kyiv drags on for weeks; or if a ceasefire is imposed then breaks down, then gets reinstated; or if negotiations about the borders of the disputed Donbas region get too boring – how long will we retain interest?

In short, this could be like historian A. J. P. Taylor's famous line about the European revolutions of 1848: a 'turning point in history where history failed to turn'.

It would not be the first time that people's initial outrage faded into feelings of impotence and then amnesia.

(…)

The war in Ukraine is not over. Russia has not been defeated. Putin has not been overthrown. And so to speak of a 'historic turning point' today would be premature. But there can be a turning point – and it can be a profound one.

For that, though, we will need the kind of strong leadership that holds firm when a despot rattles the nuclear sabre; that reminds us why the Ukrainian struggle for liberty is indeed our struggle; and that remembers one of history's greatest lessons is that the insatiable appetite of some authoritarian empires for neighbouring territory cannot be defeated by sanctions alone. Without this kind of leadership, I doubt 2022 will be as joyous as the turning point of 1989.

That kind of change might only be possible with a change of Western leadership. When that finally comes, then maybe the world really will take a turn for the better.”

[ragingbookdragon]

I Won’t Let You Be The One That Got Away

Vasco x De Sardet

Word Count: 8.2K Warnings: Angst, Canon-Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Explicit Language, I feel the need to say ANGST again.

Author’s Note: Y’all this is, and I cannot stress this enough, super angsty. Be prepared to cry and hate me for a couple thousands words. Also, Happy Valentine’s Day! ‘Cause we all need angst on VD! Enjoy! -Thorne

           Constantin’s death hit everyone equally. No one blamed the young governor though, all knowing that in the end, there wasn’t a trace of him left that hadn’t been twisted into madness. But of all the people closest to him, no one was more affected by Constantin’s death than De Sardet. They tried their best to comfort him, but words of consolidation could only go so far for the Legate who had to take the life of the man whom he considered his brother.

           They buried Constantin in a remote location, no one but the small grouping of De Sardet’s companions and a few others knowing where. Petrus had given the sermon, a few simple words to bless the life of what it once was. Síora and Aphra laid flowers on the mound of dirt, both consoling the other as they cried. Vasco had placed his personal mariner’s cross beside the flowers, and Kurt laid bottle of whiskey next to it. They took their places back beside De Sardet and waited for him to give his own personal item. It never came. De Sardet merely stared in silence at the stone with Constantin’s name carved onto it.

           One by one the mourners began to leave, starting with Sieglinde and Manfred, followed by Admiral Cabral and Madam de Morange, until all that was left was the small group. And slowly, they dispersed too, providing their final words to De Sardet as they returned to New Serene, leaving Kurt and Vasco with the Legate. Kurt and Vasco shared a look before the mercenary nodded, placing his hand upon De Sardet’s shoulder, simply squeezing it, then he left.

           The Naut moved closer to him, gently resting his head on De Sardet’s shoulder, hand curling in the others. He felt the man squeeze his hand in return, to the point that Vasco almost winced from the iron grip, but he didn’t let it show—De Sardet had always been a man of few words, preferring to let his actions speak for him, so Vasco knew that the hold meant his lover was truly in pain. And Vasco felt it as if were his own, heart breaking with every pulse.

           “What can I do, my Tempest?” he whispered, tilting his head to look up at De Sardet.

           “Can you bring back the dead?” De Sardet replied.

           Vasco sighed heavily. “I wish I could.”

           The man shrugged. “Then you can’t do anything.”

           They fell into a silence after that, and the Naut felt like it was stretching their hearts miles apart. Suddenly, de Sardet’s hand left his as he pulled away.

           “De Sar—”

           “You should head back to New Serene,” he interrupted, not looking at Vasco as he knelt down in front of Constantin’s grave.

           “I want to stay with you.” Vasco countered, but before he could take a step, De Sardet monotoned,

           “I wasn’t asking you, Vasco. I was telling you.” He tossed a cold stare over his shoulder. “Go.”

           That hurt. That hurt Vasco more than he’d ever care to admit, and he wanted to argue. Wanted to beg and plead to let De Sardet allow him to help, but he knew some things had to be done alone.

           He nodded stiffly. “I’ll wait for you in New Serene.” And De Sardet gave him no reply as he turned away and made his way back.

***

           When De Sardet finally returned it was well into the next morning. His footsteps seemed to unfreeze every lip, sending them into a gossiping frenzy, but from the look on the Legate’s face, he could care less. The group tried to engage him, ask him how he was, but De Sardet completely bypassed them, passing through the doors that led to the upstairs of the palace. Vasco and Kurt followed out of concern, but once De Sardet passed through Constantin’s doors, the flicking of the lock came after and they knew he wasn’t coming out anytime soon.

           “What…” Vasco started, turning to look at Kurt. “What do we do for him?”

           “All that we can,” he responded.

           “Do you think he’ll come out soon?”

           “I…don’t know,” Kurt replied, but it seemed like he wasn’t too sure of it himself.

***

           Three of their companions had returned to their respective homes within the month, their own responsibilities calling them away. All that was left were the two captains, one refusing to be assigned anywhere but De Sardet’s side, the other staying for his heart.

           They tried everything they could think of to coerce the Legate from Constantin’s room, but to no avail. De Sardet wouldn’t even speak, hell, he didn’t even make noise. He’d blocked the passage from the kitchen’s with heavy boxes, and not even Kurt could shove them off. He didn’t eat, and Vasco was sure that De Sardet didn’t sleep either. For all he knew, De Sardet just sat in the room and mourned.

           Vasco spent all his time outside the doors simply talking to him. It was weeks before he even heard some form of response from De Sardet, and that was only the pressure of him sitting against the door. The Naut took the other door, pretending they were sitting side by side and that the wood wasn’t between them. He spoke of anything and everything. Of his travels, of his childhood, anything that he hoped would get a response out of his lover. Until one day when he mentioned the position Cabral had offered him.

***

           He climbed the well-worn steps and turned the corner into the parlor, stopping when Kurt rose from the seat in front of the doors.

           “Anything new?” Vasco hoped, heart sinking when the coin guard shook his head.

           “Nothing,” Kurt responded.

           The Naut sighed and nodded his head. “Go then. I’ll take over for the day.”

           Kurt gave him no answer save a tipped head before turning his attention to the door. “Green Blood?” he called. “Your captain is here.”

           No response came from inside save a shift, telling them that De Sardet was moving to rest against the door and Kurt glanced at Vasco before leaving.

           Vasco grunted as he settled against the door, taking his tricorn in his hands. “It’s beautiful outside, my Tempest,” he murmured. “You should open up the window and take the fresh air in.”

           While he held out a hope for an answer, he was used to the silence in its wake, and Vasco simply moved through it, telling De Sardet about his day. Of waking up to the birds singing, to still feeling odd at being served breakfast by a maid, to visiting his former crew to check up on them.

           “They’re coming ‘round to find a new captain after Ruben,” Vasco commented, eyes shifting to his hands as he hesitated, “Actually…they want me to come back. Admiral Cabral has offered me the rank of Commander of the Fleet.”

           He briefly drew his gaze to the door when he felt a shift. “It’s a prestigious position…one of quality and impressive feat for someone of my age.” He paused. “I turned it down though…I told her I was staying here on Teer Fradee…with you.”

           Vasco felt the pressure of the door shift, and listening closely, he heard De Sardet moving around until he came back, then the sound of scratching reached his ears. Was De Sardet writing something down? It had been almost a month and a half since they’d seen him. Maybe he was finally coming back out? Maybe Vasco had finally gotten through to him?

           His golden eyes flitted down when a piece of folded parchment slid under the door and he picked it up, heart beating wildly in his chest in anticipation of his lover’s words. Vasco flicked it open, and when his eyes scanned the paper, his heart sank.

           You should take the position. I’m of no use to you as I am. Don’t stay of some misguided heart and let my grief keep you here when where you truly want to be is out on the oceans.

           Vasco couldn’t believe what he read. Couldn’t believe that De Sardet would say something like that to him. He spun, grabbing hold of the door handle, and when he tried to speak, it came out through a tight throat, hoarse and hurt.

           “How dare you! How dare you assume I’m here because I am misguided!” He pounded against the door with a gloved fist. “You’ve no right to assume what I want when you’ve locked yourself away from the world!” Vasco didn’t mean to let that slip, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t animosity because of De Sardet’s actions.

           “I am here because I love you! Because I care about you!” he yelled, warmth starting to bleed into his eyes. “If you would only open the door and let me help you!”

           He pounded against the door again. “Open the door and talk to me! Goddamnit! At least look at me if you’re going to try and send me away!”

           Vasco’s words it seemed, fell upon deaf ears because the door never opened, and he saw De Sardet’s shadow fall away from the door.

           “You are a coward, De Sardet! A damned coward!” Vasco shouted before collapsing with his back against the door, pulling his knees to his chest. He buried his face in them and let the cloth soak up the tears that escaped his eyes. He stayed for a few moments longer before deciding to leave.

           “I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said hoarsely, though something told him it would be for the last time.

***

           New Serene was supposed to be the grandest escapade of Serene. Sold to adventurers and nobles as a wild and beautiful place teeming with riches and wealth. Compared to regular Serene, Captain Vance decided it was exactly the same. Though he was excited to see the vast amounts of natives that lived within the city, so at least the stingy attitude of nobility didn’t follow over.

           That being said, Vance had absolutely no idea where to even begin the search for the Governor of the Congregation. His father’s old maps were worn with age, almost illegible, so if the man had decided to go off into the wilderness, Vance was in a bind. He figured the best way to start would be with the governor’s palace, but first he had to check in with the admiral of New Serene and unload the Seahorse.

***

           He didn’t know what to expect when the guards led him into the palace. His only run-ins with nobility tended to be whenever he let them board to take passage to another location, and most of them were pricks. Pleasantly though, the young man standing next to the throne welcomed him with a smile.

           “It’s not everyday that a Naut captain comes to the palace,” the man said. “My name is Adrian. To whom do I owe this visit to?”

           Vance tipped his head—he wasn’t fond of bowing. “Captain Vance of the Seahorse, your excellency.”

           Adrian smiled, and held out his hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Vance.” He shook the Naut’s hand firmly. “But I assume you didn’t come to simply greet me. Is there something I can do for you?”

           “I’m here to see the governor,” Vance replied, eyes scanning the room. “Is he in?”

           Adrian nodded. “Governor De Sardet is upstairs in his study. May I ask the reason for your visit?”

           “My father is an old friend of his excellency’s.” Vance’s smile dropped and he murmured, “I don’t think my father is long to stay in this world. I wished to relay it to Governor De Sardet.”

           “Of course,” Adrian nodded sympathetically. “I’ll show you to him.”

           As they climbed the stairs, the young man added, “I hate to bear some bad news though. Governor De Sardet isn’t of mind to see many people these days.”

           “Is he unwell?” Vance questioned, ignoring the urge to run his fingers along the paneled walls.

           “Not unwell in the mind…just in personality. He doesn’t like visitors when he’s working.”

           “I thought working required meeting people on the throne?”

           “Ha, hardly. I take care of most of that work for him. He finetunes everything.”

           “You are his understudy then?”

           Adrian tipped his head side to side. “Officially I am the Legate of the Congregation on Teer Fradee, the position he once held. Though I assume all his lessons are to train me for governor.”

           They neared the door and he turned, holding out a hand for Vance to wait. The Legate walked to the door and knocked, two quick raps. “Governor De Sardet? There is someone to see you.”

           “I’m busy,” came a muffled reply. “Tell them to come another day.”

           Adrian glanced back at Vance, an awkward smile across his lips, and the Naut sighed, walking up to the door.

           He knocked harshly. “My name is Captain Vance of the Nauts.”

           “I don’t care.”

           Vance rolled his eyes and tried, “I am the son of Léandre d’ Arcy.”

           For a brief moment, there was no response from inside the room, and the two young man stared at each other.

           “…Come in,” the voice replied, softer this time.

           Vance breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door, stepping inside. His first impression of the man was that he was exactly like his father had described to him when he was younger, but this man was older now, hair silvered, age showing across his face and hands. But it seemed that age didn’t stop his body as he stood and held out a hand for the Naut to take.

           “I always knew I’d run into him again, even if it was through his children.” De Sardet said, and Vance shook his hand.

           “You’re sure I’m not some imposter using the name?” he questioned, and the governor chuckled.

           “Positive. No one besides your father and myself know that name.” He looked him over. “So, why are you here?”

           As much as Vance wanted to inquire about his father’s old life with the governor, he decided the more pressing issue was his father’s life now.

           “I’ve come to ask you to board the Seahorse and travel to the Naut island,” he said, and De Sardet’s brows rose in surprise.

