#maybe it was one of the first ever colonies ever established and something

[antennatoheaven]

has anyone considered/worked out a murderbot x 17776 crossover

[rei-ismyname]

Magneto's first day part 1

Xavier has bailed to space for a few years to recover from injury and bang his space imperialist bird girlfriend. The New Mutants find this out at the same time they meet his replacement - MAGNETO. His cape and helmet are gone, probably for the best, so he's snazzing it up with a suit and pinky ring. Looking sharp, as ever.

Sunspot is like 'fuck no, you're a supervillain dude.' Cannonball and Cypher are a bit more polite but are taken aback. Mags claims his badman days are behind him and asks for the chance to prove himself. He's open about seeking redemption, simply asking they keep an open mind.

The boys' change room is buzzing with machismo and teenage insecurities. Sam is all for giving him a chance, and Doug inadvertently escalates by needling Berto, derailing the conversation.

The gals are a bit more chill. Dani Moonstar keeps her reservations to herself for now, disappointed that Chuck isn't here to support her. Ilyana is like 'I'm a fucking demon, yo. I'm evil. How bad can Maggie be?' I love Ilyana, and calling him 'Maggie' day one is 👌. Amara digs his vibe and thinks her father (the ruler of a Roman colony in South America) would too. Karma's not sure, and little Rahne doesn't really get heard.

While the kids get changed for some holodeck violence, Mags is consigned to failure. He'd rather be banging Lee Forrester but he made a promise. Well, kinda. He got railroaded into something he couldn't really refuse, so here he is.

He insists Cypher sit this session out, as his power isn't very useful in combat. Surely that's more reason to train him to protect himself, and Doug agrees. In fact, he's steaming mad about it. I like that he calls Mags a butthead.

Mags regrets the interaction, correctly considering that he's hurt Doug's feelings. Then, well, it's the danger room - he's like let's fight, Sunspot first because he has the strongest objection. Everyone jumps in and Magneto regulates them easily. He's the Master of Magnetism, so obviously. Doug futzes with the Danger Room settings to try and mess with the Headmaster.

Karma tries to possess him (which I'd love to see) but no dice. Even without his helmet, Mags has formidable psychic defences and willpower. Her power reflects onto Berto and he's out for a while. The New Mutants eventually close in but Mags reverses gravity, incapacitating them all.

At first I thought that Xavier left him zero notes on running this place, but then I realised that this is exactly what the Danger Room is for - beating up kids. Training them in using their power safely, if we're being generous. They don't really complain about the nature of the exercise, just that he's too strong to defeat. He's hoping he'll establish his authority and maybe some respect, but it's not that easy.

Next time, the rest of Magneto's very eventful first day and how he starts to win them over. He's probably the best teacher they ever get, though he does sabotage himself a bit.

[gaily-daily-musings]

Read a fic once based on this old fairy tale called Bearskin. It was about a man making a deal with the devil. For 7 Years he could not bathe or groom himself. At the end if he succeeded he would be rich beyond his wildest dreams. It took place in colonial times but I'm changing it to modern times because of reasons. (“Modern” as in sometime in the last 30 years or something idk)

-

The devil must be bored if he's talking to him, Obi-Wan surmised. He's injured and currently laying on the side of the dirt road. He'd been drinking heavily. The war had torn England apart. But he'd remained steady in the faith that at least he could come home to Satine. They were engaged to be married and had wanted to wait until after the war.

He came home to a funeral. She'd died a fortnight before he arrived. Her parents offered him condolences and a place to stay. He declined.

He'd meant to drink himself to death. It seemed he was on the right path if the figure in front of him is to be believed.

The devil appeared as a frail old man but there was a secret delight in his eyes. A joy found from the suffering of others. Perhaps Obi-Wan is closer to death's door than he thinks if he's able to recognize Satan in disguise. That or he's gone insane.

“Have you come to take me? I would have thought I'd be bound for elsewhere.”

The old devil chuckles. “You are, but not quite yet. In the meantime, I can offer you a deal.”

It's so cliche. Obi-Wan snorts. “I don't do deals with strangers. Or the devil.”

“You may call me Palpatine.” The old man croaks. “Save yourself from death and be rewarded greatly in earthly pleasures.”

Obi-Wan is a man of god. Or he was, anyway. The war took much from him. He has nothing and no one. So with nothing to lose, he decides to listen.

“For seven years you must not bathe nor groom yourself. You cannot change your clothing or tell anyone else the reason why. If you do, I will claim your soul for hell. But if you succeed, I will give you riches untold. You will never want for anything ever again so long as you live.”

Obi-Wan hums. The pain on his side thrums. The bar fight from earlier had not gone in his favor.

“Don't worry, I shall even the odds for you.” The devil produces a furred cloak. It looks to be made from a large animal. A bear most likely. “Put this on and wear it always. When you reach into the pocket you will take out a handful of gold. It will never run out.”

Obi-Wan looks at the cloak outstretched towards him. Infinite money would definitely make things easier on his journey.

He laughs then, low and joyless. The devil had hit him exactly where it hurt. He'd always been rather vain about his appearance. Being unable to maintain his personal hygiene was certainly quite the tailored test of strength.

Maybe it's the alcohol in his system muddling his higher thoughts, but he takes the cloak.

“Deal.”

-

The first year isn't necessarily horrible. In fact it's quite good. Not being able to cut his hair or nails or trim his growing beard grated on him, but it's a minor inconvenience.

That being said, it was nothing compared to the dirt beginning to cake onto his skin. He itches for soap but never gives in to the temptation. He was good at self discipline. The devil had misjudged him. He'd win this easily.

He stays at luxurious resorts dining on king's meals. He travels the country. Sometimes in taxis, sometimes on foot. The money in his pocket ensured he always had food and a place to stay.

The second year gets a little harder. He's begun to smell. Obi-Wan has to dig into his pockets twice now to get a room rather than just the once. The nicer 5 star hotels start to turn him away, pointing him to a local establishment.

He begins to braid his hair, not knowing what else to do with it. He wonders just how long it is going to get and when he will have to start tucking it into his pants or wrapping his long beard over his shoulder. For now though, it is bearable.

By the time of his fourth year, his skin has darkened so much he no longer appears English at first glance. Soot and mud cling to his hair and clothing. It starts to feel like a second skin. An outer layer stitched into him. The bearskin cloak wraps around him like it is a part of him. He looks more like an animal than anything else now.

It is near the end of this particular year that he travels to America. He'd never been before but wondered about going often. He has to bribe a shipyard captain to let him stow away on a barge. An airplane would never have let him on even with proper credentials and an entire truckload of gold.

The journey is long and hard but he makes it in one piece. He is grateful for the rain on the way there. He is not allowed to clean himself, but natural rainfall is unavoidable and thus a loophole. He loves to be caught in it. Standing in it on purpose would count as bathing he thinks, so he never does so if there's shelter around. But to be out in the open and nowhere to go? It was wonderful. A tiny respite from the horror of his reality.

America is not as beautiful as England in his opinion. But it isn't bad either.

9 times out of 10 a taxi driver or Uber will refuse him service, so Obi-Wan opts to walk most places nowadays. He doesn't mind so much.

He travels through town after town. They seem to get smaller with each one he passes.

One night Obi-Wan finds himself a bit cold and tries to find warm lodging. The only hotel in town refuses him business even with the money he presents. Perhaps they thought the coins were fake. He didn't blame them. Who would believe a homeless looking beggar to have a pocket full of gold?

He settles out back in the alleyway. He'd bought a sleeping bag a long while ago for this exact purpose. Just as he's zipping himself up he hears some men yelling. He sits up and gets out of the bag. He peers around the corner of the hotel.

Two men were pounding on the door to one of the rooms.

“We know you're in there Jinn! Give us the fucking money!”

The men are holding guns. They looked serious. Obi-Wan's heart chills.

A man's voice–Jinn he assumes–calls out. “I can get it tomorrow! I already told your boss!”

“Yeah well the boss changed his mind! He wants it now! Open the fuck up!”

Obi-Wan's feet move before he realizes it. War had taught him to not fear death. He's used to charging into the fray.

He approaches cautiously but deliberately. One of the men, brown haired, jumps back and holds the gun up.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Christ Jack, It's just a hobo calm down.”

Jack glares back at Obi-Wan. “Do I look like I have a handout? Get lost!”

Obi-Wan teaches into his pocket and holds out the gold coins. “I have money. I'll pay what Jinn owes.”

“The fuck?”

Suspiciously, with the gun still trained on him, Jack moves closer. He takes one of the coins and holds it up.

“Holy shit these are real!?”

“What?”

The other man takes a coin as well and bites into it. His eyes go wide.

“Is this enough to cover the debt?” Obi-Wan asks.

The two look at each other.

“Uh, yeah?”

Obi-Wan dumps the gold into Jack's hands. Confused, the two men leave presumably back to their boss. Obi-Wan should probably go too. He doesn't want to stick around if a mobster catches wind that some homeless man wandering town is loaded. No telling what they'd do if they caught him.

Just as he's turning to go pack up his sleeping bag, the door to the room opens. An older man steps out. His hair is long and gray. He looked tired. There are bags under his eyes like he'd been awake and worried for days. Obi-Wan knows that look.

Jinn stares at him, taking in his state of dress. Obi-Wan knows what he looks like. More importantly what he smells like. His nose had long since stopped working, but from the reactions of others he knows it's nothing good.

It's the stench that gets people more than his dirtied appearance. The last hotel that had accepted his money and made him sleep in the janitor's closet. They'd set up a small cot and shoved it into the room. They'd probably burned the sheets afterwards.

Jinn scrunches up his nose in a familiar gesture. But then he braces himself and takes a step forward, “You…paid my debt?”

Obi-Wan doesn't really know what to do. He has never been in this situation before. “It was nothing.”

Truly it wasn't. There was far more money where that came from.

Jinn’s face falls in aching relief. He breathes out a shuddering breath. “I–Thank you, I–I don't know what to say. Thank you!”

He startles Obi-Wan by coming closer. No one had willingly entered his space two years. Jinn stretches out a hand. “You saved my life!”

Obi-Wan stares. For a moment he lifts his own on pure reflex. But then he looks at his own hand. At the filthy overgrown nails. The mud caked onto skin. He drops it. Jinn doesn't let it discourage him.

“How can I repay you?”

“Don't ever borrow money from loan sharks again?”

Jinn chuckles. “I won't. It'd been stupid of me in the first place. But I'd been a bit desperate at the time. I didn't want to lose the farm and I–” he shakes his head, trailing off. “Nevermind that. It doesn't matter.”

Obi-Wan furrows his brow. (Though it was more like one brow these days) “Lose the farm?”

The sadness on Jinn’s face returns. “It hasn't been doing well these past few years. The bank was going to foreclose on it and I just couldn't stand to lose it.”

Obi-Wan needs not even a second to make his decision. “How much do you need?”

Jinn gapes. “I couldn't possibly! You've already done so much!”

“I told you it's nothing truly. I have more than I need.”

Jinn looks hesitant still. From his perspective Obi-Wan needed the money far more than he did. Obi-Wan reaches into his pocket and pulls out another handful of gold.

“Here.”

Jinn scrambles to hold out his palms. Obi-Wan dumps the coins. Jinn blinks several times as if Obi-Wan and the gold will disappear at any moment.

“Don't think about it, just take it.”

Jinn cups the gold to his chest and nods. “Thank you.” He says again. Then, “Is there truly nothing I can do for you in turn?”

Obi-Wan is about to say no when he thinks for a moment. “A ride out of town would be nice.”

The sooner the better. He couldn't exactly change his appearance should the loan shark catch wind of him. He's easy to spot as it is.

Jinn nods vigorously. “Absolutely! Wherever you want to go!” Then he pauses. “Though could I at least persuade you to stay the night at my place? It's the least I can do. It's about an hour from here.”

Obi-Wan nods. A bed sounded lovely. Jinn smiles.

“I'm Qui-Gon Jinn by the way.”

“Ben.”

-

He dozes off in the car on the way there. Jinn drives with the windows down and puts up a new air freshener. Obi-Wan isn't offended.

They arrive well past midnight. Jinn quietly shows him to a guest room. He tells him to please keep it down as he had three children. Obi-Wan nods.

The bed is amazing. It's a rarity he gets a mattress as nice as this anymore. He snuggles in and tells himself not to feel guilty for ruining the blankets. He'll just pay for them tomorrow.

In the morning he smells breakfast coming from downstairs. He pokes his head outside. He can hear Qui-Gon's hearty laughter and unfamiliar voices. He walks down the stairs. He feels out of place and self conscious in this house. This was clearly a nice, warm home and he was an invader.

“Ben!” Qui-Gon says with a smile. It's a shocking sight to have one directed at him. “Come sit!”

Obi-Wan slowly moves closer. There are three kids of varying ages at the table. The eldest looks about 20. The girl with blue and white hair seemed 17. The young boy looked 14. He doesn't see the mother anywhere.

The youngest scrunches his nose and holds it. The girl hits him in the side with her elbow. But she stiffens as well when she inhales and makes a valiant effort to avoid doing the same.

“These are my kids: Anakin, Ahsoka, and Ferus. Kids, this is the man I was telling you about.”

“You?” Anakin folds his arms. “You're the guy that gave dad the money for the farm?” he squints skeptically.

“Yes. He is.” Qui-Gon says giving him a look. Clearly he'd briefed them on Obi-Wan's appearance and to be polite.

“Thank you for the room.”

“Please, it was the least I could do.”

“We have a shower too.”

“Anakin!” Qui-Gon hisses.

Anakin shrugs. “What? We do. Works well and everything.”

Despite himself Obi-Wan laughs. It nearly startles him. He hasn't done that in awhile.

“Thank you but no.” He takes a seat at the table.

Ferus scoots away.

“So, Ben, what do you do?” Anakin asks.

Qui-Gon sighs heavily.

“Nothing. I currently travel. I wanted to see America so I left England a few months ago.”

Anakin nods. “Yep, figured with the accent.”

Ahsoka has stopped eating. Unable to keep her food down. She seems to be silently gagging.

“I can just take my plate outside and finish if that's alright.”

“Nonsense!” Qui-Gon says. “You're my guest! You will eat at the table!”

“May I be excused?” Ferus asks.

“You may. But you have to start your chores.”

“Yes father.” Ferus takes his plate and dumps it in the sink. He runs upstairs. Ahsoka looks after him longingly. Obi-Wan resolves to eat quicker.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “So what do you do, Qui-Gon?” He asks in polite conversation. Even if he didn't engage in it much anymore he still knew how to.

“Mostly run the farm. I have a stall at the local market on weekends. Ahsoka here makes the best homemade jam in three counties!”

Ahsoka blushes. “That was two years ago dad!”

“She won first place at the county fair! Here, try it on your biscuit!”

Obi-Wan takes a bite of the jam on his biscuit. Oh. That was really good. “This is delicious Ahsoka.”

She nods. A small smile on her face.

“Do you sell these too?”

“Yeah, Anakin made the label for the jar.”

He turns the jar around and sees the design. It was quite nice.

“Are you into graphic design?”

Anakin shakes his head. “I went to college for engineering.”

Went?

“He dropped out to come home and help take care of the farm.” Qui-Gon says with a frown. “I kept telling him we were fine.”

Anakin snorts. “The bank was three days away from foreclosing but sure. You were fine.”

The rest of breakfast goes well all things considered.

Anakin and Ahsoka go out to do chores. Obi-Wan asks if he can help. Qui-Gon says no he's done enough.

He wanders out to the horse stalls, curious as to what kind of work one did on a farm. Anakin is shoveling hay. There's only just the one horse. It was black and beautiful. Obi-Wan, with his mangy hair and foul stench scares it. He must look a fright. The poor creature rears up. Anakin slips and falls backwards into the mud. He groans angrily.

“Sorry! I didn't mean to!”

“Threepio is skittish as hell. He'd jump over a gust of wind.”

Obi-Wan moves to help him up. But just as with Qui-Gon, the sight of his own hand stills the movement. Anakin looks up at him incredulously.

“Seriously? I'm covered in horse shit and you're not gonna help me up?!”

Obi-Wan grasps Anakin's hand; human contact, warm skin on his own. He nearly cries right then and there.

Anakin goes to use the hose to rinse off. Obi-Wan declines his offer to rinse as well.

“What is it with you and water? Afraid of it or something? Like a phobia?”

“Something like that.”

Anakin shrugs. “Whatever.”

He asks if he can help out with any chores. Anakin, unlike Qui-Gon, agrees. After helping to feed the horse and chickens and pigs, he follows Anakin to the garage. He discovers that Anakin fixes the townspeople's cars out of there. It's just a small business he runs on the side while on sabbatical from college.

Obi-Wan watches him work. They talk. It's nice to have a conversation. He missed it fiercely. Having someone there to talk to. The worst part of the devil's deal wasn't the dirt or the nights outside or the smell clinging to his soul, it was the loneliness.

Anakin is very smart. He seems passionate about the cars. He'll make a good mechanic.

“I don't think I'm going back.” He says quietly as if his father is eavesdropping. “I talked to Watto in town and he said he'll hire me. He owns the only car shop in town. Said he'd rather have me on then steal his customers. Might even take over for him one day.”

“What about college?”

Anakin shrugs. “Dad needs me. He never recovered after mom died.”

Amakin stands, cracking his hands. He wipes the grease off his hands with a cloth.

“You know you really saved our asses.”

“It was nothing.”

“Yeah that's what dad said you told him.”

“it's true.” He shrugs.

Anakin hums. He peers at him, he's come closer without Obi-Wan realizing. Anakin leans down as if he wants to peel back the dirt and skin to the mystery core of this man in front of him.

“He said you asked for a ride outta town?”

“Yes.”

Anakin hums again and nods. “You in a hurry or something? Dad won't ask for help but we could use an extra pair of hands for a few days if you're willing.”

Obi-Wan weighs the decision. Not only would the bed be nice to sleep on for longer, but he's surprised at how much he longs to be useful. To do good work. To have a purpose again. Wandering around aimlessly grated on his soul.

A few more days couldn’t hurt.

-

He gets to know the family. They were all very charming in their own way. Even Ferus who couldn't stand to be in the same room as him. Though a lot of candles have been lit throughout the house recently he's noticed.

Qui-Gon keeps insisting he eat at the table. Anakin makes dinner once. It's good. Obi-Wan wishes he could do the same for them but he couldn't wash his hands for prep.

No one probes him on why he didn't want to shower. For that he's grateful. He couldn't explain even if he wanted to.

The days pass. Anakin teaches him about cars. Qui-Gon and him sit on the porch and talk in the evenings. Ferus still won't go near him, but Ahsoka makes an effort. He liked this little family.

The weekend comes and the family sets up their booth for the Saturday market. Qui-Gon invites him along. Obi-Wan is apprehensive.

“I'd rather not scare away your customers.”

“Are you kidding?” Anakin asks. “People in this town are voracious gossipers. They'll crowd the stand if you come.”

So he does. True to his prediction, people are curious and stop by the little booth to gawk and ask about him. They don't look at him directly, merely a side eye or a glance. But it's obvious they're peering out the corner of their eyes.

The children of the shop owners are curious as well. They gather in a little group hiding behind a tent. They giggle and whisper.

Obi-Wan decides to take a walk around after about an hour or so. Tired of being the center of attention. It's odd, growing up he loved talking and mingling. He loved company. But this kind of attention wasn't worth it.

The kids follow. They aren't subtle. A brave one steps out. They touch the bearskin cloak. They shriek and run back to the group. They whisper even louder now and laughter follows. Another runs up to him, touches his back, and spins around to run. Obi-Wan frowns. Seems he is the subject of a game now.

The next one that comes, Obi-Wan suddenly turns and roars. The children scream and scatter. He has himself a chuckle. That should keep them away.

But then, not a minute later, something hits his back again. He sighs and turns. Then he pauses. No one is there. A pebble hits the front of his chest. Then another. He looks up. Ferus and the other kids pick up a rock and toss it at him. Obi-Wan holds up his arm to shield his face.

“Hey! The fuck are you little shits doin?!” Anakin comes crashing into the scene.

The kids scatter. Anakin grabs Ferus by the back of his shirt. He shakes him.

“This man saved dad's life! What the hell are you doing throwing rocks!?”

Ferus kicks at him but Anakin holds on. Anakin was probably used to roughhousing. Anakin wins easily, pinning his brother to the ground.

Ferus starts to cry. “I don't want him in the house anymore! He's scary and smells weird!”

“Apologize!”

“Anakin, it's fine.”

“No it's not!” He snaps. He pushes Ferus' face into the dirt. “Say you're sorry you little snot!”

“I'm sorry!” Ferus bites out.

Anakin lets him up. Ferus scrambles away.

“I'm not gonna tell dad. But if you pull this shit again he’ll have you shoveling the horse stall out for a month!”

Ferus flips Anakin off and runs away. Anakin sighs. He gets up from the ground and wipes his knees.

“Sorry.”

“It's alright. Kids can be cruel.”

“Yeah well I wonder with Ferus sometimes.”

They walk together. Anakin asks him about England. He overheard a late night conversation Obi-Wan had had with Qui-Gon. But it seemed private so he didn't intervene.

“Sorry, you don't have to answer that. I mean, life fucking sucks. I know that as much as anyone.” Anakin says, hands shoved into his pockets. His flannel shirt looked good on him, Obi-Wan notes. It accented his chest.

Something constricts behind his ribcage. It nearly knocks the breath right out of him. Anakin's curly locks fell out of his baseball cap like a golden waterfall. He was beautiful.

Obi-Wan looks away.

“I don't need to know your life story. Everyone is going through something. It's clear as day that you are too. We all handle grief differently.”

“It's fine.”

Obi-Wan chooses to tell him about his parents. About his childhood. How his fiance died. He misses her.