           “Well, that’s a request if I’ve ever heard one.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

           Vance frowned. “My father’s health has been steadily declining over the past few years. I believe he is reaching his end.”

           “Ah,” De Sardet murmured, “You have my condolences.”

           “And I appreciate them,” Vance answered, but met the governor’s eyes. “You’re all my father talks about now. I know that he wishes to see you again though he believes it not likely.”

           “It grieves me that your father is reaching his end, and I would make that so, but I have too much to do here,” he lamented, and Vance shook his head, voice taking on a firmer tone.

           “You don’t understand, Governor De Sardet.” He pointed to himself. “I lied to my father and told him I was going to the Bridge Alliance on a mission when I actually came here to get you.” Vance stared straight at him. “My sailors are restocking the Seahorse as we speak because I am leaving tonight to head back. I need you to come with me.”

           “I—” De Sardet started, but fell silent, the words seeming to escape him.

           “Please, your excellency. I have heard the way my father speaks of you. He would be at peace if he could see you once more.”

           The governor’s gaze raised from the floor to the young man in front of him, for a mere moment, simply gazing, then he sighed. “I…will have my bags packed by tonight.”

           A relieved smile came across Vance’s face and he nodded. “Then I shall see you at the docks, Governor De Sardet.”

***

           “How long has it been since you came to the docks?” Adrian asked, side eyeing the old man next to him.

           De Sardet tipped his head side to side. “For business or because I cared?”

           “The latter.”

           “Hmm…fifty-five years…give or take a year or so.”

           “And how many years has it been since he left?”

           “Why do you care to know?” De Sardet snapped, scowling when Adrian merely smiled back at him.

           “I was just curious to know how long it’d been since the one that got away,” he mused and De Sardet scoffed.

           “My personal relationships are none of your concern.”

           “Of course not, your excellency.”

           “I despise your sarcasm, you smart bastard.”

           Adrian grinned. “At least I’m not a prickly old bastard like you.”

           “Excuse me?” De Sardet questioned, but before he could say another word, someone cleared their throat.

           “Governor De Sardet, if you’re ready to go, we’ve ready to pull out as well.”

           They both turned to Vance who was waiting and De Sardet nodded.

           “Of course.” He reached down to pick up his back and Vance waved him off.

           “I’ll take this.”

           De Sardet prickled slightly. “I’m old, not decrepit, Captain.”

           “But you are my guest, and I shall extend my courtesy to you,” he countered, and the governor fell silent as they walked to the brow.

           Vance paused and gestured for De Sardet to go aboard, but the old man stopped and turned to Adrian. He held out his hand, Adrian gazing at it with confusion, but he took it, nonetheless.

           “Adrian, if I were to do this properly, it’d take too much time, and since that’s something we don’t have, this’ll have to do.”

           “Sir?”

           “I hereby relinquish my duty as governor to you. New Serene is in your hands now.” De Sardet pulled away and walked up the ramp but paused when Adrian called after him.

           “Wait! But won’t you be returning in a few months?”

           He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I have a feeling I won’t be, Adrian.” Nodding, he added, “Good luck to you, governor.”

           Vance gave the man a firm handshake before making his leave, feet hitting the deck of the ship as he called, “Stations sailors! Weigh the anchor and ready her to wear!” He slapped one of his sailors on the back. “Lively now! Lively!” his hand rose to the sky. “Catch me a wind!”

           De Sardet stared at the young captain, feeling the ache that had dulled itself over the decades slowly begin to burn once more at the familiar scene. His eyes drifted to the water as feelings he couldn’t even begin to describe settled in his chest.

***

           The Naut island was exactly what he expected it to be, though a bit more refined if he was honest. His expectation had been slightly different in that he’d imagined the pirate island from his childhood tales. It was obviously more civilized though, except the number of taverns was mindboggling.

           Vance led him through the crowded streets, giving De Sardet time enough to take in his surroundings, even throwing in a personal story from time to time. De Sardet decided that the time Vance’s father caught he and his younger sister drinking rum in the tavern was his favorite.

           They hailed a carriage and rode for almost an hour until they came to a rather secluded home for such a crowded city. Vance helped De Sardet out and the old man took a moment to look at it. It reminded him of the country home that Aphra had back on New Serene. Cozy…homey…everything he’d refused.

           “The others are probably inside,” Vance said and De Sardet cocked an eyebrow.

           “The others? How many siblings do you have?”

           Vance chuckled. “That are of my father’s blood? Or adopted?”

           “Both.”

           “Eleven. Five his, six adopted.”

           De Sardet huffed in disbelief. “Gods above, what a madman.”

           “You’ve no idea,” Vance laughed and knocked on the door before cracking it open. “I’ve returned,” he called, and the sound of stampeding feet put De Sardet on edge.

           The door was yanked open, revealing a hoard of children ranging from their late twenties to the youngest who looked about ten.

           “Vance!” a young woman called, wrapping her arms around the Naut’s neck. “Oh, you’re home! We’ve missed you!”

           He huffed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I told you I would be home within the year, Evelina.”

           She pulled away, flipping her long black braid over her shoulder, a pinched look on her face. “You shouldn’t’ve left in the first place. Not while father is…” she trailed off when De Sardet peeked over Vance’s shoulder.

           “Who is this you’ve brought?” she questioned, and Vance turned slightly, letting them see him.

           “I present Lord De Sardet, the former governor of New Serene on Teer Fradee.”

           Evelina drew her gaze to her brother. “You didn’t go to the Alliance then.”

           He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. And you can get mad at me later.” He gently, but firmly, made his way inside, De Sardet following him. “For now, I wish to see father and introduce his oldest friend.”

           Vance glanced at the youngest one. “Marcel, how is he?”

           The boy shook his head. “Not good.” He glanced at his hands. “Father said my magic won’t do much anymore.” His eyes met De Sardet’s and the old man realized the child was a native of Teer Fradee like himself. “I don’t think it will be long now.”

           Vance cursed under his breath, and De Sardet couldn’t help but apologize. “I’m sorry, Vance. I kept you away from this.”

           “No,” Vance replied, shaking his head. “Truth be told, I made my peace when I left for Teer Fradee.”

           “You mean you left thinking he’d die before we got here?” De Sardet asked.

           Vance met his eyes. “My father’s been extremely sick, Lord De Sardet. I believed he’d pass the day I left.” He shook his head and wandered down the hall. “It doesn’t matter though. He’s still alive and that’s what matters.”

           They stopped in front of a closed door and Vance looked at the old man. “Are you ready?”

           De Sardet inhaled deeply, hands clenching in fists. “As I will ever be.”

           Vance snorted. “If it gives you any assurance, I don’t think father can throw anything at you.” That earned a chuckle from the old man and he opened the door, the two quietly stepping inside.

           “Father? Are you awake?” Vance questioned softly, gently bending beside the bed to take his hand.

           The old Naut cracked an eye open, a smile coming across his lips as he greeted, “Vance? You’re back?”

           “I am, father,” he replied, blinking away the tears. “And I’ve returned with someone.”

           “Who?” the Naut quizzed, white brows furrowing as Vance stood up.

           “Someone important.”

           De Sardet appeared in his vision and he smiled tiredly. “Hello Vasco.”

           Vasco’s golden eyes went wide and seeming to find strength, he held out a hand. “My Tempest,” he breathed and De Sardet sat on the bedside, taking Vasco’s hand.

           Tears filled the Naut’s eyes. “You’re here.”

           De Sardet gave him a grin and looked at Vance. “Your son is stubborn. Wouldn’t leave Teer Fradee without me.” Vasco gave a watery laugh, squeezing his hand weakly. “Told me I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t come see you.”

           “I didn’t say that!” Vance snapped, cheeks warming as his father looked at him. “I just said he wanted to see you again.”

           Vasco swallowed thickly. “Thank you, Vance.”

           The young captain scratched the back of his neck and shifted, pressing a kiss to Vasco’s forehead.

           “Yeah, well…you’re welcome.” He pulled away and glanced at the two. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

           De Sardet watched him leave, and when the door closed, he turned back and stared at Vasco. So long had it been since he’d last seen him. His hair was no longer the chestnut brown it once was, now white as snow, and longer, to his chest. Vasco had gained more tattoos, some of them reminding him of the ones Cabral had. But his eyes—Gods they were still so bright and beautiful.

           “How long has it been?” Vasco whispered and De Sardet let out a sigh.

           “Sixty-three years.” He ran his thumb over the back of the Naut’s hand. “You look good for eighty-eight, Vasco.”

           “Sixty-three years and the first thing you do is flirt with me,” he laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit…well, maybe just a bit.”

           De Sardet patted his stomach. “I’ve certainly let my body go.” Grinning, he added, “Could still take on a horde of lewoilges though.”

           That made Vasco snort. “Sure you could.” He paused and tugged at De Sardet’s hand. “Help me sit up, would you? I can’t do it on my own.”

           He rose from the bed and with one hand grabbed a pillow, the other wrapping around the back of Vasco’s shoulders. De Sardet pulled his upper body up from the bed and placed the cushion behind him, watching as Vasco rested against it.

           “Better?” he checked, and Vasco nodded.

           “Much.” He held out his hand. “Lay with me,” he urged adding, “Please,” when De Sardet looked at him warily.

           De Sardet didn’t have much resistance against his ex-lover, quickly ceding to crawl onto the bed, one arm curling behind Vasco’s head, the other across his waist, their fingers intertwined. Vasco rested his head on De Sardet’s shoulder, breathing the other’s sent deeply.

           “Are you comfortable, Vasco?” he inquired, fingers threading through his long white hair.

           “More than I’ve been in a while, Tempest.” He tilted his head and De Sardet looked down, catching his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

           “I was heavily persuaded,” De Sardet answered, and the ache in his chest intensified as he let go of Vasco’s hand to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the faded tattoos. “I’ve missed you, Vasco.”

           “As have I, my Tempest.” Tears filled his eyes again and he lamented, “I thought about you for so long after I left.”

           De Sardet swallowed the lump growing in his throat and he shushed Vasco softly. “Let’s not think back on such things.” He gave the Naut a smile. “Tell me about all eleven of your kids you absolute madman of a father.”

           Vasco started laughing. “It is a sight isn’t it?”

           “Eleven! That’s a handful!” He grinned. “And I want to know all about them.”

***

           When Marcel had said that Vasco’s time wouldn’t be long, he wasn’t wrong in that assumption. As the day dwindled into night, so did Vasco’s life. He was tired, and De Sardet could tell, but there was so much they’d missed out on and so little time—they had to tell each other; Vasco had to tell him everything that had occurred during his time as Commander of The Fleet, sailing the seas and gaining the rank of Admiral, marrying his wife, and having the family he’d never thought he’d get. But he was so tired. So very tired. He wanted to sleep, but there was so much to tell. There was so much—

           “Vasco,” De Sardet whispered, fingers brushing over the Naut’s cheek. He startled a bit, but managed to raise open his heavy lids, chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

           “I’m here,” he replied, feeling De Sardet’s fingers curl in his palm. “What…what happened?”

           De Sardet felt the lump grow back in his throat, but he said, “You started to fall asleep on me. You were talking about your last voyage.”

           Vasco remembered again. He was telling him about the final voyage to Serene, Vance as his first mate. But where did he leave off on? The beginning? The middle? He wasn’t sure anymore.

           “I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it once was, my Tempest,” he excused.

           “It’s quite alright,” De Sardet answered, shifting slightly so that Vasco was once more resting on his shoulder, his arm over the Naut’s waist. “We’ll just speak of something else then.”

           Vasco took a deep breath and started to relax on De Sardet’s shoulder. “I don’t think we have the time, my Tempest.”

           “Don’t say that,” De Sardet lamented, throat tightening with each passing moment. “We still have time.”

           “When has time ever been…on our side, my Tempest?” the Naut whispered, barely feeling the hand De Sardet placed on his arm.

           He looked away as tears filled his eyes, and the memory of Vasco calling him a coward came back to him. De Sardet shakily exhaled and turned his head back, pressing his forehead to Vasco’s.

           “I’m sorry,” he wept. “I’m so sorry that I was a coward all those years ago. I’m sorry I shut you out. I’m—”

           “Shh, my Tempest,” Vasco murmured with a small smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

           De Sardet didn’t like that answer. He let out a quiet sob. “Forgive me for being so foolish. I would give anything to go back all those years ago.” He felt the tears fall down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away, raising his hand to cup Vasco’s cheek.

           “I love you,” he confessed tearfully, thumb brushing over the Naut’s skin. “I love you, Vasco.”

           The Naut seemed to find the last of his strength to open his eyes once more, gazing with a clarity and mumbled, “And I love you, my Tempest…always.”

***

           Vance had offered De Sardet one of the rooms in the home, but he’d politely declined, saying he’d stay at one of the various taverns and let the family grieve. At that, the young Naut wanted to ask to let him walk the old man to one of them, but the look in De Sardet’s eyes begged him to leave the man alone. And Vance watched a broken man disappear into the night.

***

           He wandered aimlessly through the streets, ignoring every sound and sight that passed him by. His heart ached. Oh, it ached terribly. And all he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and sleep it away. De Sardet had outlived them all. He’d left his mother to die, taken the life of his cousin, held the hand of the man he considered his father as he passed, held both Síora’s and Aphra’s hands as they passed too, brushed the sweat from Kurt’s brow before he slipped into eternity, and De Sardet cradled the man he loved in his arms as he took his last breath. What more could he lose?

           When he finally came to clarity, he was knee deep in the water, feeling it lap at his legs. Tears fell down his cheeks and he slapped the water in anger, shouting as if someone could hear him.

           “What was the purpose?!” he screamed. “I watched them all die! And for what?!”

           Maybe En on míl frichtimen or The Enlightened would hear him and answer him.

           “Is this punishment?!” The water was to his waist now. “I’ve learned my lesson!” De Sardet’s throat hurt from yelling and he cried, “I just want to go back! Please!” The water lapped at his chest.

           “I’ll change! I’ll change it all! Just let me go ba—”

           A gasp tore through his chest when his footing slipped from beneath him and De Sardet went under, the current pulling at his body, and though part of him struggled, the other stopped and let it happen. The moon shone above him in a rippled vision as the first intake of water sunk into his lungs. Strangely, as it happened, De Sardet felt at peace and let himself go, allowing the sea to pull him deeper and deeper. If this was his end, let it be. He was tired too. Tired of watching everyone he loved die. Tired of being the last one. His mind clouded with a haze and his last thought oddly enough, was that the moon was getting too bright.

***

           The snap of a shutter down below broke him from sleep, and he sat up straight in the bed, chest heaving with every intake of oxygen. He wrestled with the sheets that were tied around him, realizing he must’ve gotten tangled in his sleep. As he pulled them down from his neck, he stopped to examine his hands. The wrinkles he remembered we no longer there and he reached up, feeling his face. Gasping, he scrambled from the plush bed and onto the floor, ignoring the shooting pain that shot up his legs from the impact.

           He hurried to the corner of the room and stared into the mirror with shock. His young self was staring back at him. A smile of relief so wonderful came across his face and a laugh bubbled in his chest—it had been a dream, a terrible, awful dream. But that’s all that it was. He turned and looked out the mirror on his left and a new wave of relief bled through him—the Seahorse was still in port. Suddenly he remembered his dream. Vasco leaving, for good.

           Cursing, De Sardet spun on his heel and sprinted to the door. He paused to yank his boots on and pull on a shirt, though it was unbuttoned and in disarray. His fingers flipped the lock of the door and he yanked them open, startling the maids who were cleaning, half to death. He merely waved at them and ran out of the parlor towards the stairs, and as he turned the corner, he saw Kurt coming up.

           Joy filled him and he wrapped the mercenary in his arms, nearly causing them to tumble down the stairs. “Kurt!” he cried, squeezing the man tightly, and he sputtered in shock.

           “Green Blood? You—you’re out of your room?”

           De Sardet pulled away, hands grasping his friend’s shoulders. “I am! Where is Vasco?”

           Kurt shook his head and thrust his thumb over his shoulder. “Came by about ten minutes ago. Said his goodbyes before he took off.”

           “Damnit!” the Legate cursed and pulled away, descending the stairs like a madman, Kurt on his heels.

           “Where are you going!” he yelled, waving off the nobles who were rightly scandalized at the younger noble in his starkers.

           “To stop Vasco from leaving! I had a dream!” De Sardet shouted, flinging the doors of the courtroom open and hauling down the stairs towards the entrance.

           “A dream?”

           “I’ll tell you later!” he replied, bursting into the afternoon.

           The townspeople stopped and stared at the barely dressed Legate and confused mercenary running past them, but De Sardet didn’t care. All he cared about was stopping Vasco before it was too late.

           “How are you not skin and bone, Green Blood?” Kurt called behind him.

           He laughed. “My cousin went insane, but he planned ahead!” De Sardet tossed a look over his shoulder. “I’ve been living off the fruitcakes he had stored away.”

           Kurt made a face of pure disgust. “Ugh, gross.”

           De Sardet laughed and flew past the merchants in the Copper District, coming out to the port. He sprinted towards the Harbour Master’s Office.

           “Admiral Cabral!” he yelled out, startling the woman who had her nose in one of their books.

           She gaped at him. “Lord De Sardet? What—”

           “Vasco!” he shouted. “Where is he?”

           “He and the Seahorse set sail moments ago.” She pointed towards the stern of the said ship and De Sardet cursed again, running towards the edge of the dock. The Seahorse was about to clear the two giant rocks of the island, about a hundred meters from them. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted as loudly as he could.

           “VASCO!” the ship didn’t seem to be stopping and he called again. “VASCO!”

           He turned to the crowd of sailors that was growing behind him; he pointed at one.

           “You there! Give me your rifle!” The sailor pointed to himself, shock etching onto his face. “Yes you!” De Sardet griped, yanking the rifle from him. He quickly checked if it was loaded then raised it to his shoulder.

           “You’ll shoot someone at this distance, Green Blood,” Kurt warned, and De Sardet nodded.

           “I know. But that’s not what I’m aiming for.” He closed one eye and took aim with the other, raising the gun a few inches and pulled the trigger.

           The shot echoed across the water and port, and they watched in amazement as one of the pulley’s holding up the main sail at the gaff exploded in a hail of sparks, the cream sail flopping over. From the way the other sails were immediately pulled into the masts and the anchors dropped, De Sardet knew he’d achieved his goal. He tossed the rifle back and cupped his mouth once more.

           “VASCO!” he screamed, and the man who held his heart appeared at the stern, though de Sardet could barely make out his features.

           De Sardet waved like a madman, watching as Vasco raised the spyglass to his eye, then lowered it in shock and he heard faintly across the water, “De Sardet?” A milewide grin crossed his lips and he bent down, undoing the laces to his boots.

           “What are you doing, Green Blood?” Kurt questioned when the Legate shoved his boots into his arms.

           De Sardet yanked off his shirt and tossed it at him. “I’m going to him.”

           “You’re joking?” Kurt hesitated and De Sardet shook his head. “Green Blood, that’s at least a hundred meters.”

           “And you’re acting like Constantin and I didn’t swim in the Serene sea during the summer months.” He winked at him. “I got this.”

           He didn’t wait for a response, immediately diving into the ocean, which was freezing, he might add, but it didn’t stop him. De Sardet broke the surface and forced himself to swim through the frigid water. It would’ve taken him at least a minute and a half, but the coldness seeping into his bones locked him up a bit, and the minute stretched into two.

           As he reached the side of the ship, a rope came down and he grabbed it, feet slipping into the steps on the side of the ship as the crew heaved him up. De Sardet came over the side and someone, he thought it was Lauro, rested a blanket over his shoulders.

           “Thank you,” he shivered, teeth chattering as he rubbed his chest, and stomping came his way. He looked up to see Vasco coming towards him, a look of fury on his face.

           “Are you some kind of idiot?” he barked when he got within ten feet of the Legate. “Do you have any idea how danger—”

           De Sardet stepped the last foot between them, hands on Vasco’s tattooed cheeks as he pulled the Naut to him, sealing the sailor’s anger in a searing kiss. Whistles sounded around them, and he grinned when Vasco hands pressed to his bare chest. He tipped the Naut’s chin up, one hand leaving his face to wrap around the captain’s waist as he pulled them flush together. Eventually, air called to them and De Sardet pulled back, leaving Vasco a bit dazed and red in the cheeks.

           “What—” he floundered, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

           “I love you,” De Sardet professed, staring into his eyes. “I love you, Vasco, and I don’t want you to go.” He breathed deeply, a foolish smile coming across his face. “I’ve been such a fool and a damned coward, just like you said. I’ve been the biggest coward who’s shut himself away from the world.”

           Vasco couldn’t seem to find the words, but that was okay, De Sardet didn’t need him to speak, he only needed him to listen.

           “I dreamed,” he started, taking a moment to will the horrid dream away from his mind. “I dreamed of what life would’ve been if you’d left today. Loneliness and regret are all it was.” De Sardet’s fingers brushed over his cheek. “And I realized something when I woke up. Do you know what it was?”

           Vasco shook his head.

           De Sardet swallowed. “I realized that losing Constantin hurt. But losing you?” He cupped the Naut’s cheek and confessed, “Losing you would be unbearable.” Vasco’s eyes went wide and De Sardet listened to the sharp intake of breath as tears gathered in the Naut’s vision.

           “So, I’m coming to you with my heart in my hands,” he said. “And I’m asking you to stay with me.” He smiled widely at Vasco. “Stay with me, Vasco. Here.”

           It took Vasco a good moment to gain his senses and he whispered, “My crew…I…”

           Someone cleared their throat and they both glanced from the corner of their eyes to see Jonas smiling at Vasco.

           “Captain, if I may?” he asked softly, and Vasco could only nod. “Captain, we Nauts belong to the sea. We are made from salt and water, forged by storms and secrets.” Jonas looked at De Sardet. “The sea is our mistress…but our hearts are ours.”

           Vasco huffed, a smile crossing his lips as he whispered, “Shite, you’ve always had a nugget for the truth, Jonas.” He met De Sardet’s eyes. “Ask me again.”

           De Sardet grinned. “Captain Vasco, will you do me the honor of spending the rest of your life with me?”

           “I will,” Vasco smiled, wrapping his arms around De Sardet’s neck. “I love you, my Tempest.”

           “I love you t—” he’d barely gotten the reply out before the Naut was pulling him down, crashing their lips together as cheers surrounded them. He pulled back slightly and humored, “I’d love to take the warm up in your quarters, but I really need to bathe first. How ‘bout we get back to shore?”

           Vasco’s lips twisted into a smirk, but it was anything but humorous. “Well…I would gladly take us back to shore, but someone shot my rigging down. We have to fix it first.”

           De Sardet swallowed and objected, “It was that or you leave. I think we should look at the brighter side of things and that is that we’ve fixed a situation that could’ve been devastating.”

           Vasco merely rolled his eyes and shoved him away, pointing to the captain’s cabin. “Go warm up while I get us back to shore.”

           “Aye-aye, Captain,” De Sardet flirted, winking as he escaped into the quarters.

           The Naut huffed a laugh and shook his head, then suddenly feeling eyes on his head shot up and he hissed, “What are you lot standing around for! I’m still the captain of this ship! Lively now! And someone fix that rig!”

***

           The warm glow still remained on their skin as they curled in each other’s arms, Vasco resting his head on De Sardet’s chest, his right arm resting next to his chin. De Sardet’s free hand softly ran through the Naut’s hair, the other gripping the hand on his chest, simply content in holding him. They’d both shared tears when they’d made love, apologies on bruised lips and against each other’s skin, but it meant the world to be together again.

           “I’m going to be the talk of the city for months,” De Sardet suddenly said, and Vasco snorted.

           “You’re going to be the talk of the city for years,” he corrected, musing, “A noble running after a Naut in his starkers, then diving into the bay for him.” He tipped his head up, propping his chin on De Sardet’s chest. “You’ve scandalized them all.”

           “Good,” he countered with a grin, pushing a piece of hair from the Naut’s face, tucking it behind his ear. “We need a scandal every now and then. Keeps it all interesting.”

           “I’m sure it does, my Tempest.”

           They gazed at each other for a moment, then Vasco asked, “What made you come?”

           “Technically it was you doing that thing with your hi—OW!” he hollered when Vasco pinched his side. “Okay! I was just joking! Geez!” De Sardet rubbed his hip, then rested his head back onto the pillow so that he didn’t have to stare at Vasco while he told him of the dream.

           “I dreamed that I let you leave and grew old and bitter about it. Your son came to visit me…told me that you weren’t doing good and that—”

           “I’m sorry, my son?” Vasco interrupted and De Sardet rolled his eyes.

           “Yes, your son. Keep up with the story. His name was Vance, and he came to Teer Fradee to get me so that we could see each other one last time before you passed.”

           The Naut was silent a moment. “And did you? You know…see me?” De Sardet fell silent and Vasco heard the Legate’s heart thump rapidly in his chest. “De Sardet?” he murmured, and the man picked his head up, looking deep into the Naut’s golden gaze.

           “I held you as you took your final breath,” he whispered, and Vasco’s heart broke at the pain his voice held.