Through it all Anakin listens attentively. Obi-Wan can't stop staring at him. God he hasn't touched himself in so long. Perhaps that was it. He was just pent up. Anakin wasn't running away in horror the way most people didn't these days so Obi-Wan's fantasies had decided to fixate on him.

He can't help noticing Anakin's hands. Long fingers, strong arms. They were almost always covered in grease.

They wander far enough they're several blocks away from the farmers market and in the central town.

“Ani?” an older woman steps out from the corner store. She smiles.

“Hey Mrs. Organa!”

The woman is kind enough not to linger on Obi-Wan. She greets Anakin warmly. Anakin introduces him. Apparently he used to babysit her kid when he was younger.

“And how is Padme?” She asks.

Anakin's face tightens. “She's, uh, she's fine.”

“That's good to hear. You must come over for dinner sometime. I know Qui-Gon tends to hole himself up in that house of his. Tell him he needs to get out more. His friends miss him.”

“Will do Mrs Organa.”

She walks away.

“Padme?” Obi-Wan asks. He shouldn't pry. He's not sure what possesses him.

Anakin winces. “I met her in college. We're on break right now though. Haven't told anybody because they all expect me to marry her. Well, except you.” He winks. “Can you keep my secret?”

Obi-Wan blushes. Thank God it can't be seen through the dirt caked onto his face.

“It's safe with me.”

After another hour they decide to head back to the farmers market.

A car is following them. They notice around the same time. Anakin frowns. He recognizes it. It's the same one that Qui-Gon had gotten into when meeting with the loan shark.

They run. They race through back alleys and across streets. The car catches up and men get out. They have baseball bats. Obi-Wan knows how to fight dirty, but apparently so does Anakin. They make a good team. They take out the three men together. Anakin spits on their unconscious bodies.

“Should have sent more.” He growls.

Just then another car appears.

“Apparently they did.” Obi-Wan says exasperated.

They get into the now empty car and drive away. Anakin speeds through the streets. He's a demon behind the wheel. He's smiling. He was enjoying this, the adrenaline and the chase. Obi-Wan is impressed.

Clarity returns to him.

“…turn around.”

“What?!”

“They want me, Anakin. Not you or your father. This won't end if you help me get away.”

“No! I'm not giving you to those assholes!”

“Anakin please, I don't want any harm to come to your family!”

Anain jerks the wheel. After several maneuvers he manages to lose their tail. He parks the car and turns to Obi-Wan, now angry.

“Why the fuck would you just give up like that?!”

“I'm not giving up. If I leave town after you were seen helping me it'll only backfire on you! You know it!”

Anakin grits his teeth. He growls angrily under his breath.

“If you don't take me back I'll just find them on my own.”

Anakin suddenly reaches out. He takes Obi-Wan's face in a steely grip.

“Why are you helping us? You've already given us everything!”

He answers truthfully. “I have nothing else to live for.”

Anakin stills. His blue eyes are wide. They are like a balm. Ocean blue cleansing his soul. He aches to bathe in them.

“Please let me do this, darling.”

Best case scenario he gives him some more gold for his own ransom and they let him go. Worst comes to worst they discover his secret gold pocket and keep him as a cash cow. But he doesn't think it'll come to that.

Anakin dips his head and bumps against his forehead. “Okay.” He says quietly. He doesn't let go of his face.

“Anakin…”

Anakin shivers. “I really like the way you say my name, you know? That fucking accent. So posh.” He gives a little smile, sad and small.

Obi-Wan has no idea what the hell to do with that information.

Eventually they part. Ankain starts the car and drives him back into the open. They find the other car easy enough and stop. Obi-Wan gets out. He nods at Anakin and heads over.

-

The thing is, only Obi-Wan is able to remove the gold from his pockets. No one else can. It doesn't work like that. So when the loan shark has his men search him they find nothing. As far as they know he's telling the truth.

“My lost my entire family in a car crash two years ago. I was the only survivor. I sold my estate and pocketed whatever money I could carry. I don't care what happens to me.”

“So you just, what, gave the last of it to save a random guy you don't know in the middle of the night? No connection to Qui-Gon Jinn at all?”

“I'm sure you've researched him thoroughly by now. Did you find me anywhere in Qui-Gon's history?”

The gangster frowns. No. They didn't.

“I have nothing and no one. I figured he could use the money more than me. I'm a tired old man who's given up on life. I just wanted to do some good in the world before I shuffled off this plane into the next.”

The shark sighs. Clearly this was been a dead end. It was a long shot anyway. He'd ordered the mysterious hobo brought in more out of curiosity than anything else. Nothing much happened in this area after all and he was intrigued.

They let him go in the end. Obi-Wan breaths a heavy sigh of relief. Thank God.

He should move on. Should head to the next town over. But his heart doesn't want to. He wants to see Anakin one last time. With the loan shark now disinterested he could potentially stay.

But oh the way Anakin had looked at him. He knows the danger wasn't over yet. He would ruin that boy.

When he walks down to the house it's late in the evening. He hears a shout from within as he makes his way up the driveway. Ahsoka opens the door in shock. Seconds later Anakin bursts out the door showing her aside. He races down the path, startling Obi-Wan. They collide. Anakin wraps his arms around him tightly. Obi-Wan falls into the embrace. He hugs him back.

“I'm alright.” He assures him. “They won't come here again.”

“You fucking idiot!” Anakin says, relief in his voice.

Dinner is a boisterous affair. There's smiles and laughter and even Ferus talks to him. Obi-Wan can't remember the last time he felt so at home. He'd been at war for years and then fell into the Devil's deal soon after returning to find his fiance passed. He longs to stay here.

Ahsoka gathers the dishes. Ferus helps her wash. As Obi-Wan heads up to his room for one last time, Qui-Gon mentions that he wouldn't mind if he stayed. He needed an extra hand around the farm anyway. And he's sure Anakin wouldn't mind. He says this last part with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

Obi-Wan thanks him but declines. It was only going to get worse from here. He was still recognizable as a human more or less. But he had three more years to go. He can't imagine putting this family, or Anakin, through all that. It was his burden to bear and his alone.

That night, it's hard to sleep. He thinks perhaps he will sneak out at dawn before the family wakes. He'll leave a hefty pile of gold on the counter. Just in case. Perhaps Qui-Gon will be able to hire a real farm hand with it. Or Anakin can go back to college.

After about an hour of tossing and turning, there's a soft knock on his door. He sits up. Anakin comes in and shuts the door behind him.

“Couldn't sleep.” He says.

He takes a seat on the end of the bed. Obi-Wan bristles.

“You're leaving aren't you?”

Obi-Wan hangs his head. “It's for the best.”

“For you or us?”

Both.

Anakin runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Obi-Wan wants to tangle his fingers into those locks. He swallows thickly. All the more reason to leave.

“When mom died, dad hit a wall.” Anakin says quietly. “He couldn’t get past it. He held onto all her things. He refused to sell anything that reminded him of her. Then the bills started piling up. He should have sold the farm years ago. We all knew it. The town knew it. But he wouldn't. So he started gambling. Then he started losing.” His eyes are dark as they stare across the room at the wall. “All he had to do was let go. None of us would be in this situation.”

Anakin could have been in college with his girl. Ahsoka and Ferus could be hanging out with friends and focusing on school instead of doing endless chores.

“Grief makes it hard to see the obvious. I know that more than anyone. I don't know what you've been through but you don't have to keep going through it alone. You can stay here.” Anakin turns to look at him. Obi-Wan feels pinned. “Stay here with me.”

Obi-Wan dares not hope he means what he thinks he means. He couldn't possibly want a filthy, disgusting creature like–

Anakin takes his hand. “Whatever burden you're carrying you can set it down here. I won't judge you.”

“It's not that simple.” Obi-Wan chokes out. He can't just wash away his past. The dirt must remain.

Ankain leans in. “Please,”

Obi-Wan lets him. Heaven help him, he lets him.

Their lips press together. He doesn't open his mouth. He's too afraid. Anakin's nose brushes against his. His breath must smell horrendous. His teeth are more yellow than white.

Anakin kisses him again. This time the other man lays a hand on his cheek. He presses his thumb into his jawline. Against his better judgment, he loosens his jaw. Anakin's tongue slips in. Obi-Wan moans. He tasted better than any hot meal he's ever had. Any drink of water on a searing summer day.

“Ben…” He breathes.

It's enough to knock sense back into him. The last person who moaned his name like that was dead. Only Satine had ever called him Ben.

He pulls away. Anakin holds on. Obi-Wan gently takes his hands and pulls them off. He smiles sadly.

“I have to go Anakin.”

Anakin looks like he wants to protest. He actually wants this mangy animal in his house. In his bed. Obi-Wan cannot fathom why.

“I…” Obi-Wan hesitates. It is selfish to ask. He shouldn't ask. Shouldn't even consider it. “Can you wait for me?”

Abakin deserved to live his own life. He already sacrificed so much coming back here to help his father with his shortcomings. But he can't help but want. He needed to know there was a light at the end of the tunnel. That someone out there was thinking of him.

“How long?” Anakin whispers.

“Three years.”

Ankains face tightens. Three years was a long time for a practical stranger.

“Okay,” he squeezes their hands together. “I'll wait.”

-

Obi-Wan leaves the money on the dining table.

It's about a mile or two away from the Jinn homestead that he decides to stop living for himself. Too long has he been using his money for his own gain. He had more than he could spend and more than he could ever need.

Whenever he passes by someone on the street with a sign, he fills up their cup. Whenever he stays at a homeless shelter, he gives everyone there as many coins as they can carry. He tips any cashiers or retail workers that help him handsomely.

It makes him feel a little lighter. Knowing he was doing something in this world to make it better. The gracious smiles he receives in return are all he ever needs.

-

When the end of year seven arrives he is more animal than man. Even the shelters turn him away now.

The stench is terrible and foul. He scares children and animals wherever he goes. But everyday day brought him closer to the end. Closer to Anakin.

He makes it an old church at the edge of a town somewhere in Arizona. It was Thursday afternoon. No one was inside.

“Devil! I have held up my end of the bargain! Show yourself!”

There's a chilling laughter followed by a tingle up his spine.

The old man appears just the same as before. Though now, instead of delight, he looks agitated.

“It seems you have.” Palpatine snarls.

Obi-Wan grabs hold of the bearskin and rips it off. His hair, having grown into it, yanks off with it. He feels like his very skin is peeling away. But Obi-Wan keeps yanking. Needing to be free of this thing he'd become.

The second it's off, something clicks. Obi-Wan blinks. His body feels lighter. He looks down. It wasn't just the bearskin weighing him down, it was the years of dirt and mud and filth. He's clean now. All of it is gone.

His hair and nails are trimmed as well. He runs his hands over his face. Shock and awe coursing through him followed by elation. He could smell the air now. It was fresh and good and oh he's missed this!

“And the riches you promised?”

“Put your hand into your pocket. No matter what clothing you wear, it will always produce a handful of gold.”

Obi-Wan grins at the devil. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Palpatine lip curls. “I'll have your soul yet, Kenobi.”

Then he vanishes.

-

Obi-Wan bathes for three days straight. He's so pruny that his skin is wrinkled beyond measure. But he doesn't care. He'll never go another day without showering again.

The resort he checked in at brings him room service. He snuggles into the soft blankets. Happy and clean at last.

His thoughts turn to Anakin. Had he waited for him? If he'd gone back to college he may have started dating Padme again. Perhaps they even married. The last time someone waited for him they'd died, so returning to find them married this time wouldn't be so bad. At least he tells himself that.

It takes months for him to get his affairs back into order and re-enter society. After seven years England had declared him dead. He returns to his home country and visits Satines family. He apologizes for disappearing on them.

After the fourth month he admits he's stalling. He works up the courage to return to America.

-

Anakin is at the local mechanic shop. The pay is fine for what it is. Qui-Gon had urged him to return to college and finish his degree. He had. But shortly afterward Qui-gon had fallen ill. He moved back home again, for what he now suspects is the last time, and takes care of him.

Ahsoka has moved away and is living her life. Ferus is about ready to graduate. Ahsoka offered to come back and help out as well, but Anakin refused. He had it covered. No need for them both to be here trapped in this town.

The medication was expensive, burning through all the gold they had left. He shouldn't have bothered finishing his degree. They would have had so much more.

He sold the animals first. Broke his heart to get rid of Threepio. He'll have to look into selling the farm at some point but decides to wait until after Ferus is out of the house.

Anakin isn't sure what he'll do when Ferus graduates. His little brother takes care of their father while he's at work in town. Qui-Gon assures him he doesn't need looking after and can stand to be home alone for a few hours but the last time that happened he had an episode and fell down the stairs. So no. Leaving his father alone is out of the question. Anakin wipes his sweaty brow and sighs.

Soon he's headed home again. He spots a strange car into the driveway. It looked nice. Brand new. He narrows his eyes. Qui-Gon better not be meeting with loan sharks again.

He enters cautiously. “Dad? I'm home!”

He finds him In the living room. He's on the couch having tea with a man in a white button down and slacks. Qui-Gon waves him over. A grin is in his face.

“Anakin! Come in! This is an old friend, Obi-Wan!”

Anakin eyes Obi-Wan. His auburn hair and blue eyes were striking. He frowns. “He just popped on by then?”

“Sorry to drop in unannounced.” The man says. And Anakin freezes for a moment. The crisp accent reminded him of Ben. “I was in the area and wanted to see how Qui-Gon was faring.” Then his face turns serious. “I didn't know he was sick. I would have come sooner if I had.”

Qui-Gon shakes his head. “Nonsense, you're here and that's what matters!”

Obi-Wan smiles. He sets his tea down. “Your father tells me you're selling the farm?”

“Yeah?” Anakin looks between the two of them, brow raised. “It's about time anyway.”

Obi-Wan nods. Then he turns a bit nervous. “I already asked Qui-Gon here, but it's just–well I have a rather large inheritance and thought my old friend here could use it. We've been discussing moving him to a city with better doctors. I can pay for the treatment of course.”

Now Anakin is thoroughly confused. This stranger from his father's past had swept in and is offering a way out? Why? Who would do that? And how do they know each other?

“Dad, what the hell did you promise this guy?” What kind of “old friend” swoops in after years of estrangement? This had to be another loan shark.

“Anakin it's fine. He just wants to help.”

Anakin narrows his eyes. “Sure he does.”

Just then his cell goes off. It's his boss. Anakin sighs. “I'll be right back.” He mutters. This wasn't over.

He leaves the room and stops outside in the hallway. Just as he's about to take the call it drops. Anakin frowns. He punches the number into his cell to call Watto back.

“Why won't you let me tell him Obi-Wan?”

Anakin pauses. He lowers his phone from his ear. Voices whisper from the other room.

“Trust me it's for the best.”

He hears a clink of porcelain. “He missed you. We all did.”

What?

“I'm not what he needs.”

“Believe me, you think I don't feel guilty for trapping my son here? I do. All the time. But he refuses to do things for himself. I want him to be selfish, Ben.”

The name shoots through his chest. Ben. Kind, lovely Ben. Anakin slumps down the wall. Heart in his throat.

The accent was exactly the same. He should have known. It was the cleanliness that had thrown him off. Obi-Wan was respectable in every sense of the word. His hair was perfectly cut and beard trim and neat. He sat with an air of refined nobility that most people didn't have. It was no wonder he hadn't recognized him.

The hell was he playing at? Coming back into their lives like this again when they needed him most? Was he just going to give Dad a bunch of money again and fuck of back to England? Is that all he thought he was good for?

With shaking legs, Anakin goes back in. Qui-Gon looks up.

“What was that about?”

“Huh? Oh, um, Watto just couldn't find where I put the tools. It's fine.”

He plops down right next to Obi-Wan. To Ben. Both men blink in confusion. Anakin stares back.

He had a scent now. A bit of aftershave and cologne. Anakin wants to bury his nose in it.

“How do you know my dad?”

Obi-Wan tenses. “Oh, um, it was about 20 years ago. My car broke down in the middle of nowhere and Qui-Gon here fixed it for me.”

Anakin squints as his father winces. Qui-Gon was handy around the house but he didn't know shit about cars. That had been his mother. She was the one that had taught him about engines.

“He fixed it for you?”

“Yes that's right.”

“Do you hear that?” Qui-Gon sits up. He puts a hand to his ear. “I think I hear Ferus calling.”

He practically runs out of the room. Anakin snorts. He turns back to his interrogation.

“Why are you here?”

“To…check up on your father?”

“After 20 years? Try again.”

Obi-Wan swallows. Anakin watches the bob of his adams apple. As angry as he is right now he's also fighting not to just grab the stupid man.

“I was in the country and thought I may as well pay a visit while I'm here.”

“Nothing else? No other motives? No one else to see?”

“No?”

Obi-Wan looks like he wants to sink into the couch and disappear. Good. Let him cook. Anakin has waited three years for him to come back to him and now he doesn't even want him!

Anakin stiffens. Oh. He didn't want him anymore.

The epiphany settles like dust after an explosion. Anakin leans back, away from Obi-Wan. He'd met someone else back in England. He must have. It's why Ben didn't want Qui-Gon telling him who he was. And now he was too embarrassed to owe up to it.

Heartbreak clings to the edges of his chest. Anakin swipes it away. He supposed it made sense. Obi-Wan was far too handsome to remain single for long. Of course someone else snatched him up. The fact that Obi-Wan had still bothered to come back at all meant something. At the very least he was still willing to take care of his family. Of Qui-Gon. For that Anakin would always be grateful.

The fight leeches out of him. “I see,” he says quietly. He forces himself to continue. “Thank you for checking up on him. He can be really stubborn about his health.”

Obi-Wan offers a small chuckle. “I'm well aware. I practically had to fight him to get him to agree to come to England.”

Anakin startles. “England?”

“Yes. I know some people, great doctors. They will take care of him there.”

Anakin wilts. Everyone was leaving. Everyone was moving on. Anakin was still stuck where he's always been.

“You're welcome to come too of course. I just wasn't sure you'd be amenable. You have your own life here after all.”

Anakin thinks on it. On the one hand he'd like to make sure Qui-Gon was alright personally. But on the other he'd have to see Obi-Wan's lover or partner or whomever.

Then again, England was a good place to start over. Maybe they could be friends? Anakin's voice comes out small. “I'll think about it.”

-

Anakin watches the sun set on the porch. He wipes away the silent tears that fall. At least now he could finally stop wondering and move on. His Dad would be taken care of. He could get out of this town just like he always wanted. He didn't have to wait around anymore.

Another presence becomes known with the creak of old wood behind him. Anakin tenses. He braces his arms against the porch railing.

Go away, he thinks. Go away.

Obi-Wan appears beside him with a plate of cut apples. “I thought you might like some.”

Anakin shakes his head. Obi-Wan puts the plate on the railing all the same.

“Qui-Gon's gone to bed.”

Anakin nods. Just go away.

“Anakin?” He sounds shocked. “Darling, why are you crying?”

Fuck. Anakin grits his teeth. Can't even be alone in the middle of nowhere on a farm. He hunches over more, trying to hide his wet face. He shakes his head again. Fuck him, calling him darling like he still cared.

“I've been waiting for someone,” he whispers, not trusting his voice. He grips the railing and it creaks under his hands. “I don't think they're coming back for me anymore.”

The old Anakin would have called him out for it. Would have screamed and yelled and made a scene. But now? He's just done with it all. He wants it to be over. He wants to be unstuck.

For a long moment, Obi-Wan is silent. So quiet that Anakin almost thinks if he turns his head to look he'll be gone. Alone again. But then Obi-Wan exhales and Anakin is suddenly aware of another body leaning against the railing.

He dares to glance over at him. But Obi-Wan isn't looking at him. He's looking up at the evening sky. His face has crumpled inward, a reflection of Anakin’s grief.

“Perhaps he was unsure if his presence was wanted.”

Anakin swallows a bite of anger. “I'd given him no reason to think he wouldn't be.”

Obi-Wan hesitates and then, “I'm sorry, Anakin.”

He closes his eyes, letting the night air cool against his heated skin. Then he opens them. “Who is she?”

Now Obi-Wan finally turns to look at him. “What?”

“The person you're leaving me for? That's why you didn't come back sooner isn't it?”

Obi-Wan looks shocked. “No! Anakin no I was busy trying to get my life back in order! There's no one!”

“Then why pretend? Why didn't you tell me who you were Ben?” He snaps.

Obi-Wan flinches. “I thought you'd moved on. You're better off without me.”

Anakin laughs coldly. He waves his hands over his head at the house and life in general. “None of us would be better off without you! You saved us! You saved me!”

Anakin wants to tear his hair out. Curse this idiotic self sacrificing man. “Stop thinking about what you think I want and start thinking about what you want! What do you want, Obi-Wan?”

It comes out easily. Surprisingly so. “You, Anakin.”

It shocks them both.

“I want you. Anything you'll give me.”

Anakin shakes, his skin practically vibrating. “I'll give you anything you want, you asshole!”

Their mouths clash as their bodies brace. They moan into the kiss, finally reunited.

-

(They move to England in a gorgeous mansion and are in love and gross about it. Ahsoka is the best man for Anakin. Ferus bears the rings. Qui-Gon is very proud. He can't stop crying, it's embarrassing.)

[mai-komagata]

Season 3 predictions!

i wrote this set of rest of series predictions , have my opinions changed since then?