           “My Tempest, I—”

           “Sixty-three years since I let you leave, and I spent twelve hours trying to make up for it.” Tears gathered in his eyes. “And I begged your forgiveness for my foolishness and all you did was tell my you’d already done so.”

           He cupped Vasco’s cheek. “I held you as you went.” De Sardet shook his head. “I’d never felt such an agony, even with all I had to do.” His thumb brushed a tear from under Vasco’s eye. “And I woke up thinking that if I had to hold you in your final moments again, then I wanted it to be after a life we spent together. A life of love and happiness, not regrets.”

           De Sardet lips pulled into a weak smile. “And I’m so thankful I got there in time, because I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t.”

           Vasco shifted atop him, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “You’ll never have to wonder, because we’re together now.”

           “I love you, Vasco,” De Sardet murmured, cupping his sun-kissed, tattooed, cheeks.

           “And I you, my Tempest,” Vasco responded, pressing a kiss to his lips. He pulled away and rested on De Sardet’s chest, feeling the other wrap his arms around him, fingers gently tracing up and down his spine.

           They laid there a moment, then Vasco whispered, “But I wasn’t leaving for good, you know.”

           The fingers dancing on his skin stopped. “What?” De Sardet deadpanned.

           Vasco snorted and looked at him. “I was delivering some supplies to San Matheus and coming right back.” He smirked, eyes filled with mirth as he ribbed, “You didn’t really think you were getting rid of me that easily, did you? With a note? Please, I have more class than that.”

           De Sardet’s jaw dropped and he gaped at his lover, who started laughing, and when his thoughts finally caught up with him, he chuckled lowly.

           “Oh, so that’s how it was then?”

           Vasco wiggled, trying to get away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           De Sardet followed him. “Oh yes you do,” he affirmed. “And I’m going to drag it out of you.”

           They stared at one another a moment, then Vasco jerked, but before he could get far, De Sardet had him around the waist, pulling him down into the sheets, laughter peeling from him.

           He pinned Vasco’s hips into the bed with his thighs as he straddled him and with one hand, held the Naut’s wrists as the other dug into the man’s sides, grinning evilly as he howled with laughter. De Sardet kept at it until tears were sliding down Vasco’s cheeks and he was begging him to stop. He released Vasco’s wrists watching as a few last chuckles crept past his mouth and lowered his arms.

           “Gods, De Sardet,” he heaved, sucking in the much-needed air. “When you said you were going to drag it out of me, I didn’t know you meant that.”

           “What? Thought I was going to ravage you until you begged mercy?” De Sardet ribbed and when the Naut’s cheeks flushed crimson, his eyes went wide. “Oh my god, did you really think that’s what I was going to do?”

           Vasco floundered. “Your eyes said that!”

           “My eyes—what?” De Sardet snorted, running a hand across his face.

           “Your eyes,” Vasco said. “They were lustful,” his cheeks seemed to catch fire with every word until he snapped his mouth shut and De Sardet simply grinned down at him. “Oh, get off me you scoundrel!”

           “Scoundrel?” De Sardet moaned, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m shocked you’d think that.”

           “No, you’re not,” Vasco spat, though his voice held little heat.

           “Nah,” the Legate replied, bending down to peck the Naut’s lips. “I’m not. But if you did want me to ravage you, I can still oblige.”

           “I love you, my Tempest, but please stop talking.”

           “If I say aye-aye captain, will it turn you on?”

           “I’m deeply regretting my decision to stay at this point.”

           “Oh no doubt, but you agreed to stay, so you’re stuck with me.” De Sardet smiled. “Sorry.”

           Vasco chuckled and shook his head. “There’s no place I’d rather be in this moment in time, my tempest. Nowhere.”

           De Sardet felt a heartfelt smile come across his face and he replied, “I feel the same, Vasco.”

[gwens-fiction]

Vasco Confronts the Academy

A scene that was from the scrapped draft of Hidden Earth. This scene I plan to recycle with tweaks for the new draft, but in the meantime it does show some more sides of Vasco.

Under read more for length.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vasco looks at the closed door in front of him. He holds up his fist to knock, but instead he just rests his hand on the knob and takes a deep breath. He pulls the signet from his pocket and looks at it. He nods to himself as he feels the hot flicker of anger in his chest once again. He pops four white tablets into his mouth and swallows before he throws open the door.

Seven wizards look up from their conversation at him.  "Bertramus."

Vasco closes the door behind himself and storms straight up to a redheaded sorceress. He holds the signet where they can all see it clearly. "Trisopia, I demand to know to whom this belongs. "

Trisopia looks at him and then at the patch. "Bertramus...As I told you years ago, we don’t know. We are working on it though."

"Oh. So you want me to believe the great Academy is so incompetent that it’s been fifteen years and you still haven’t found my wife nor any leads at all?" He slams his fist down on the oak table. "I refuse to sit and wait any longer. This has been completely ridiculous!"

"I’m sure she left you. I mean, why wouldn’t she? Any girl with any sense wouldn’t stay cooped up with a necromancer." Another wizard snorts.

"Ziphius, shut up. I wasn’t talking to you." He growls. "She wouldn’t have left me on her own free will. She promised she’d never leave me alone. We were deeply in love."

"Bertramus… I say again, we don’t know who it belongs to. That sort of spell is dark magic. You know this is a place for only light magic." Trisopia says slowly.

"Feathers! Then just tell me the spell and I will do it myself." He stands over her.

"We both know you don’t know any dark magic either, kid."

Vasco glances over his shoulder to his left. A blonde wizard, sitting with his ankle crossed on his knee looks back at him with a smirk. "Arrogan."

"I’m impressed. I really am. Never thought you’d actually have the balls to ever pull something like this." He stands up, purple cloak dropping down behind him. He nods to Trisopia. "I’ll tend to him; continue without me." He smiles and walks to the door. "Come along, Bertramus."

Vasco follows him with a slight frown. "Yes, sir..." he mutters.

Arrogan closes the door. "You were my mentee for what, fifty years? I never double crossed you during that time, right? So you know you can trust me like you trust Pulsatilla?"

"Where was she anyhow? I didn’t see her there."

"Teaching. They replaced her about a year ago on the board...Too caring. She couldn't make some of the hard choices that had to be made." He nods. "Now, don’t tell them or anyone what I’m telling you, but I know of someone who does know dark magic."

"Alright."

"Delphinea Delavan. Her father saved my life once. She’s a necromancer, but she doesn’t publicize it."

"How would I find her?" 

Arrogan scratches under his chin. "You remember where I live? Look in the map room. There should be a scrolled up map of the Obsidian Mountains. It should be marked there. Should be clear enough that even you can find your way there." 

Vasco nods. "Why are you telling me any of this?"

"I liked seeing that display of newfound courage. I spent fifty years trying to build your confidence, but if this is what lights that fire in you, then I really am a sucky mentor to stand in the way." He smirks. "When you find that sun of a gun that took Calandra, you show him that you really do have teeth and shouldn’t be messed with. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you." He nods. 

Arrogan nods and walks back to the door. "See you around, Bertramus. It’s been too calm here the past few years without you falling down the stairs all the time."

Vasco rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I’m sure it has." He watches as the older wizard returns to the others and sighs. "I can’t say that I miss it here." He shakes his head and walks down the hall. 

He finds and empty classroom and closes its door before tracing the outline with his fingertips. "If I have to purge my stomach contents anyway, might as well travel the fast way." 

With that, he opens the door and steps through into a large atrium. He pulls the door closed behind himself and just stands extremely still for a minute. He  sprints to the kitchen and its sink and lets the inevitable occur. He then fixes himself a cup of water as he mumbles the simple purge and dispel spell. He downs the glass and leaves it in the sink with a sigh.

“Let’s see...should be upstairs.” He mumbles as he walks and begins his treck up a sprawling spiral staircase. As he walks, he thinks back to when he used to live and study here with Arrogan. He used to run up and down--okay, run up and trip down these stairs what had to have been close to a fifty times a day. Bertramus, do this; Bertramus, do that. Bertramus, did you feed the teacup wyverns? The carnivorous plants? Ironed all the cloaks? Scrubbed every window? The floors? Swept the ceilings?

He sighs, shaking his head at the memory. He had done everything he was asked and more. He hadn’t even cared if or what he was learning; he just wanted to return to his Estella, and to do that he had to spend those fifty years interning and graduate. She was his only reason for keeping with his studies, his only reason to keep trying to exist.

And now he has a chance to get her back again.

Vasco throws open the door to the map room and starts checking the scrolls by hand. 

[lcgacyofages]

Because I feel like it, I’m going to list possible ship biases for all my muses including tropes for OCs. Obviously, every ship bias requires plotting but I thought this might help me get my mind around shippy stuff. (As an ace of questionable romantic attraction, shipping is hard.) These are in no particular order, just as I think of them as I type

PRIMARY

Eliana Mahariel - Alistair, Tamlen, good hearted prankster, Soft boy/girl, Merrill

Atena Hawke - Anders, Isabela, Leliana, rogue chick, nerd boy, boy who needs physical protection

Rajmahel Lavellan - Dorian, Josephine, Zevran, nerd boy/girl, pretty boy/girl, honestly he’s just very easy to ship just be nice, sexy, and good with kids

SECONDARY

Arik Tabris - Morrigan, Zevran, Leliana, Krem, goth/punk type characters for sure, (I would ship him with Idrilla if she wasn’t my own OC)

Aurora Amell - Cullen, Josephine, Soft/Romantic types give her flowers

Dazbo Amell - Fenris, Isabela (the only chick I think I can remotely ship him with), Dorian, tough boys who can also be soft but only in private, fashionistas

 Idrilla Lavellan - Solas, Zevran, elves only, nerds, artists, I’m a bit weak for flirty guy/stoic girl, (I would ship her with Arik if he weren’t my own OC)

Seigfried Trevelyan - Cassandra, ladies who can pin him can win him, Aveline, Independent women who like a little romance as a treat, just think of Phoebus in The Hunchback of Notre Dame saying ‘What a Woman’

Zoria Amell - Zevran, Morrigan, Isabela, Iron Bull, fiesty energy chick with other fiesty types, also friends-with-benefits types, people who respect her desire for independence

BY REQUEST

Alric Hawke - generally see him as disinterested in sex asexual but open to romance. Aveline, Sebastian, Alistair, Cassandra, he’s a good boy so good characters trying their best but staying in the lines

Antoinette de Ghislain - Make a Scandal, not-a-gentleman/woman, Mutual Desire for Freedom. Would require plotting since she is married for political gain

Dalineva - Someone as depraved as she is but elf

Dimetrea Brosca - Leliana, Merrill, soft but capable ladies

Emrys Moysten - Fellow Nerd, Someone who tells him he’s impossible, someone who tells him to talk to them about what’s traumatized him

Etienne de Rousseau - Classy person, Excitable Nerd, Regency style yearning romance

Falon’Din - I have no ship biases for him because I don’t feel like shipping him tbqh

Fenvir - Independent person, Secret nerd, Argumentive Couple due to stubbornness

Hildegard Cadash - Blackwall, Bull, gruff person, side-by-side warriors

Inatar Adaar - Sera, rebel girls, Outcast ladies

Katarina Anhalt - Sebastian, Cullen, Goodie-two-shoes who questions society but wants to play by the rules, good heart to push her out of her boundaries

Lir Cousland - Zevran, Leliana, Anora, Fenris, easily flustered people, Romantics, Fellow fighter to fight side-by-side with and have his back

Mathras Myriani - very hard to ship with honestly, just let him be the weird uncle who sometimes visits your muse

Sasha Fitz - Merrill, Josephine, good-hearted people, nobles who need a rogue in their life, cute person

Selena Porter - Isabela, Saucilious ladies, Ladies she can fluster by flirting

Sergio di Vasco - Josephine, Nobles who need a rogue, Romantics, Caring/soft people

Shalelan Amalasis - none, he’s pretty much not interested

Shamut Adaar - Bull, Secret nerd guys, fellow shy guys, friends nerding out over stuff together but touch hands and are like ‘oh’

Vincentius Titus - someone who matches his ambitions the issue with that is he won’t trust them, rare but someone who’ll tell him he’s an ass and put him in his place (he has to respect them enough to consider it though)

[runningwhump]

hhhhhhhhhhhhh I started writing this a month ago but! its finished! (kind of)

anywhom this is set a good while after the other things I’ve written for Vasco.

(tw for needles)

He wasn't restrained, but he knew better than to move. He was so tired; of all the punishment, of all the random times he's been beaten, of being so tense he's pretty sure that even if he wanted to un-tense his shoulders he wasn't sure he would be able. Now the Boss had dragged him into some random room, one that didn't even fit the aesthetic of the floor, and was just standing there, staring at him.