"I think the main thing that needs to happen this season is Sauron needs to make the one ring. I don’t think this will be the first thing that will happen. I think this might happen towards the latter half of the season, and all the fallout from that will wrap up the season. " Haven't changed my opinion on this. I don't think it will be the climax of the season nor do i think it will be episode 1. But it will be the catalyst for a lot of events. With the timeskip I think we'll see Barad-dur be established and Mordor being run like an actual place, somewhat. "I think Durin becoming king, and how he deals with the dwarven rings will become a big plot point in this season. I hope he can reconnect with elrond as a result. Maybe we’ll see dragons (but that might be a plot in later seasons, since there is not much else for the dwarves to do later). " I think this is pretty much a lock, too with the possible casting announcements on this. Dragons I don't think we will get but hope springs eternal. I'll talk a bit more on this on a later plot point, but I think the Dwarves might also move north or talk to some dwarves setting up stuff in the lonely mountain. I think this could tie them in to the elves of the Greenwood as well. Maybe they start explaining some of the dwarven/elven rivalries forming. "Sauron also needs to start doling out the rings for men. I think him meeting Kemen will happen and be a major relationship he will have this season. Maybe meet Theo too. I don’t think Sauron will sail to Numenor, but maybe some of his rings will be shipped there." With the timeskip, I expect we will see Numenorean outposts and city-colonies to be a big thing, and I think that is when emissaries of Sauron or Sauron in disguise might meet up with Kemen or a now older Theo. I think we might also see the start of other human cities like Gondor. I didn't predict much about what Elendil and Isildur will be doing. I do hope for flashbacks and them reuniting. I just don't know if that will happen in Numenor or on Middle earth. "I think Gandalf will finally meet up with the elves and the main plot. What im curious is if they ever bring in Saruman. But i think Gandalf and the Elves meeting might be what these characters do. Maybe we get more elven lore like building Imladris and Lorien, or we meet up with the Silvan elves in Greenwood. " I do think meeting elves in the greenwood and tying that with Gandalf is a distinct possibility, maybe even tying in the plot points with the dwarves as well. I think it is quite likely we'll find Celeborn here, too. I think Thranduil might be introduced (I'd love oropher, but i dont think they have the rights to him). "Honestly dunno what the hobbits will do. I’m hoping they reconnect with their family and settle in the banks of the anduin. " Yeah don't know what will happen to the hobbits. "After the one ring gets made i expect some sort of telepathic confrontation with the elves, specifically Galadriel. " I think Galadriel/Cirdan/Gil Galad and the reaction to the one ring being created will be a big thing. I didn't talk much about the Elves, but I think the creation of Imladris as a base will also be a big thing with the time skip. But yeah, some combo of gathering allies with greenwood elves, interactions with dwarven kingdoms, and how they react to the blow of the one ring's creation will dominate the elves plot. And yeah, maybe meeting up with Gandalf and Celeborn. "And the numenoreans might notice something is up and come capture sauron. " I didn't really predict anything miriel/Earien/Pharazon would be doing this season, other than i think the climax of the season will be Numenor coming to middle earth to capture sauron. I don't know how connected they will be to the main plot, i can only guess. There might be a lot of back and forth with the Numenorean colonies in Middle earth or not. We'll see. I do want to see what role Isildur plays when he comes home.

Overall, I don't think my opinions changed much. I think the timeskip mostly allows them to explain Theo getting older, as well as allowing for settlements to become cities, like Imladris, Pelargir, Mordor, Durin's kingship, etc.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

A Surprise Visit to Yancy

As Captain, you can finally return to your home planet, however briefly that might be. Your first free day happens to fall on the third Sunday of the month.

You thinking what I’m thinking?

Word Count: 1,976

(Note: Can be viewed either as romantic or platonic)

-

Ever since the colonists had settled on the new planet, you had received a request from the main association on Earth to provide an in-person status report. You had put it off because difficulties arose that you wanted to sort out. However, it also allowed Mark time to set to work on a new project.

You thought he never would have wanted to be anywhere near the Warp Core, but he promised he had one final spark of inspiration. You checked in on him frequently, and within three weeks, he had made an amazing adjustment to the computer. Somehow, he had managed to create a ‘route’ linking two areas between the two planets. The warps could happen safely now, cutting a trip that would have taken decades into a week, maximum

It meant you could finally agree to meet delegates in person and provide the required updated and progress reports. The plan had been to take a small crew who would help with other tasks on the home planet and leave the Crew Leads in charge, but Mark insisted he would tag along. He didn’t need to explain why - both of you wanted to make sure no one else remembered the events of the Paradox.

-

On Earth, your arrival was kept a secret, and both of you attended numerous meetings and conferences to provide updates and projected plans. You negotiated supplies to be brought back to help the colony’s establishment, and in return you provided suggestions on what could be done to help enhance the colony’s development.

Dawn broke on Sunday morning by the time you and Mark could drag yourselves out of the meeting room and get some fresh air on the walk back to the hotel. Conversation was good, but it was clear that Mark’s thoughts were elsewhere. This was only confirmed once you entered the hotel lobby. He paused, and stretched, hoping to relieve some tension from his stiff back.

“Well, Captain. I would love to talk more, but I think I’m gonna get some shut eye. I have a flight to catch this evening.”

This was new information, and you made this clear. What was he up to?

Mark’s face broke out into a wide grin. “I’m gonna go home and see my Mom. She’s no idea I’m here and I wanna surprise her tonight. I’ll keep you updated!” With a salute and a laugh, he hurried to his room.

A surprise visit? It was a good idea. You both had a few days before any official business resumed. But it wasn’t quite as easy for you as it was for him. You could visit your own family, maybe, and this idea spurred you to pull your phone out of your pocket as you made your way down the corridor to your room. A quick press of buttons unlocked the screen to the calendar page where you had last used it to schedule meetings, but something caught your eye.

The current date was highlighted. Sunday 15th. Not only that, it was the third Sunday of the month.

Wait a minute.

Once inside your room, you quickly checked the time, then opened the phone app. You had a call to make, and you needed to make it now.

-

The morning routine was the same as it always was. Get up for morning call, shower, have breakfast, then tidy the cell in the short lull before he was called for his first shift of the day. At least it being Sunday meant Yancy had a little longer in his cell. He could finally fold his spare prison outfit properly. It had been tossed on the desk on Saturday morning and he hadn’t time to fix it.

A knock on the heavy, metal door startled him.

“Uh… Yeah?”

The door opened. Officer Smith poked his head around the door. “Morning Yancy. You’re gonna need to get yourself ready.”

“For what? My shift ain’t for a while yet.”

“Well, you’ve got a visitor who wants to see you today.” Officer Smith looked rather pleased at this announcement, but the sentiment wasn’t shared with Yancy. He sighed and turned back to folding a t-shirt.

“Look. I, uh, I don’t mean nothing bad by this, but I ain’t going. I don’t got a reason to.”

“C’mon Yancy…”

“It’s true though. I don’t got any cousins in the area, or any schoolmates, or former work colleagues or whatever. I don’t wanna go all that way just to see that I is face to face with some reporter or snotty kid trying to do a psych report for college again.”

“Then what about a friend?” Warden Murder-Slaughter opened the door wider so he could also be seen. “I know yer a good fella, Yancy. It’d be rude ta leave a friend waitin’ out in th’ visitation room when they came all this way just to see ya.”

The shirt dropped from Yancy’s hands to land in a crumpled heap on the table. 

-

Happy Trails had two areas dedicated for visitation. The first was for the unscheduled ‘drop-ins’, where you stepped into a booth and spoke through the phone. This space had multiple purposes: people who happened to arrive in, or were seeking an interview, people on official business like lawyers, or prisoners who were deemed too ‘dangerous’ to be in direct contact with visitors. This was where you had last seen Yancy, when you were thrown out of one wormhole and dropped onto a chair. You don’t know how long it had been since he had last seen you, but it must have been some time in the past if he was still using the cover of ‘space camp’. Once the dust had settled and the universe was normal again, you had remembered this, and felt guilty. He had been so surprised to see you, like he had expected you to never return.

Even now, he assumed you were on another planet entirely. Though, this time around, you were keeping quiet on purpose. You wanted to see the reaction.

By phoning ahead, you were able to arrange the visit in the public visitation rooms. Traditionally, this was the default location. Since Happy Trails focused more on rehabilitation, this room was one that would help bring a sense of ‘normality’ in an isolated setting. It was a large, bright, open room with tables and chairs dotted around the place. There were guards on duty, but if you had your back to them you could pretend you were simply catching up in any public setting.

A guard had assigned you to a small table beside the window. You shrugged off your jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. The plan had been to sit down, but a shout of “Yancy wait -” caught your ear. Your turned your head in the direction of the shout and had no time to react to a man running at full speed and charging into you for a hug. The impact hurt, and you collided with the floor, but you didn’t care as you returned the hug.

Of course, it was barely a few seconds before a guard pulled Yancy back onto his feet by the back of his t-shirt, while the Warden offered you a hand up.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Captain.” The Warden smiled as he patted your shoulder - you were able to hold steady and ignore the pain. “Normally we’d be raising alarms ‘bout a prisoner physically assaulting a visitor but… I think we can make an exception to this.”

You chuckled, turning your attention to see whether Yancy was okay. To no surprise, the greaser was lost for words, looking utterly dumbfounded as he stared at you with wide eyes. With this lack of response, the amused guard who had hoisted him up guided him to the free chair and encouraged him to sit down. Then, just for good measure, the guard gave him a light pat on the shoulder before he and the Warden walked away.

Silence settled in for the first few minutes, and you decided not to push Yancy into talking. In time, he reached forward and patted your arm, still holding an expression of disbelief.

“This don’t feel real,” he admitted, finally regaining the ability to speak. “Youse is… here. And not way out there. But… How? I thought this whole thing was ‘sposed to be a one-way deal. Once youse left… Youse wasn’t ever meant to come back.”

That was true. When you had agreed to the position, you had assumed it to be that way. However, Mark’s ‘extra experience’ with warp core technology, the distance was a lot shorter than it should have been. What should have been impossible was now possible.

Yancy’s head lowered as he processed this. “So… Wait. Why did youse come here, then?”

You shrugged. Wasn’t it obvious? You wanted to see him again. You had to make up for lost time. 

“Yeah, and the fact that youse had to go before youse could properly hear that song. But that’s okay! I know youse is super busy and I don’t hold that against you.” You couldn’t ignore the way his expression softened when he realised that you were here because you wanted to see him.

You decided to bite the bullet and ask whether anything else weird happened the last time you visited. You needed to know what he experienced when the universe was in disarray

“Aside from the sudden leaving? Nah. Everything was the same as it always was, y’know? I mean, the few days afterward are a bit blurry, but that tends to happen. Prison’s got that routine, y’know? Very easy to lose track of the days if youse ain’t careful, so it ain’t nothing to worry ‘bout. I guess that’s further proof that nothing weird happened, eh?”

That did a little consolation, but the memory of the last visit brought another question to the forefront of your mind before you could stop yourself - did he spend many other visitation days waiting in one of those booths?

 A hand slowly rubbed the back of his neck. “... A few. I knows I wasn’t ‘sposed to ‘cause I knew youse was gone by then but I couldn’t help it. I just thought youse would be pissed if I wasn’t there when youse wanted to come. Not that I expected that or nothing, youse ain’t under some sorta ‘contract’ to visit or anything like that. Youse got waaay more important things to do than to come here and -” Yancy stopped himself. He was rambling and risked spiralling into a low mood. He took a moment and exhaled slowly to get himself back on track. “Eventually the Warden told me that he’d let me know if anyone came to visit. Think he felt bad that I was sitting there for so long. But, uh, I guess he kept his word. He did come by and say that someone was here to see me. So… I owe him for that, I think. And aside from that? Uh, the parole stuff ain’t going nowhere fast. It’s, uh… Gonna be a long while, I think. Got a lot more hurdles than others given my, uh, ‘circumstances’.”