The room was weird, considering what he knew so far about the building. It was a floor above his cell, so the floor should've been concrete and the walls should've been breeze block, but instead the floors were pale wood and the walls were painted white, unlike any room he had so far seen. It felt… cleaner than anything else on the floor, which was a feat. almost clinical, really.

He wanted to ask what was going on, but wasn't sure what the reaction would be, so he kept his mouth shut, biting his tongue just in case, trusting the mild pain to keep him focused.

The door, metal and heavy, scraped open. He was used to the noise from all the other rooms, but it was such a sudden break to the solid silence that it made him jump. He kept his eyes averted from The Boss and didn't turn around, even as somrthing was nosily wheeled in.

The Boss moved behind him, but he still didn’t turn around, considering what the consequences could be.

They've got you trained well, idiot. he thought to himself. God, he really was pathetic, wasn't he?

The Boss came back around, holding a small vial and a long hypodermic needle. Vasco's eyes widened and he curled into himself as much as he could without it being noticeable but he knew it was when the Boss gave a small, dead eyed smile. Trust him to enjoy that.

“Vasco, I know that you haven't done anything wrong recently; you're great you really are, but, well, you see…” he said, stabbing the needle into the vial, “our most recent participant… withdrew. And we need to get this perfected ASAP and you were the most available.” He said it as he drew the clear liquid into the needle and Vasco realized he was biting his tongue so hard it bled. He hated needles, and it didn’t help that he got that slimy feeling he got whenever the boss ‘complimented’ him. He really did not want to be in the situation, wanted to be as far away as possible as soon as possible but he knew trying to run would end badly, and the fact he wasn’t even going to try made him feel even worse.

As the Boss took a step forwards. he took an involuntary step backwards. He otherwise stayed still, stayed silent, but that small act of defiance was enough. The Boss nodded at someone behind him and then his arms were grabbed by one person and held behind so he couldn’t move away.

Oh, fuck it. They were going to stick him with that either way so fuck consequences. He struggled for real, trying to wrench his arms from the iron grip they were held in but it just prompted the asshole holding him to grip tighter, and he wasn’t exactly at his strongest right then, what with being trapped in the same goddamn building for however many months.

The Boss gave a fake sympathetic smile, but Vasco could read the joy behind it. He wasn't ok with this, no way in hell. He jerked his head away in lieu of being able to escape, trying to protect his neck but he still couldn’t bring himself to make a sound. The Boss lost patience, grabbing Vasco's long black hair and pulling his head to the side, moving it away from his neck with the hand that held the needle.

Vasco squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to watch, fear coiling in his gut as he felt the disinfectant swap drag across his vein. Fuck he hated needles.

The pinch came and he shuddered, bringing his hands to his neck as soon as he was released. The Boss stepped back, looking over Vasco with halted excitement, a frown dragging over his face as nothing happened.

The Boss turned away and shoved his hand over his cheek with a frustrated grunt, and then he was tall.

What?

Oh, he was on the floor. How did he get down here? He didn't remember falling.

The Boss’ expression changed, unbridled excitement pulling across his pale features as Vasco started to breath heavily. What was... what?

Each breath began to hurt, and Vasco let out a small, scratchy grunt (the first noise he’d made in so long) as knives slid through his flesh from the injection site. He gasped, struggling to draw in breath through his closed throat and let out a quiet, pathetic whimper as it made the pain worse. He shoved his hands up to his neck as it spread, like his neck was being sliced down from where the needle stabbed him.

He let out a strangled, cut-off scream and dug his nails into his skin, not even feeling it as the stabbing became burning, electric agony spreading into his shoulders and face. His jaw stiffened, stuck open but he was unable to make a sound past small, hoarse stuttering gasps and whines.

His back arched, dragging his face along the floor and his arms snapped open, slamming his hands into the floor, shooting his leg straight. He knew he was moving, shuddering and seizing but he couldn't really tell how, the pain lancing down his arms and his gut was too all-encompassing, like his blood was acid.

The pain spread through every part of his body, each inch of it on fire and being frozen at the same time. His hands desperately scraped across the floor and then there was something wet on his palms, his fingers, he didn't know because the fire was spreading up his arms from his hands, his shoulders and then his neck, where the pain was worst except now it wasn’t only his blood, it was his skin as well. It felt like it was peeling off - was it peeling off?

Tears leaked from his eyes and he screamed behind his now clenched-shut jaw but it barely made a noise, he couldn't get in any air and the scratching wheeze only just made it to his ears. He jerked again, losing coordination and started scrabbling around for literally anything to hold onto.

On hand latched onto something, still seizing wildly as he thrashed around and oh god, he was going to die, there was no way to survive this, he didn't want to die here but, fuck, if it made the pain stop he would take it in an instant. The seizure stopped and allowed him to spear in a breath, whatever he was holding onto grounding him just enough to get some awareness back.

Not for long, though.

Something connected with his arm just as another violent trash shook through him, the grip holding firm even as he jerked around and with a sickening snap, his bones started to shatter and stab at his muscles.

everything was fire, was acid, was ice, was shards, everything was pain, and that word wasn’t enough but it was all his brain was yelling and oh god, oh god someone save him!

With a final snapping agony up his spine and into the injection site again, he passed out.

[bbcbreakingnews]

Pandemic will bring humility back to the campus: IIM-Kozhikode director

IIM-Kozhikode is a leading second generation IIM, which has established itself among front-ranking B-schools in the country. Ranked in thought leadership among the top 20 management training institutes worldwide, its rise came with a championing of gender diversity – 30% of faculty and 54% of students are women – and a challenge to long-held assumptions in the IIM culture. The man at the helm, Debashish Chatterjee, is regarded an institution builder who has guided Kozhikode into the top bracket for managerial talent. On its 25th anniversary, Chatterjee spoke to TOI about its evolution, the roadmap for the next 25 years and the changing profile of students. “…it is not how to fill jobs, but how to be more alive and ready.” The pandemic, he said, will give Class of 2020 a “perspective shift” and “bring humility back to the campus.” On IIM-Kozhikode’s 25th anniversary, could you tell us about the institute’s journey, and what the next 20-25 years look like? 1996, we inherited two barren hills from the government of Kerala in a small town, where all that I knew about it was Vasco de Gama came here in 1498. Literally and metaphorically, we were given an uphill task, to build a campus on two barren hills, like a bald man with an ivory comb. That’s what I told our education minister. And our greatest challenge was to live up to the expectations of the IIM brand in the eyes of recruiters and students. My wife and I had to put together breakfast for a Tata tycoon, JJ Irani to be precise, so that TAS could recruit from here. The challenge was not just recruiting but retaining faculty, from 17 when I came in, to about 100 now. We had decided that we will look at three hills to climb. One was going digital, which we did in 2001, the first IIM, perhaps the first school in Asia to do so. Then we went diverse… 54% women students. And our board is now about 40% women, which is the highest among IITs, IIMs. And we have 30% women faculty, which is also I think, among the highest if we look at the first generation of six IIMs. And then our third hill was going global. This year, we entered global rankings for the first time, we were ranked 19th in thought leadership by QS world rankings. We are ranked in top five by NIRF. And looking forward for the next 25 years, the question is, how do we remain relevant? How do we reinvent ourselves so that we undo what is not going to be relevant. And so I asked three questions to students and I said, in order to excel in your work, what are the three top capabilities in future? Second question was, what are the qualities of a teacher that influenced you most in your life? And the third was, if today was the last day in your life, what would be your most important regret, of not having learned? And they said things which were very different from what is being conventionally taught in business schools. It is not cognitive stuff that they’re looking for. They’re looking for clarity, they’re looking for compassion. They’re looking for commitment to excellence. We have a bunch of very idealistic students, contrary to what you think of a business school context. So, our professional values seem to be shifting from not how to fill jobs, but how to be more alive and ready. Students are demanding more of aliveness. And so the three values that we sort of underscored during our conversation was Satyam, Nityam and Purnam. Satyam is authenticity of truth, Nityam is sustainability and Purnam is wholeness or fulfillment. So our education will be about how not to get stuck. We get stuck when the rate of change out there is greater than the learning inside here. And so the way to get unstuck is to see how we unlearn those models that are no longer relevant, so it reminds me of elephants in Kerala, they tie those baby elephants with an iron chain. And when the elephant gets old enough, they can tie the elephant with a rope and the elephant doesn’t get away because the memory of the baby elephant is in the old elephant. So, IIMs as monoliths of India are those elephants now, and I think the memories of those baby elephants are deep and abiding and non-performing. So these are NPAs of our education system, non-performing assumptions not assets, those assumptions have to be broken. We want to be the first institutions to have our soft power footprints on the world stage. You speak of a world stage, but no Indian institute is a truly global academy. Why? You see, there is a difference between the word ‘internationalization’ and being a global player. Internationalization involves your footprint in multiple nations, but globalization means that this brand is recognized across the world seamlessly. And so I think IIMs have a better chance to be a globalized institute rather than an international institute, because our conceptual foundational thinking was to cater to domestic demand for good managers. India is richer in mental resources and material resources. My mission has been globalizing Indian thought from day one because I spent some time in Harvard, I spent some time in Singapore, as dean of a school and I can tell you, Indian thought has a much better chance of impacting the world because this thought is honed and chiselled over ages. And so we are already there. If you look at our faculty publishing in FT 50 journals, which is the Olympiad for foreign knowledge publication, we are there already. The last year, one of our faculty published three in FT 50. If you look at the product of the Indian management school system, Indra Nooyi, Arvind Krishna, Satya Nadella, they’ve all had their grooming in India. They grew the way they grew not only in spite of India, but also because of India. Why in spite of India, because they didn’t have the context where they could take their capabilities on the global stage. Yet they had the capacity and the educational wherewithal. They had the humility; they had the sense of something big because you are in a 1.3 billion space. And you’re talking about a global mindset already. The moment you’re born in India, you’re born into a multi-cultural, multi-dimensional, multi-linguistic, where else in the world will you have a democratic space where you will be born just like that. We are looking at least 15% of international students and 10% faculty international in the next 15 years. That’s not far-fetched. And so when I coined the expression “globalizing Indian thought’’ I meant that it is much easier today to supplant Western thought. If you look at 2047, one out of every 10 in the world will be from the Western world, Western Europe, North America. And five out of 10, or four out of 10 will be from India, of Indian origin. I think there’ll be a sea change in perceptions about India and that is already happening. I personally feel India’s hope of being a thought leader is huge and IIMs should be at the cusp of it because we are the Harvards and the MITs of India, IITs and IIMs. All we need is our internal cohesion as 20 IIMs. I started the whole idea of a pan I-World Conference. Pan-I World conference is entering its next edition, we are hosting it at IIM Kozhikode again for the second time. If 20 IIMs were to pool their resources together and their identity together as one brand, I think we are we are going to be one of the top five in the world. There is a view, especially among critics of the government that India is becoming socially more polarised. Could this impact our way forward? You see, the thing is if you look at the history of a nation of thousands of years, we have seen these upheavals so many times, just that we are only focused on a small timeframe of five years or 10 years. India has had its highs and its lows, but what has kept India together is not just economics, it is something very deeply transcendental and spiritual, something that not many people take notice of. So, our reference is not necessarily to gods and goddesses, but it is essentially beyond our material aspiration, something that keeps India together. I can see hunger, I can see deprivation, those tragic elements that dot the screens actually obliterate something deeper about India, our resilience goes unnoticed. Our ability to fight back, our ability to live with such extraordinary resource constraints and deliver goes unnoticed or how we deal with disasters goes unnoticed. So if you look at India’s ‘copability’, rather than just capability, you will know why this country is going to be what it is going to be. With quarter to quarter assessment of businesses or economic cycles, I think the big picture is lost: the big picture is 1.3 billion people’s collective aspiration far outstrips economic and other parameters of growth. So the polarization, fragmentation of society that you see is, of course, the churning that’s happening now. But one good thing out of this is we are trying to get into a deeper issue of identity. See what identity politics has done is it has fractured the electorate, but it has not fractured our consciousness of what constitutes our world, the deeper essence of democracy. That great big line by Iqbal: “There’s something in this country that doesn’t allow it to wither away”, that is what it is, and if you got a sense of it, then you got a better sense of India, I think beyond the news stuff. The IIMs started as affordable public B-schools, but now with the fees, the hyper competition for CAT and hence the coaching academy fees, do the IIMs still attract students from the lowest quintile of society? I think it happens only in the IIT/IIM system. If you are a son of so-and-so, you can get into Oxford, MIT, Yale. You can’t do that in the IIM system. If you look at the parental income of 10-20% of our students, it is less than one lakh rupees. We had a rickshaw puller’s son who made it to IIM Lucknow. We do not advertise this because we want to protect the identity of students. Roughly 50% of our students come from a specific background through affirmative action. And we have a scholarship that is given to roughly 100% of all students that come through a certain socio-economic background. And I think the enormity of the change goes unnoticed because the media is only glued to IIM placement and salaries. If you’re glued to the processes of the transformation that happen quietly without fanfare, sometimes by default, not so much by design, because when they enter an aspirational space, they immediately partake of it, the nature of conversations change, the kind of music they listen to changes, their social context changes, and everything is by osmosis. You show me one Ivy League school that does as much. Yes, the only thing is that given the nature of the entrance exam, it becomes very difficult unless you’re really sharp. And coaching centers are enablers, but I don’t think the CAT exam lends itself to coaching center manipulation anymore, because the percentage score of CAT matters only to a certain proportion now. More than 50% of the weightages is given to many other things. A prime minister’s recommendation would not work here. And believe it or not, that’s how we are in terms of our rigor of entry. We do not subscribe to the so-called Indian vices of nepotism, favouritism, you know, this is why the IITs/ IIMs are what they are: they are equalizing forces. And by and large with minor aberrations here and there, we are the most merit-centric and social-centric of global institutions of similar stage. With colleges allowing undergrad students to pick up a diverse set of subjects, like courses from the humanities to earn credits, do you think the MBA will lose its sheen because people will pick up the tools of management while they are doing an engineering? 1908 is when Harvard started the first MBA program and they survived 112 years without losing their sheen. And engineering is no longer the most dominant pipeline for MBA. We have seen the entry of liberal education, IIM Kozhikode was the first IIM to start a liberal education MBA. You can see 60% of this cohort is women, 50% have come from non-engineering backgrounds. From the average 90% engineers, numbers have dropped down to 60-70% across the IIM system. You can see the value of an MBA will not be for a lifetime. Every five years you have to reinvent yourself. So we have started mid-career MBA programs, online MBA programs, our greatest increase in enrolment is mid-career students. They want to catch up with what’s happening out there. If we’re talking about the romance of wealth creation, the MBA will remain relevant. Do you think post-pandemic MBA education is going to change? Will as many mid-career professionals still come back to schools, or, now that they have got used to it, go online and pick up a course? The pandemic has brought great clarity in terms of the work of the business school and what you need to pick up. We do four kinds of work. One is creation of knowledge, dissemination of this knowledge, accreditation of this knowledge, and finally, monetization of this knowledge. Creation of knowledge is the most critical part. Because as for dissemination, knowledge has traveled from hardware to software to virtually everywhere that you can think of. What mid-career students are going to do is to bet on the recreation of the knowledge that they need. So for instance, digital dexterity, digital mindset, digital strategy, as the core of organizational things shift, they have to be reinvented. Business schools will hold steady in terms of their core assumptions of education. The resilience part is what’s going to get more important. As long as you have intelligent people as we have in the IIM system, they know how to adapt. And I personally feel that mid-career students will help themselves by looking at this. Have restrictions posed by the pandemic hampered your assessment of the brightest students in the class? If you look at the social context of engagement, it has proven to be a problem because in that aspect of picking out talent or disseminating classroom stuff, digital media is efficient, but not fully sufficient. Human beings learn through emulation, imitation, observation, that has been affected. The tech world has already taken over but the takeover has left behind residuals of discontent. If you look at India as a country, 8-12% are covered by seamless flow of the internet, you know, 90% and more is not touched by that seamlessness. Sitting in IIM, I have to look at the ground reality, the ground reality is that more than 50% of India does not have more than 12 hours of electricity. So, we have to think of other ways and means of engaging these people, and I think it’s too early yet, to give you a specific strategic kind of view of it. But I am desperate to have students back in class. Students, who pass out this year, what are the disadvantages they will suffer from? Will they need to come back to brush up on their knowledge? If you look at what they have got versus what they’ve lost, I think they’ve got much more than what we could have collectively given them. I think nothing can give you this kind of a perspective shift. I personally feel humility will come back to campuses, I feel that groundedness will come back, I feel compassion will come back. I think this graduating batch will have had the best degree. The trade-off will be in their favor. That’s my optimism about what has happened with Covid-19.