You winced in sympathy, knowing that it would likely be a difficult challenge for Yancy to pass the parole board. However, you didn’t want to spend the entire time worrying about the future. Instead, you looked around, dramatically making sure no one was nearby, before asking whether he wanted to see proof of aliens.

“You got something??”

You got something, and you pulled out a small photo album to prove as much. It would be a much better starting point for your space adventures that steered far away from the troubles of the past. Maybe he would be surprised when you reveal the stories of how you have befriended aliens!

[comicgeekery]

Sherlock & Co.: The Sign of Four

New Sherlock and Co. Thoughts!

Ok, so of course I HAD to talk about The Sign of Four. I was intrigued from the first episode. I’d been wondering when and how Sherlock and Co. would tackle the novels. They sprinkled in a few elements of The Valley of Fear early on, but that novel is a whole other situation, seeing as the majority of it isn’t a Sherlock Holmes story at all. And of course A Study in Scarlet is unavoidable as Watson and Holmes’ origin story. I suspect S&C will visit those again in different forms at some point, since neither mystery was really explored.

So The Sign of Four was an interesting choice at this stage. The show’s gotten into a good grove with 2-4 part adventures, they could have done for ages more, but it looks like the S&C team is ready to tackle more ambitious ideas.

I admit I was nervous at the start. Some of the four-part adventures have felt over-stretched (particularly Silver Blaze), so a TEN-parter might have been a disaster. Thankfully, I had nothing to worry about! The Sign of Four was captivating every week, brilliantly balancing interesting elements in every episode while also keeping the listener engaged with the larger mystery.

There were excellent deductions, familiar humor, some genuinely gripping suspense, and SO much fun when the gang all went to India! Whoever it is on the writing team who loves to write in poetic descriptions of landscapes had an absolute ball about that long train ride. I really felt like I could feel the scenery, not to mention the peaceful comradery of John, Sherlock, and Mariana. It’s so heartwarming to see how close they’ve all gotten.

I also really appreciate the tactful way that the writers and characters dealt with questions of Indian culture, British colonialism, and the connections between superstition, history, and the many things a big diamond might mean to different people. Everything seemed super respectful of India and British people of Indian descent. I don’t know if anyone at S&C is Indian themself or if there were sensitivity advisers or what, but it all clearly came with significant effort and that was SO nice.

(Note: I am white though, so it’s also possible that I missed some inaccuracies or insensitive elements.)

However, the real star of the show was always going to be the often-reimagined Mary Morstan. I was VERY curious about her, as in the original canon she and Watson get married shortly after the events of The Sign of Four.

In canon my opinion of Mary is…fine. She’s fairly brave in her adventure and it’s cute how she and Watson fall in love. But…yeah. That’s it. She’s mentioned offhand in a few other stories. Her presence is actually so vague that Sherlockians struggle to establish a timeline for her after The Sign of Four. She becomes Mrs. Watson. She’s there. She dies at some point so Watson can move back in with Sherlock. Then she’s back again? Or maybe she’s a second wife, also named Mary? It’s another one of those areas where the fans care more about Sherlock lore than Doyle ever did.

So there’s been various versions of Mary in the hundreds of Sherlock Holmes adaptations over the years. She’s usually pretty boring, a plot convenience for Watson to talk to about his latest adventure with that master detective what’s-his-name. I’m not sure if she ever showed up on Elementary, since they were focused on that whole Joan/Irene/Moriarty thing. And BBC’s Sherlock got…interesting with her. I wasn’t a fan of Mary as a secret elite assassin, but I give them credit for at least doing something with her. Until she died. Which was stupid.

The trouble with Mary is that, no matter how incredibly straight Holmes and Watson are, Mary functions as a wedge between the BroTP. She is, explicitly, the reason Watson moves out. And, since so many writers struggle to convey that people generally love and cherish more than one person at once, that means Mary must to an extent replace Sherlock in Watson’s heart.

I say all that because I want to emphasize that, hands down, Sherlock & Co.’s portrayal of Mary Morstan is the best I have ever seen.

I’m on record as really rooting for Sherlock & Co. to evolve into a gay romance. Fans have been waiting literally over 100 years for Sherlock and John to fall in love and be a couple in a professional production. I’ve felt shipping vibes in some episodes and in others John and Sherlock seemed completely platonic to me. I knew bringing in Mary could mean confirming the show as another Strictly Straight interpretation. Which would be disappointing, but not actually a sign of poor quality in any way.

First off, Mary was introduced as not quite a new character. She was meant to go on a date with Watson in the first episode, but got held up because of a traffic accident (and Sherlock did a bunch of deductions and was very clever). In functioning as a call-back to the first episode, she also easily illustrated the growth that John has had since the start of the show, when he was so freshly traumatized and uncertain about his life. Back then, it just made sense to him that his date would ghost him. He was the kind of person to be ghosted.

But we also got beautiful insights into Mary’s character. I think it was a brilliant idea to open the story with a recording of Mary as a child getting her plot-relevant bedtime story from her father. S&C is often limited in what it can portray because of the “true-crime podcaster” premise. This diagetic flashback was super clever and excellent way to tell the listener “We’re doing something different this time. Something big.”

Mary is such a FULL character too. She’s smart but shaken from her own military PTSD. She has a goofy, self-deprecating charm that complement’s John’s similar humor. She’s bisexual, a trait that informs her past and personality without feeling like just a token element to please the fans. She’s got complicated feelings about her father and his legacy. She’s understandably torn between wanting to help save a missing boy and bring criminals to justice or just washing her hands of a situation that seems to hurt more with every twist.

She and John do have an easy chemistry. They bond over their similar humor, their military trauma, and just being a warm piece of comfort for each other. As a fan of pairing John and Sherlock, there were times where I outright groaned because of how great Mary was and how sweet her budding relationship with John was. Beautiful, infuriating, 10/10.

SPOILERS BELOW

By the last episode of The Sign of Four, I was ready to admit defeat. Clearly Mary was going to be a new regular cast member and I was going to love her for the rest of the show….which is also basically what John thought.

I sincerely did not expect for her to die. Why would she? She was such a great character! I didn’t expect to end a Sherlock and Co. adventure with a real, lasting tragedy. Other characters have died, but never ones I would expect to be mentioned as on-going sources of grief in later adventures.

Her death also felt surprisingly real. It took her a week to die from her wounds and she was touch and go in the hospital. She easily could have lived. And now she’ll always be a point of a divided timeline for John. Of what might have been.

When BBC’s Sherlock killed off Mary, it felt cheap and perfunctory. She died to raise the stakes and the drama for Sherlock and John. I was never especially clear on why John was so in love with her, honestly. (It didn’t help that he’d been considering an affair at the time.) Sherlock and Co. has just delivered a masterful lesson on how to introduce a character, make her sincerely matter, and then make her death hurt for the simple reason that now she’s gone.

Bravo to Sherlock and Co. and bravo in particular to Acushla-Tara Kupe for her excellent performance as the best damn Mary Watson who never was.

[etoilesombre]

hi! this is maybe very out of the blue, but - i'm reading 'our feast is but beginning' on ao3, and in a comment on part one you write something about the urca gold being a cursed symbol and that it makes zero economical sense. idk really what i am asking but maybe - do you have posts on hand that deal with that? or would you write down some of your thoughts on that? it sounds really interesting! thanks (:

OOOH I'm so excited to talk about this -- it is actually going to come up more in the final chapter of that series, and it comes up as a major plot point in longfic, because I think its a really great example of how in some ways Black Sails is Just a Story. Which is also to say: none of what I'm saying here is a criticism of the show. The Urca Gold is Pirate Treasure writ large, it serves its function in the narrative, we don't actually need to think about the real world implications of stealing it.

But IF, for instance, you were a fanfic writer and kind of a history and econ nerd, and inclined to 'well actually' stuff, then you might see a couple problems with the gold as a solution for a free and independent Nassau. I think of them basically as problems of scale and form.

Let's talk about scale first. Basically, if you are going to steal and not die, you have to make a few calculations.

If you can steal something big, run away and live anonymously ever after, good for you! No problems. (This was Silver's initial plan. He was smart.)

If, however, you are going to steal openly, and maintain some sort of defended home base (see: bandits, organized crime, pirates) you have to ensure it is not worthwhile for people to come get their stuff back. This is why, as a pirate, it behooves you to have a reputation for extreme violence, and also a remote hideout. Merchant ships have insurance, the right people quietly profit from the fencing of pirated goods; nobody actually wants to die, so piracy is cost of doing business, and the world carries on.

The Urca gold is in a completely different class of stealing. This isn't holding up a truck; it isn't robbing the bank. It's robbing the Federal Reserve. Five million Spanish dollars, in today's money (yes, there are issues thinking of it this way, but the point holds) equals somewhere around 250-300 million US dollars.* There is simply no way that it is not worth Spain's (or England's) time and resources to go get it back. The cache they were fighting over at the end was one share and it was enough to cause all that trouble. The full amount would be worth sending a good chunk of your navy for, and the fact that this did not happen immediately requires some suspension of disbelief. Anyway.

Flint's theory seems to be that it's enough money to allow the pirates to defend Nassau against that threat, and basically establish themselves as a rich colony the empires won't fuck with. This is treated by the show like a reasonably serious proposition. So why does it fall apart? You can buy anything with that kind of money, can't you?

Now we get to the problem of form. Gold is only useful if you can exchange it for stuff you need. This is a problem for the pirates on two different fronts, defense specifically and trade in general.

In terms of defense, the pirates would need, very quickly, enough ships and guns to fight at least one imperial navy. But only the major powers were capable of manufacturing those ships and guns. Even if the pirates bought up all they could in terms of well-armed merchant ships/found a corrupt governor or two to buy guns and powder from, it would always be a losing battle because no matter how much money you throw at them, the powers that make warships are absolutely not selling you any. Why would they, when they can use them to come take the gold instead?

So, if the pirates aren't going to live long once they have this gold, can they at least spend their last months being filthy rich and enjoying themselves?

Not really.

We see Jack's crew members getting huge shares, everyone else on the island taking payment to help with defense when the time comes, as well as Jack paying laborers exorbitant amounts. So there's plenty to go around right?

This is how inflation happens. If we all suddenly have twice as much gold, but there is no more actual physical stuff, almost instantly the stuff will cost twice as much. This problem at least theoretically could be corrected by increasing trade. [Also, realistically, people would leave. But let's say they're staying for belief in the pirate republic reasons.] Because in the wider economy of trade in the Atlantic money is still valued normally, you can just import what you need.

And, maybe. This is more plausible than the rest.

But that sort of correction takes time, and given the whole 'war with civilization' situation, there can't be legitimate and sanctioned trade. It's pretty hard to get enough illegitimate goods in for an economy to prosper --- especially because if you're relying on black market trade during wartime, notoriously there ends up being price gouging and then you're back to square one with inflation.