source https://bbcbreakingnews.com/2020/12/19/pandemic-will-bring-humility-back-to-the-campus-iim-kozhikode-director/

[atomicblasphemy]

this probably is the sweetest thing i’ve been tagged on in this site, lets see if I can think of enough things:

1 - Vasco winning something, or at least don’t lose in an embarrassing way.

2 - Sewing new patches on a vest and the whole process of doing the layout and stuff.

3 - The lyrics to West Ham’s anthem. All teams are all like either “yeah, we’re badasses on the ring with loads of titles in our past” or “we are a community of likeminded individuals that deeply support each other”. Not them with their existential “fortune is evasive, life can suck a lot sometimes, but fleeting as it may be there’s beauty in existence”. I don’t know why they chose to do this but I love it so much.

4 - Food, specially new food.

5 - The ocean itself. I miss sitting down at the shore with a beer and just thinking “that’s a lot of water and i’m tiny”

6 - When the song hits just right. Regardless of genre. On the same note, new bands, new genres. When I found out about Zamrock I got transported to cloud nine.

7 - When some piece of fiction breaks through the barriers of impersonality I put up. I try, actively, to not let myself be affected by the characters and their struggles. When it manages to go past that and actually hit me I feel like I’m dealing with something really special. That’s why I care so much about TOH for example.

8 - Winning ridiculous disputes through non-sensical reasoning, but making it sound completely logical. Same goes for losing said disputes. Once I spent hours arguing with a physicist friend that if you could slingshot a pebble fast enough that it travels back to the past you’d generate enough energy to destroy a blackhole upon impact. We haven’t reached any conclusions yet.

9 - When I catch myself thinking about something I read, watched, or heard that pushed me. like challenged me in some way.

10 - Iron Maiden’s existence.

Edit: forgot about the tagging again, anyone who wants in is in

Idk, something nice to do.. A list of 10 things that make me irrationally happy because I thought it'd make me feel good to do so:

1. Dogs. (They are too pure for this world)

2. Any drawing of a fictional character with trans pride colours

3. The word 'birb'

4. Clear skys (I like how the mountains that surround my house look with it)

5. Cool fricken Sunsets

6. A character being confirmed as lgbtq+

7. A character being confirmed as neurodivergent

8. Literally any good eda clawthorne fanart..

9. When someone remembers to use my correct pronouns

10. My current hyperfixations

It might seem childish or dumb but whatever.

I'm just gonna tag some people..

@novelist-becca @atomicblasphemy @spades-suit @idkhowtopickausername

you guys don't have to do this if you don't want to, and If your not tagged and feel like doing this go right ahead

[herojj94]

JM and Hamin

I noticed that Swings has a habit of “collecting” rappers/producers with original colors. I mean, just look at Giriboy, Nochang, C-Jamm, Vasco/Bill Stax, Blacknut and now Hamin. Thinking back, I also remember that he tried to recruit Iron as well - and what a shame Iron didn’t accept his offer, he might’ve been free of scandals, since Swings takes good care of his artists and their reputation and he is aware of the DOs and DON’Ts of smoking weed, since his friend went to jail because of it.

Anyway, I wish people would stop talking bs about Hamin joining JM, since it was the perfect choice for him. Swings will let him do whatever he wants with his music and it’s not like Hamin has a pea for a brain, it doesn’t mean that he will take after Swings’ bad personality. He is smart enough to make the right choices if he wishes to. I like to compare him with Giriboy because their styles, although different, are somehow similar, but he is smarter than Giriboy (no offense, if you know Giriboy, you’ll know what I’m talking about) so if he thinks that JM is not for him, he will leave on his own. YG and everything related to it would’ve been poison to Hamin’s style and originality, since they’re interfering with their artists’ music. AOMG would’ve been a NO as well, since their artists have a particular sound that doesn’t match Hamin. JM was perfect because they’re a bunch of weird people with different music styles. Hamin will do well from now on, so stop complaining and wait for his music.

[kaytewrites]

the quick release || masquerada: songs and shadows || chapter 4

also on AO3! 

It takes them thirty minutes of walking to make it out of Seimora's Throne and to a little cliffside drop with a breathtaking view of the Midnight Belt; Tristan spends most of it alternately leaning on his cane and leaning against Vasco, who bears the extra weight with grace and without complaint.

When they arrive, there's already a blanket set out for them both. "So sure of my agreeance?"

"Of course. I am rather irresistible, after all. Who can say no to this face?" He raises his chin and rests it on a raised hand, smirking and waggling his eyebrows at Tristan.

Tristan laughs and shakes his head, easing himself down onto the blanket. "How could I forget." His voice is deadpan. "I see it everyday." Vasco looks mock-offended for a moment before dissolving into giggles and dropping to the blanket with that same liquid grace he always has.

Tristan catches on his last word. Everyday. He's not wrong, is he? He can count on one hand the number of days he's been without the airbrand's company in the past two months; could count on two the number of days he's been late. He knows from asking that the man has his own responsibilities to the burgeoning Consilio, chief among them being translation, and Tristan's not foolish enough to think that he's shirking his duties to spend time with him.

"I'd have thought you'd rid yourself of me by now, Vasco." Tristan does his best to make his voice easy, conversational.

"Why, my dear Valencio, would I want that?"

He shrugs. "More important things to do, I'm sure, than t-tend to a broken man."

Vasco looks up at him from where he lay. "I thought I told you this before, Tristan. You're interesting." He waves a hand, forcing bored dispassion into his voice. "Of course, if you'd rather me gone..."

"No!" The fierceness of his response shocks him, but Vasco only smiles. Tristan takes a moment to reign himself in. Why does such a simple question rile him? Vasco shouldn't have to spend his time everyday tending him like an old maid. He should be somewhere else, searching ruins and changing the world. And yet, the thought of losing the precious hour a day he spends with the man makes his heart ache.

"Why do you ask, Tristan?" Vasco's voice is quiet, and his piercing eyes are locked on Tristan.

"Why do you think I'm interesting?" he counters.

Vasco almost seems to come up short. His mouth opens and closes, once, twice, as if he can't find the words to say what he needs. Tristan realizes, dimly, that this is the first time he's ever seen the man speechless.

“By all accounts, I shouldn't,” he says,  and Tristan hopes he won't stop there. “You were the reason I Salted, after all. Had to work hard to get my silver tongue back, because of you.” He laughs. “And, of course, there's the little matter of you almost killing both Cicero and everyone else he was with down there - which included me, thank you.”

He pauses, and Tristan feels guilt thick in his throat like syrup, cloying. Before he can offer an apology, however, Vasco’s already speaking once more.

“But, not two days later, you sacrificed yourself in one of the grandest and most foolish displays I've ever been witness to, my own notwithstanding.” He rolls over onto his back, staring up at the sky. “And, somehow, you save yourself, too.”

He finally looks back at Tristan, and there's something lurking in the depths of his eyes that makes Tristan look away, down at Vasco’s hands. One of them is splayed out near Tristan’s knee, and he's filled with the sudden urge to take it in his own, see if the callouses he felt months ago are still there. He doesn't doubt they are.

“Forgive me if I've overstepped,” he murmurs, and he turns, laying on the side faced away from Tristan.

Tristan can hear the hurt in his voice. He carefully, slowly puts his hand on Vasco's arm. “Vasco.”

Vasco turns to face him, a carefully blank expression on his face. “Hm?"

“You didn't - didn't overstep.”

A glance, and Vasco's eyes are glittering. He's reminded of those lashes fluttering over a damned sippy cup of all things, the gentle way he cared for Tristan’s hand when he was too lost in himself to care.

Vasco’s sitting up, then, making Tristan’s hand slide down his arm until it meets his own.

“Good, then. I'm glad.” There's something else waiting on the tip of Vasco's tongue, but Tristan doesn't dare think about what. Instead, he flicks his hand over Tristan’s, pale skin in sharp contrast. He grips it tightly, once, twice. Doesn't let go.

He casts a glance to the water, and Tristan’s eyes follow. “Have you ever seen something so beautiful?”

“Hm?”

“The Belt. It sparkles.” He looks at Vasco's face. His eyes are closed.

He could tease him, then, steer the conversation to safer, less weighty waters, but he finds he doesn't want to. Not now. “What do you see?”

“Too much,” he says, and thins his lips. “But it's good, surprisingly. Most of it, at least.” He pauses for a moment. “Have you tried using your mascherine again?”

Tristan shakes his head. After the last attempt, he didn't dare risk it again. “Do you want me to try?”

“Now, Valencio, I wouldn't ask you to put yourself in a difficult situation-”

“Vasco.”

“A little, maybe. Who knows, maybe it'll be better.”

Tristan sighs and pulls his hand from Vasco's. With a shaky breath, he feels his mask settle in his palm.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as anyth-thing.”

As much as he tries to prepare, the feeling of ice that fills his chest makes it hard to breathe. Dimly, he knows he's gasping, but his hand flails out, catching Vasco's. His grip is probably bruising. Vasco doesn't seem to mind, just holds it tight and doesn't say a word.

Tristan squeezes his eyes shut against the memories - cold cold ice cold hurts it hurts can't breathe can't breathe - and fights to even his breathing. He’s come so far. He refuses to be lain low by his own mind.

He can still feel the ice around his fingers, but now there's Vasco, too - he's come closer to Tristan's side, almost wrapping an arm around him, and Tristan leans into him, letting his head rest on the other man's shoulder. He breathes in and out, deeply, trying to measure each one. He feels Vasco breathe deeply beneath him, and he matches his pace. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out.

Eventually, he feels his eyes open, and he slowly relaxes the iron grip he has on Vasco's hand. His other is occupied rubbing soothing circles on his back while he whispers nonsense encouragment. Tristan slowly lifts his head from Vasco's shoulder, and he looks at the other man with a weak smile. The mascherine is still on his face.

"See? Told you it'd be better." Vasco's grin is blinding. "Now close your eyes." He doesn't let go of Tristan's hand.

Tristan closes his eyes obligingly. That feeling of coldicepain threatens to flood him at any moment, but he just focuses on that point of contact that grounds him, lets Vasco's voice keep him tethered.

"Come on, turn to face the water." He follows the directions, turning. "Now look. What do you see?"

Not much with my eyes closed, he doesn't say. Instead, he tries to push past the hurt and the cold, tries to focus on the memories he's largely ignored until now.

It comes in pieces, the brilliant water lit like the night sky, the sky itself lit up in a thousand different colors he could never name. It's nothing like anything he's ever seen. He doesn't think he'll ever have the words to properly describe it; he could spend the rest of his life trying and never come close.

"Do you see it?" Vasco's voice is soft close to his ear.

His own is a breathless whisper. "Yes. Ages, I see it."

He doesn't know how long they sit there, only that it feels like hours before he finally opens his eyes and pulls off his mask. He's leaned against Vasco fully, the other man's arm wrapped around his waist. He should want to move. He doesn't know what it says about him that he doesn't. When he looks at Vasco, the other man is already staring at him - Tristan has no clue how long he's been looking at him, if it's been any time at all.

"Do you see that all the time?"

"No," he says, and almost sounds sad. "Only when I think about it. I don't need my mascherine for it, though."

"How did you know I would see it with mine, then?"

A grin. "I didn't."

"Bastard." He's grinning, too.

They spend a while longer sitting there, letting Tristan get rid of the last feelings of ice on his skin and in his chest, and they both make their way back inside, Vasco grinning shamelessly when Kalden greets them at the door with an exasperated frown.

"We thought he'd been taken - well, I suppose he was. Next time you need to be freed from this vagabond, Valencio, feel free to leave a note." Kalden shakes his head, but the tone is more exhausted than truly annoyed.

"Sorry, Kalden. I thought we'd make better time." Tristan smiles in apology. "Next time I'll be sure to leave a note."

Kalden nods at him, looks at the blanket under one of Vasco's arms, the other looped around Tristan's waist to help keep him upright, and something softens in his expression. "You needn't do that, Tristan. I'll keep quiet."

Tristan frowns. There's nothing to keep quiet about, right? Still, if it means less nurses badgering him, the better. "Thank you, Mariner."

He nods again, gives them both a smile, and leaves them in the doorway of Tristan's room. He turns to Vasco to comment on the Mariner's odd behavior, but there's a strangled sort of expression on his face. "Are you alright?"

"Wha- of course! Nothing wrong, haha. I'll just-" He carefully extricates himself from Tristan's side. "Be gone then. Ta-ta. Goodbye. Have a wonderful evening."

He darts off before Tristan can speak, leaving him more confused than ever.

Tristan flops into his own bed, lays his cane against the nightstand, and dreams of stars inside oceans.

[ragingbookdragon]

Dripping Simply Saccharine PT. 5

Vasco x De Sardet

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: Uh...do I tag the Spicy as a warning? It’s a bit spicy.

Author’s Note: Unresolved sexual tension where? Oh, here, right. Well, we sort of resolved it. Enjoy! -Thorne

           In his defense, it was an accident. The giant locust, which had been thoroughly stomped into goo by now, had come out of nowhere, and while Constantin would never claim to be afraid of bugs, that thing was determined to eat his hand. Which is why when it did land on him when he was unlocking the cuffs, don’t ask why, his involuntary response was to screech like a five-year-old child and shake his arm like it’d caught fire.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a particularly good grip on the iron key and by some bout of shoddy luck, had incidentally thrown it through the window. But like he said, it was an accident. And by accident, he meant hiding behind an unamused Kurt while a furious Captain Vasco fumed at him—with De Sardet smiling rather smugly from behind, seeming to enjoy the moment.

           Not so much enjoyment when Vasco started stomping away with the intention of returning to his cabin, only to be jerked back into the chest of the amused Legate who merely held up their conjoined hands.

           “Not going very far without me, Captain Vasco,” he grinned, the smile growing larger with the scowl forming on Vasco’s face. The Naut turned on Constantin, who absolutely did not squeak as he hid behind Kurt again.

           “You’d better find a second key, your excellency,” he hissed. “Because my patience is wearing very thin.”

           “If I were to point out, it seems the patience you’re speaking of is nonexistent,” De Sardet quipped, pursing his lips when Vasco glowered at him.

           Constantin peeked around Kurt and gave a look of sympathy. “Honestly, Captain Vasco, I would absolutely find the second key, except that was the only one.”

           De Sardet had to curl his arm around the captain’s waist to keep him from lunging at his cousin.

           “Let go! I’m gonna—”

           “You’re going to come with me because I have a lockpick set in my cabin, Captain Vasco,” The Legate urged, gently tugging the Naut towards the door. “Come now, you need to cool off.”

           De Sardet was leading the two when Vasco shoved ahead, hissing, “I will not be led around on my own ship.” He drug the Legate around until they were right next to the man’s cabin.

           “So touchy, Captain Vasco,” he tutted. “You’re far too handsome to be so angry all the time.”

           “Your jabs are not amusing me, your excellency. This is ridiculous and unacceptable,” Vasco angrily retorted.

           “Hmm, so mark you down for no bondage. Strange though I—”

           De Sardet’s words fell short with a grunt as the Naut spun and backed him up against the wooden wall of the ship. His shock quickly fell to mirth as the Captain got into face.

           “I’m in no mood for your suggestive quips right now De Sardet,” he growled, golden eyes narrowing into slits. “I am this close to cutting off your hand. So, shut up and keep walking. Silently. Do you understand?”

           The Legate’s eyes calmly drew down from Vasco’s then back up and he inquired, “Tell me, are you standing on your tiptoes, Captain? Because we both know you’re not as ta—”

           He jerked when Vasco’s free hand came at him, hurriedly grabbing the Naut’s wrist as he spun them around, reversing their positions. De Sardet pinned both of Vasco’s wrists beside his head.

           “Easy now, Vasco,” he murmured, smirking when he felt the Naut’s hands twitch beneath his grip. “If we’re going to bruise one another, let’s do so in privacy.”

           Vasco scowled at him. “You are such a lecher.”

           “Tell me something I don’t know,” De Sardet countered with a smile.

           “You’re a shameless degenerate and I loathe your lack of decency.”

           “The flush on your cheeks says otherwise.”

           “Oh, you’re stupidly reprehensible,” Vasco spat, cheeks warming more than he could control.

           “Reprehensible? Perhaps. Stupid? Not in the slightest,” he retorted, sliding Vasco’s hands up until they rested above his head, their faces close together.

           “Tell me Vasco, do you really loathe my flirtatious nature?” he asked, watching as the Naut’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. “If you honestly do, I’d be easier just to tell me than to stroke my ego with the insults.”

           “Gods you’re a rake,” Vasco grunted, but his eyes shifted to De Sardet’s lips for a split second, inhaling sharply when the Legate’s tongue darted out to wet his lips.

           “Am I?” he retorted, tilting his head down just a tad so that they were nose to nose. “Am I really?” De Sardet purred and Vasco cocked a leg up, wrapping it around his hip.

           “Yes,” he hissed. “Yes you are.”

           De Sardet didn’t even have time to make a quip when the Naut surged forward, catching the Legate’s lips in a scorching kiss. De Sardet groaned into Vasco’s mouth, dropping the Naut’s uncuffed hand in favor of grabbing at the thigh that was riding his hips. He squeezed the firm muscle beneath the leather of Vasco’s pants, hard enough that the Naut broke away with a gasp, canting his hips forward. De Sardet took the chance to plant his lips to the Naut’s neck, leaving a trail of wet, red marks in his way.

           “De Sardet,” Vasco groaned, hand coming around to grip the collar of the Legate’s shirt. He threw his head back, not even bothered by the twinge of pain that shot through his skull when it connected with the wall.

           He responded with a hum, teeth sinking into the juncture of Vasco’s shoulder and neck. When Vasco let out another sharp gasp, he lifted his head, catching the Naut’s lusted gaze.

           “Bed?” De Sardet suggested and Vasco nodded his head vigorously.

           “Yes. Gods, yes,” he urged breathlessly, starting to fumble for the door when De Sardet tugged their cuffed hands down, grabbing at the leg that Vasco had firmly planted into the deck.

           “Jump,” De Sardet murmured as he caught Vasco’s lips again, feeling the Naut wrap his legs around his waist. He placed a hand at Vasco’s lower back, the other reaching for the door handle. When he got it open, he stepped inside, kicking it closed with his foot, fingers slipping down to flick the lock, just as Vasco’s free hand slipped down, undoing the buttons of De Sardet’s shirt.

***

           And if anyone had actually cared to grill Constantin enough, he’d have admitted that there was a second key—but that didn’t seem to matter anymore because there was no way he was going near the cabin the two had seemed to stumble into. Maybe Kurt would?

[nehrwho]

The Racist, Imperialist Indian: On the Attacks on Nigerian Nationals

Recently, a plethora of attacks against Nigerian (and other African) nationals in India have occurred which led to international outcry. Rightly so, several envoys from the continent are going to human rights groups and kicking up an international fuss, whilst the local response has been to put up posters in the midst of Noida and such places stating that we did not want foreign (read: darker) students in India. This racist reaction from my own people, is possibly the most ironic thing to ever occur: India sends foreign students to nearly every country in the world. London, San Francisco, Germany, Moscow, name it and there are at least fifty bhangra nights organized monthly, hence Indians claiming that foreign students are unwelcome in India is possibly the most hypocritical reaction ever. Of course, the middlemen play neutral and claim that it is a question of crime. Of course, there is crime involved - however, the reaction back home to white crime and black crime is drastically different. White tourists to India indulge in the drug and prostitution trade as much as any other race, perhaps more due to the sheer volume.

Even worse, when two Italian (as in, white) marines shot ​dead​ Indian fishermen on Indian waters, both the Congress and BJP governments were lacklustre in their responses and extradited the marines back to Italy to evidently face a far less strict punishment. So what crime did the Nigerian national commit to have been brutally beaten up on the street? None - a boy was missing for a day (before returning), yet locals thought the foreigner had "eaten him." Yep. You can't get more racist than that. We are a people that rise up in the streets and scream racism if a white man even looks at us wrongly for a second. We are a people that defend to the deaths the rights of Sikhs to not be insulted as terrorists in America and Canada. We are a people that have borne the brunt of such racism through centuries, from Vasco da Gama, to Macaulay, to Churchill. Hence it could be said perhaps we are an embittered people. The bitter old man who, once out of chains, now wants to make everyone else around him as unhappy as possible.

Even worse, it is incredibly hard to understand why Indians, who should be historically opposed to colonialism, have a sudden desire to 'merge with' and acquire lands that were never ours. India had been colonized by the British, and parts of it by the Portugese, and the Mughals (although they have integrated into our society, still started out through a process of colonialism), yet several Indians have what they refer to as a 'patriotic dream' of merging with Nepal, re-taking the partitioned sections, and Sri Lanka. Not to mention the constant lambasting of the initial cabinets for failing to acquire land in Tibet and Myanmar. This does not refer to land we've lost​ to China and such, as those were military failures. This preoccupation with land is emblematic of an emasculated people, who feel that there is no way to regain 'lost pride' except by gaining geographical ground whilst being unable to cater to the booming population already under Indian control.