In conclusion: the show does not get bogged down by this, as it shouldn't. It's fine. But yeah, the gold is fake and makes no sense, and Flint and Jack especially are borderline delusional about what it can achieve for them.

*This is actually not as impressive as I wanted it to be, once I started looking up reference points, eg, how much outstanding student debt is there? how much money does besos have? how much is defense spending? Did y'all know we should fight capitalism and eat the rich?

[fallout4-reacts]

k-peasants asked: An actual prompt this time! I know you're busy and have plenty of things to write yet, take your time. Soo I was thinking that maybe companions (and Maxson) horribly failing at confessing to Sole. Like for example they could clear out some Raiders, companion is impressed, tries to confess BAM Sole gets fucking decked by random raider they didn't kill. I feel like you could get pretty creative with that one. Like deathclaws, something exploding, just settlers running in, other companions interrupting etc.

Here, here, part uh 4… after the false start of the part 3…

Part 4

Gage / MacCready / Piper

(Part 1 : Danse, Deacon, Nick Valentine)

(Part 2 : Hancock, Preston, Strong)

(Part 3 : X6-88 alone because of a bug)

(Part 5 : Cait, Curie, Codsworth, Dogmeat, Elder Maxson)

Gage : This Sole is an Overboss! What a magnificent and fantastic Overboss! Everything Porter had ever wanted to do came true! Nuka-World is now a flourishing domain, having conquered so many colonies that the Commonwealth can be considered under the yoke of the raiders, its inhabitants paying an extraordinary tribute that fills the chests at an incredible rate. His people are blessed and happy, and he owes it all to Sole.

Gage never imagined having such strong and lively feelings for another person as he did for himself, but he fell hard for Sole.

And Sole seems to notice it in a far more personal way than one would anticipate from an Overboss towards a lieutenant.

And when a raider wants something, he takes it.

So, once his feelings for his superior are made clear, Gage doesn't waste time. He plans their entire evening and ensures that Sole has enough drink. When he realizes they are alone in the Fizztop, he grabs his bravery with both hands.

"Hey, Boss!"

Sole looks up from his glass and smiles at Porter.

"Yeah?"

And this smile almost steals the poor man's courage. He takes the time to set himself on one of the stools in front of the other.

"I… I've been thinking about this thing you told me, about our friendship and all that bullshit."

"Yeah?"

"Well, what I'm saying is—

"Is that Mason's voice I hear?"

"We always hear Mason's screaming at this hour."

"But these are not screams of pain?"

Gage and Sole leap to the terrace and gaze downward. Preston Garvey, the foolish Minutemen colonel, smiled morbidly at them from the center of the lake, where he had erected a terrible altar.

"I told you you'd pay me, Sole!" the man yells angrily while igniting more fire under Mason.

Sole then realizes that the entire area has been taken over by Minutemen. Damn! He believed he had confined them to their silly castle, but it appears that they have returned in force.

"You know what, Porter?"

"Yes boss?"

"We'll finish this conversation later."

MacCready : Sole pays close attention to MacCready. The mercenary casts an interested gaze their way.

"I have something in my face?"

"Nope. I'm just curious why you didn't leave."

The mercenary with the rat's face smiles with all his rotten teeth.

He replayed the conversation in his thoughts over and again.

Sole carried Mac through the twists and turns of a hidden and forgotten vault, where they fought radscorpions, mirelurks (including a Queen mirelurk), and ghouls, the worst of which who was not feral. They have since established their camp in the main cave, waiting for the sunrise to return to the surface.

To be honest, Mac isn't in any rush to get back up. He never feels better than when he has a good granite sky on his head, but he knows they can't stay confined in the bowels of this hill forever.

The Commonwealth will be expecting them.

And there is a child waiting for him near the Capital Wasteland, assigned to the care of trusted people. Butch and the Tunnel Snakes will offer their life to save his son if necessary, and they will at first not take any unnecessary risks that could imperil him. This is what allows Mac to postpone his triumphal return to Duncan, who is undoubtedly on the mend.

Healing thanks to the help of Sole.

Sole glances at him now, puzzled as to why he is still there.

And the answer, he knows it by heart, having processed it in his thoughts over and over since he found it. Why is he still present? For the one only reason that could exist.

"Listen to me carefully, Sole. What I want to say is delicate, and I don't want to... It's difficult for me to talk to you about this, but I understand you should question my decision."

"A little, yes. If I had the opportunity to be with my son, I would not procrastinate as much."

Mac takes his time swallowing. Yes, it was far more delicate than he had imagined. He didn't count Sole's struggle to find their own kid... and the heartbreaking defeat they experienced along the way.

"Exactly. I don't believe I have the right to forsake you. Not right now. Not after everything you've done for me. No, especially in a situation when you need someone by your side."

"What greatness of soul for a mercenary."

MacCready straightens and swallows sideways.

"How could you!? You know that — argh! — I gave back your caps!"

"And I told you you could keep it."

"Do you really think my motivation is still just money?"

"No." The tone of his friend confuses Mac. He raises his eyebrow, and Sole makes a hand gesture. "So, you tell me, what's so important?"

"Yes. What I was trying to say to you was that-

"Not all ghouls are dead."

"Sorry?"

"Not all ghouls are dead!"

Sole leaps to his feet before Mac notice the abrupt change in the speech. Then he realizes at the same time that Sole fires his first shot. He retrieves his trustworthy Mighty and begins to shoot himself.

It is a true horde that falls on them, and they are in a big cave on absolutely flat land, the fools, the lethal sea forthcoming on them despite the accuracy of their guns. Three ghouls appear to replace each one that dies.

Sole and Mac, surrounded and besieged, realize their horrible mistake.

Their one and only, but fatal, mistake.

Piper : The reporter speaks to them as they approach a settlement.

"Hello! I have a few questions about the living conditions in the colony; would you be willing to answer them?"

Sole takes a step back. They have to repair a water purifier at Sturges' request, and they don't want to interfere with Piper's work on her new article, "Life in the Commonwealth with the Return of the Minutemen." This is, at the very least, the first draft. Piper wishes to develop a more enticing title and believes she can do so by researching the backdrop of her article.

Sole approved all along.

This is the best plan of action concerning Piper. Approve immediately before she launches into an argument about the advantages and disadvantages of her point of view. Her conversation is already something; if she believes she needs to persuade her interlocutor, it could run all day.

Quite strangely, the purifier's filter has become clogged from the inside. Because the duct is too tiny, Sole is unable to reach it. To see what is causing the blockage, they must disassemble a large piece of the devices. As the day is already well begun, they proceed immediately.

Piper returns after around ten minutes to see how they are.

"Hmf. Everyone declines my interview requests. I expected everyone to be overjoyed to be in the next issue, but they're all too busy."

"Take it back tonight at the bar when they're done with their chores," Sole suggests, gripping his wrench, which refuses to loosen the shaft.

"Wait a minute, that's a fantastic idea. They will definitely be even more ready to comply if my incredibly popular acquaintance additionally offers a few caps to pay for the round."

Sole chuckles, despite the fact that they are losing patience after the obstinate piece.

"You know I'd do anything for you, sweetheart."

"What a charmer," says the reporter, blushing.

But Sole's motivation is more selfish than making Piper blush. Every time they told her something in this taste, she reddened, stammered, and eventually shut up. They must concentrate if they don't want to twist the rotor situate under the duct or damage the nets, which would necessitate some redoing, and all of the required gear is in Sanctuary. During this break, they renew their focus to their given task.

Piper, on the other hand, is in a completely different mindset. She coughs briefly to regain their interest. They grunt to indicate that they are paying attention and modify their position to change the pressure point.

"You know, Sole, I've been wanting to talk to you about something a little tricky for a while."

"Not really your way of going in circles," Sole grumbles, thrusting their tool.

"No, I confess, but it's something that, let's say, is difficult to discuss."

"I didn't think there was anything too tough for you to discuss," they groan before throwing all of their weight on the tool to give it one last push.

"It's actually a very personal matter. So, if it's not too problematic..."

"But keep going!" Sole attempts to remain calm as they begin to feel the piece shift.

"I just wanted to let you know that all this time we've been rummaging together, I know it was not easy, I was not easy, and many don't really like me."

They eventually get their hands into the conduit to find the obstruction.

"But I'm quite pleased with you. More than just content. You never seem to get tired of my little crazy... I must admit... I do feel that—

"A MINE!" yells Sole, vigorously shoving Piper away as the entire purifier erupts out of its cement block, taking Sole's arm and a significant chunk of what should have been connected to Sole's arm with him. 

Piper, out of breath and on her back, worries of the fire and blood that fly in all directions and then fall all around her. She has no idea if she is injured; she is absolutely frightened.

[scythemichaelfaraday]

So now that my partner has read all of the Arc of the Scythe books I can post my fanfic / one-shot ideas. (PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU HAVENT FINISHED THE MAIN SERIES)

It’s established that extended and successful space travel is possible and we are to believe that civilization will go on and has the best of the best amongst the first interstellar colonies (as evidenced by the excerpts by the Tonists throughout The Toll and Cirrus).

So why not propose that… however many years, decades, centuries down the line, trans-celestial communication could be a thing.

We are to believe that Scythe Faraday goes on to live however long until one of the plagues takes him as it did High Blade Tarsila and Hammerstein. Let’s say he lives until those space colonists… particularly the ones of Anastasia/TRAPPIST-1e is able to create some form of trans-celestial communication.

Imagine if one day he gets a call on his phone, which of course is unusual because he doesn’t really give that information out and there’s nobody besides Munira that he talks to enough to warrant a phone call.

And on the other line is Citra Terranova and Rowan Damisch.

Now I’m thinking it could go one of two ways- it could be a one way communication where they basically send him a video message and tell him all about what they’ve done and how their lives are going. They could introduce him to their kid if they have one (maybe the kid’s name/middle name is Michael haha).

They could finally say the goodbyes that they were never able to say that day that the rockets took off. They could say everything they wish they got to say while still with him. And that would be it, but at least Faraday knows that they’re okay and they’re thriving better than they ever would have on Earth.

The other way it could go, is of course a two-way conversation where he can actual talk back. But he’s just so shocked and overjoyed to see them after so long that he just listens to them talk and talk and talk and he has that warm paternal smile on his face.

He could briefly tell them about what’s going on: the plagues, the sympathy gleanings, updates on Munira and Greyson and Jeri (if they’re still alive, which maybe who knows).

And even after they’ve talked about everything under the sun, they just don’t want to hang up, but they eventually do because its getting late or there’s something they have to do, but now they have the ability to talk with each other until the day that they no longer can.

Maybe one day they’ll try to call him, but he won’t answer, and he always answers, whether he can talk or not, he’ll at least tell them he’ll call back. And they’ll know that their dad and mentor has finally been reunited with his dear Marie.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Instrument of Surrender

Putting on the "FUCK THE WORLD" jacket triggers a thought.