It is eerily similar to the British, the obsession with an 'empire' of various cultures and colours under one flag - and another disturbing parallel being our complete inability to care for or about the occupants of said land. Think of the territories that the modern 'patriot' wishes to integrate back into India - for instance, land that belongs to Tibet and China, or the land lost through Partition. The treatment however, of minority races in India with East Asian features, is despicable, as you would know had you spoken to any North Eastern person that lives in North or South India. Just like the Victorian Briton, the modern Indian with trumped up notions of patriotism and empire should mature enough to realize that there is no land without it's people. You cannot retrieve, say, two hundred and fifty kilometre square of Tibetan or Chinese land without catering to and taking into account the wishes of the hundred or so currently Tibetan and Chinese people living in said land, and for that - our track record with racism is abysmal. The Indian 'patriot' wishes to have, at the same time, an entirely homogenous population (the Brahmin male, and conveniently slotted under him, the Brahmin female) whilst also possessing the geographical territory of several different cultures, religions, and races. ​The 'patriotic' Indian seems stuck in a timewarp of Victorian politics of imperialism and possession, with the constraints of international democracy coming second to warmongering occupation. This could partly be blamed on the British for the initial emasculation of the Indian nation-state and it's people, as well as the inferiority complex within the Indian subconscious, but far more to blame are our own leaders and politicians for encouraging the exact same 'we need to own everything' mentality the British had possessed. He does not understand that it is not possible any longer, with the delicate international alliances we hold, to run into China and 'take back what was ours' unless we wish to trigger another world war. On a social point, neither does he understand that it is not possible to make​ a Chinese person an Indian unless he wishes to be, and of all countries - the colonized Indian should at least know that geographical control has nothing at all to do with national identity.

[goanwaterproject]

Go Goa, Responsibly!

Following are my notes from discussions with Ms. Puja Mitra, the founder of Terra Conscious and former head of WWF operations in Goa. Ms. Mitra has been working in the field of marine ecosystem conservation in Goa since a long time, with a special focus on responsible tourism.  Combining the efforts for responsible tourism with livelihood generation, her organisation Terra Conscious runs responsible dolphin watching  tours in partnership with boat-partners from local community on various beaches in Goa.  Some notes from our conversation on marine ecosystem and beyond: 

Terra Conscious

- TC focuses not just on Dolphins but on overall marine ecosystem in Goa, including corals, turtles, effects of mining and coal dumping etc.

- They work with lifeguards across the Goan cost to keep track of the carcasses found on the coastline and have also created maps based on this. They have an app called Drishti through which the lifeguards can connect to them. TC also makes sure the carcass is buried properly, and autopsy is performed if needed- although Puja is of the opinion that the Goan government is not yet equipped to do proper autopsies.

- TC is looking to map the scene of responsible tourism in Goa – where can you eat, what can you eat (like what fish to eat when), what activities you can do when etc. Its also a part of Center for Responsible Tourism in Goa.

Dolphins in Goan marine ecosystem : -  The humpbacks found in Goa are coastal dolphins, which means that they stay within the distance of 2-3 kms from the coast, they can’t dive deeper than 20mtrs and cant go further into the sea (This is also the area where most water sports and other tourist activity happens). These dolphins can hold their breath under water only for 7-8 minutes and the smaller ones can do it for even lesser. - Dolphins are very territorial and often when anthropogenic activity increases in one area they start moving to another area BUT they aren’t always welcome there and the weaker dolphins might be chased away, get lesser nutrition etc. - The major reasons why dolphins are harmed are killed are suspected to be: being caught in old, discarded nets, navy activity which disturbs the sonar-based communication system of the mammals forcing them to come into shallow waters, territorial nature. - Often boats surround and enclose the dolphins, which disorients them – its being done more and more as the number of dolphins decreases and the pressure on the boatmen to show dolphins to the customers increases. - Dolphins often have to changed their normal swimming course to avoid boats, this drains their energy and they cant do the other activities they need to do to survive, like socialising, hunting, feeding etc.

- Turtles and fish are harmed greatly by plastic in the ocean. Turtles are specially vulnerable because they eat jellyfish and often can’t differentiate between jellyfish and plastic flowing.

Licensing and Regulation Gaps: - There is no permission required from the forest department in terms of zones one can do the dolphin watching tours or water-sports in, or how many trips a boat can take, etc. Only a licence of commercial boat is needed. - There is a queue system to take the boat into water for these tours. This fails because on the busier beaches, there are upto 280 boats on one beach, all competing for the same area. A boat thus has to wait longer and longer to get its turn. This often makes sure that the boatmen go even into choppy waters or when weather warnings have been issued - Government has fixed the price at 300Rs for each trip, since the competition is so high and 300 Rs is not enough money, the boatmen give additional ‘services’ like alcohol and food onboard, often the advertisements have foreign female tourists with alcohol, along with the dolphins as an add-on? - The new Master Tourism plan (made by KPMG) has marked oceanic as well as land areas into strict zones with a lot of zones like that for sports overlapping with the dolphin and whale habitat.  

Coral Reefs 

- Often tourist boats that are not familiar with the coral areas go there and plant anchors at spaces which can severely destroy the corals, hit divers and kill sea animals. - Coral reefs also provide shelter for fishes and act as complete ecosystems for the marine flora and fauna. - In Goa, coal is being dumped as close as 7kms from the corals near the Vasco port. 

CRZ guidelines violation: - The CRZ rules put Goan coast line under their zoning number 3 which means that no construction can be done upto 200mtrs from the line of the high-tide. This rule though is being vehemently opposed by the shack owners, who want the CRZ buffer to be decreased to 50mtrs. - Its very ironic because the same shacks are the first ones to get flooded when  the water levels rise- which is happening more and more. On the Keri beach, shacks have been drowned twice in 2 months already.

-  According to the new master tourism plan, all these shacks will be removed to give license to big hotels to come up in their place. The government believes that the hotels will be more diligent in following rules. Although that has not been the case with hotels like W and Leela and the branches of Taj. W even has a sewer pipe that goes right into the ocean at the Anjuna beach.

[itsworn]

A Trip Down Memory Lane: 1967 Camaro 40 Years in the Making

With so much new technology available on the market to improve the performance of vintage rides, Steve Gray says people can be pretty dismissive when it comes to his classic 1967 Camaro. After all, it’s not LS-powered—it just has a little, 400ci small-block Chevrolet with a plate kit. There are no exotic electronics, no EFI, no turbos.

Factor in a 3,700-pound travel weight with a driver, small tires, and leaf springs, and Steve says most folks guess it’s a low-11-second car. Well, they’d be wrong. Steve has owned and raced his Camaro for nearly 40 years, so it has benefited from endless tuning and tinkering that has helped propel it from the 12-second zone to its current best e.t. of 9.91 at 137 mph.

After buying the brand-new, fully optioned, hide-a-way-headlight car in 1978—his senior year in high school—Steve immediately started making his Chevy faster. “I did heads and a cam, and then things really got going when I started playing with nitrous in 1983,” Steve says. “Back then, Nitrous Oxide Systems just had three options: 125-, 175-, and 225hp kits. I picked the middle-of-the-road system, and it’s been on the car ever since.”

By the 1990s, Steve was dipping into the 10s, which was pretty fast for a street car back then. In fact, it was fast enough that the car remained in a kind of stasis for more than a decade until a cracked block forced Steve to make a change.

“I had run the car for more than 10 years with countless nitrous passes, so the engine didn’t owe me a thing,” Steve recalls. “I was looking to go faster anyway, so it was time to give the engine a full rebuild.”

Although he had been using a factory GM block for years, Steve took the opportunity to upgrade the powerplant to a Dart Little M cast-iron engine block. The forged Eagle rotating assembly out of the old engine was swapped over, along with a set of 14.45:1 Ross Racing pistons. The heads were also built on the serious side, with a camshaft spec’d by AFR employee Tony Mamo to work in tandem with the nitrous. Much of the intake and exhaust system was swapped over from the old combination, but Steve was still on the lookout for upgrades whenever he could find them, including a new Holley 950hp carburetor.

Once everything came together, the engine was dyno’d at an impressive 661 hp and 535 lb-ft of torque without nitrous. With the 175hp nitrous plate, Steve would now be looking at well over 800 hp when he hits the button.

Other than the engine, the transmission received the most updates. As horsepower levels increased, Steve switched to a TH400, which he eventually smoked with a healthy dose of nitrous. The upgrade was an Ultimate Vasco 400 from Mike’s Transmission in Lancaster, California. To help the hit off the line, they installed a 5,500-rpm stall torque converter to better match the new engine’s 7,200-rpm shift point.

While much of the engine and transmission is new, the rest of the car is as close to authentic as it gets. Some of the components, including the brakes, date back to the early 1980s, while other parts like the rollcage, were added later when the Camaro got fast. The 9-inch rearend has been in the car so long that Steve had to take his best guess at what’s inside of it.

While Steve’s Camaro continues to evolve and becomes faster at the track, he refuses to compromise its roots: “Every time I race the car, turn a wrench on it, or even just start it up, it takes me for a trip down memory lane. For me, there’s just nothing that can beat that.”

Tech Notes

Engine: Although Steve’s Camaro has had many engines over the years, the latest is a 400ci small-block that’s based on a Dart Little M block with ARP head and main studs. The rotating assembly starts with an Eagle 4340 crank riding on TRW bearings, which connect 6-inch H-beam rods to 14.45:1 Ross pistons with Sealed Power Hellfire rings. The Richmond Gear–driven Comp solid-roller camshaft was spec’d by AFR with 266 degrees of duration on the intake, 272 on the exhaust, and 0.688 inch of lift. The heads are 227cc runner AFR units, which have been CNC-ported and fitted with 2.10/1.60-inch valves. Comp also supplied the pushrods and valvesprings, which are bumped by a T&D shaft-mount rocker-arm system. Up top, engine airflow is handled by a ported Edelbrock Super Victor intake and Holley 950 HP series carburetor that has been flowed to more than 1,000 cfm. The fire is lit off by an old-school MSD 6AL with Taylor plug wires.

Cooling: A big-compression engine means big heat. Steve wanted to street-drive and hot-lap his car, so the cooling system received plenty of attention. The radiator is a large Griffin aluminum piece, which is supported by twin electric fans and a Meziere water pump.

Fuel System: The fuel system is another old-tech part, and it starts with the factory gas tank that has a sump welded in. From there, a Holley black pump pushes fuel up to the engine, while a separate Holley black pump sends fuel from a 1-gallon fuel cell into the nitrous system.

Exhaust: The Hooker Super Comp headers have survived several engine swaps and feature 1-7/8-inch-diameter primary tubes. A full 3-inch exhaust has also been on the car for years and dumps into a set of single-chamber Flowmaster mufflers.

Transmission: Steve chose an Ultimate 400 from Mike’s Transmissions to ensure everything remained solid. Mike builds the Ultimate Vasco 400s with a modified case, billet input shaft and front drum, billet intermediate shaft, high-pressure valvebody with transbrake, heavy-duty 36-element sprag, roller bearings, and a revised clutch count. A 5,500-rpm stall torque converter from Continental connects the transmission to the engine.

Rearend: As much as it hurt Steve to put a non-GM part in his car, he credits the Ford 9-inch rearend with lasting forever. The basic bare-bones unit has 4.10 gears, Posi-traction, aftermarket axles “of some sort,” and not much else.

Chassis: You can’t get away with running a car for nearly 40 years without twisting the frame into a pretzel—unless you have some type of chassis stiffening. A set of ancient Lakewood frame connectors tie the front and rear subframes and are further connected by an eight-point rollcage with swing-out bars that were installed years ago.

Suspension: Steve kept the suspension simple, performing effective upgrades over the years. Up front is a set of QA1 shocks with Moroso drag springs and Smith Racecraft upper and lower control arms; out back, the leaf-spring suspension is helped by a set of Calvert Racing CalTracs bars.

Brakes: Steve installed the brakes at a time when he didn’t have any money, so the fronts are discs off a 1970 Nova and the rears are factory drums. “I’ve thought of upgrading, but the car seems to stop fine,” he says.

Wheels/Tires: The front tires are old enough that they have 165/R15 86S on the side as a size. The rear tires are standard 28/10.5R15 Mickey Thompson ET Drag slicks. The wheels are from Centerline, “back when there was only one kind you could buy,” Steve says.

Paint/Body: The body of the Camaro is all steel and still retains the factory hideaway headlights. Steve says the paint is “whatever blue looked good to me in 1986.”

Interior: The interior is standard street-strip stuff, with Kirkey Racing seats, a B&M shifter, and several Auto Meter gauges inside of the car and on the cowl, with an Auto Meter Monster Tach to signal when it’s time to shift. Both the dash and door panels remain factory 1967 Camaro.

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