COMPOSURE - You've finally made it haven't you? People point fingers at you and whisper to each other when you pass by, wondering to themselves:

"Where did that man get such a cool jacket? Did he receive it upon graduating the École normale supérieure de Bad-Assery? Is he *dangerous?*"

Damn right I'm dangerous.

Yeah -- a danger to *myself*. What am I doing? This is insane.

COMPOSURE - Oh no, believe me -- it will be *everyone else* who's uncomfortable with it. You're safe. No one dares say a word -- unless they're, like, from your station and coming to *judge* you. But what are the chances of that happening?

Now, where were we? Oh, right, communism.

RHETORIC - There! Do you smell that?

Smell what?

I don't smell anything.

RHETORIC - Can you not detect that inimitable *whiff* of dissatisfaction and restlessness, that sense that the world is in need of dramatic, even *violent* re-ordering?

(Close your eyes and take a deep breath.)

Does that mean there's a communist nearby?

RHETORIC - Can you smell it now?

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - You inhale. The cilia along your olfactory epithelium tingle with excitement as they sift through the swirling morass of industrial odours...

First come the smells of the agitated strikebreakers, layers of body oil and sweat, over-buttered meals pulled from bakelite lunch pails, the biting stench of lye soap. And then there's the slowly oxidizing metal gates, the scent of stale grease emanating from every crack...

KIM KITSURAGI - "Everything in order, detective?" The lieutenant gives you a quizzical look.

"It's kind of a personal errand."

"I'm smelling for communists, Kim."

"I'm working on developing my political consciousness."

"Just taking in the morning air, like a normal detective."

KIM KITSURAGI - "A *personal errand*."

"I'm smelling for communists, Kim."

KIM KITSURAGI - "You're smelling for..."

"You know what? I'll just leave you to it. Carry on, detective."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - It is a mark of the lieutenant's respect for you that he does not press you on this decidedly *extra-curricular* errand.

RHETORIC - The lieutenant lacks your *highly developed* politico-olfactory cortex. The reek of communism is undeniable. And it's coming... from that railing right there!

You mean from Mañana?

RHETORIC - Yes. Now's your chance to *establish contact*.

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Olá, wandering man." He looks at you with soft and hazy eyes. "How can I help you?"

(Attempt to establish contact.) "Listen, brother, there's something *important* I need to talk to you about..."

"That weasel I visited. Turns out he has one hell of a colonial mug collection."

"Actually do you know anything about the Hardie boys?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "What's that, boia?" He tilts his head slightly.

RHETORIC - Now's your chance! Remember, communists are notoriously skittish, so it's best to *insinuate* your way in...

"I'm looking for some people who know how to really grind a sausage, if you know what I mean."

"It involves our mutual friend, Kras." (Put your hands next to your head and curl your fingers like deer antlers.)

"I'm investigating a peculiar smell, one with revolutionary implications."

"I'm looking for a secret cabal of *mole people*."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Hrmmm. Have you tried a butcher shop?" He looks at you with perfect equanimity.

2. "It involves our mutual friend, Kras." (Put your hands next to your head and curl your fingers like deer antlers.)

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Don't think I've ever met a Kras, personally. Then again, I've never been to Graad." He narrows one eye at you.

RHETORIC - Okay, maybe it's time to abandon the subtle approach.

3. "I'm investigating a peculiar smell, one with revolutionary implications."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Could be coming from one of the jammed lorries? Cargo's been sitting out for a while." He sniffs the air and looks toward the roundabout.

5. "What I'm trying to say is: I'm looking for communists. You know any?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Ah, now I see. Can't say I'm surprised. You seem to take your communism seriously. Not a bad thing, mind you. It's good for a man to take time to think about the whole socio-political world picture."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh, he certainly likes to take his time with things, especially when politics are at issue."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "So you've given up copping and now you're hunting communistas. Care to say why?"

"I'm not 'hunting' communists, I'm trying to get organised by them."

"I'm on a sort of quest to develop my political potential and I need their help."

"Honestly, I had a weird dream and now I need to get to the bottom of it."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "A fellow plains-roamer, in search of greater understanding. A classic story..." He nods approvingly.

"I wish I could help. Unfortunately, I don't know many communistas."

"I know you said you're not really a communist, but aren't you actually a communist?"

"I thought you Union guys were all communists?"

"Are you sure? You smell just like a communist."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Some are, some aren't." He shrugs. "It's a big institution, room for all kinds: communistas, Semenese supremacists, even an anti-institutional boiadeiro..."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - There is warmth in his voice when he talks about the Union. Whatever his personal politics, this is his home.

RHETORIC - Alright, so if he isn't personally a communist, he's definitely hanging out with them.

CALL ME MAÑANA - He snaps his fingers. "Ah, but you know, I did meet a genuine *ideólogo* a few months ago. Perhaps he is your guy?"

"What's an *ideólogo*?"

"How did you meet him?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "You know, a guy with a theory. Someone who likes to pit his theory against other theories in deadly theory-combat."

2. "How did you meet him?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "It was late one night as I was leaving the harbour. He was waiting on the corner in a bright white jacket, classic Saramirizian style..."

That sounds familiar.

"He asked me for a light. We shared cigarettes. Then he asked if I ever thought about 'getting into some of the extra-physical branches of communism'."

"Hang on. What does that mean, *the extra-physical branches of communism*?"

"What did you tell him?"

(Nod.) "An extremely cool way to establish contact. Wish I'd thought of that."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "No idea. I took it to mean he was asking me to join some sort of underground cell..."

"A very old-school organising technique, the sort of thing communistas used to do before the Revolution."

2. (Nod.) "An extremely cool way to establish contact. Wish I'd thought of that."

CALL ME MAÑANA - He shrugs. "It was alright. A little like something out of a Vespertine spy novel, but I must respect the effort."

3. "Okay, how do I find this guy?" (Proceed.)

CALL ME MAÑANA - "I couldn't tell you. Once I declined his offer, we finished our cigarettes and he disappeared back into the night. Just before he melted into the shadows he turned to me and said..."

"*Remember Dobreva and Abadanaiz*..."

"… and then he was gone."

"Who are Dobreva and Abadanaiz?"

"What do you think it means?" (Conclude.)

CALL ME MAÑANA - "I don't know. Guess not everyone remembers." A tight, half-smile crosses his face.

2. "What do you think it means?" (Conclude.)

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Been wondering about that myself." He scratches his chin. "Some communista inside-talk, could be. Not meant for the wider public. They love that kind of thing. You'd have to ask someone who knows this ideólogo personally..."

"I have to say, though: It sounds like you've found yourselves a proper hunt."

The man whispers a jaunty tune. A coastal breeze ruffles his hair.

2. "That weasel I visited. Turns out he has one hell of a colonial mug collection."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Yeah..." He nods, rubbing his chin. "The janitor who gave me the key to his apartment said the guy's a bit of an asshole."

"Yes, his mug-collection certainly represented... *antiquated* social values."

"See how we're all busy concentrating on the racist mugs? That's what the ruling class wants."

"A man with such a funny mug collection can't be that bad."

"All I'm saying is he had lots of mugs."

+1 Communism

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Yeah, it would be really bad if we got into an argument about it. Waste of a good noon. Or afternoon? Or night?" He looks around, oblivious suddenly. "Anyway, thanks for helping out, friend."

2. "Actually do you know anything about the Hardie boys?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Los Ardies?" He smiles. "They're an independent militant group. A bit too high-strung, but it comes with the responsibility."

"They're sort of like you. Preserve the rule of law and all that. Except it's Evrart's law." He takes a swig from his flask. "But, really, they're just like you."

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Is he actually comparing you -- an officer of the law -- to some neighbourhood vigilantes?!

"There is only one law, friend -- and that's me!"

Let it go.

+1 Lawbringer

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Why not? Must be nice being something else for a change. The rest of us are just folks."

5. "Good talking to you. Gotta run." [Leave.]

Alright, who else do we know who's a communist?

On our way past, I happen to look at this viewer again.

COIN OPERATED VIEWER - This coin-operated viewer is facing South. It has given up all its secrets -- there seems to be a sunken seafort on the islet in the bay...

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Why place a tourist attraction in the middle of such poverty?

"What's a tourist attraction doing... here?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "There was a revitalization project in '49. A design studio tried restoring Martinaise to its pre-war glory." The lieutenant looks around and concludes: "It didn't stick."

"What happened?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "They got as far as the street lamps and that statue on the intersection before something went sour." He lowers his voice. "I suspect it was Evrart Claire's doing. He muscled them out -- it's how it usually goes around here."

"Cool. I dig organized crime. It's the best."

"Can't we... do something about it?"

Say nothing.

KIM KITSURAGI - "We should have *done* something about the Union ten years ago. That ship has sailed, officer."

🎵Rue de Saint-Ghislane 32B

RHETORIC - There it is again! There's a spectral scent haunting this pier, no doubt. And it smells like...

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - Sea brine, mostly. Because it's a pier.

RHETORIC - Years of turmoil, of hopes and dreams ground beneath the inexorable tides of capital.

(Close your eyes and take a deep breath.)

I can *kind of* smell dreams being ground down by capital.

RHETORIC - What do you smell?

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - The first thing that strikes you is the overwhelming brine. You imagine yourself underwater, a hundred-legged arthropod scuttling along the murky silt at the bottom of the sea...

But then the unmistakable reek of *seagull shit* hits you, buoyed along on the air currents, an acrid melody atop mouldering chords of wood rot and heavy fuel oil.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Still smelling for communists, detective?"

"Yes."

"No."

"What makes you say that?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "No offence, detective, but you're not particularly *subtle*."

SAVOIR FAIRE [Godly: Failure] - The lieutenant's right. It's sort of amazing how *un-subtly* you're sniffing the air around you, almost like you're *trying* to call attention to yourself.

RHETORIC - What the lieutenant thinks is irrelevant. Your politico-olfactory cortex is lighting up like a holiday display. The scent of communism is overwhelming, and it's coming right... from that balcony over there!

You mean from Cindy?

RHETORIC - Certainement! A precocious communist youth, a symbol of a kinder, more hopeful future. Now's your chance to *establish contact* with your revolutionary brothers and sisters.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - A chance to establish contact with the future! What a beautiful, *terrible* thought...

I decide to go up to the balcony to talk to her.

CINDY THE SKULL - "Hello again, officers. Have you come to admire my mural?"

5. "Pissf****t and Fuck the World send their best." 6. (Attempt to establish contact.) "Hey, sister. Let's talk politics for a minute."

CINDY THE SKULL - "I don't believe it. I've never known those boys to have manners."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - The bemusement in her voice doesn't fully mask genuine tenderness.

"They seem to hold you in high esteem."

"I think they're afraid of you."

"Maybe it's just SKULL solidarity."

"I made up the sending their best part. But I did talk to them."

CINDY THE SKULL - "They'll never be SKULLS. But..." She softens. "But their hearts are in the right place."

"SKULLS are cool. Can *I* be a SKULL?"

"SKULLS are silly. What are you even trying to achieve?"

"Got it. Enough of that then."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Fat chance. But you *can* still do your part to revitalize the neighbourhood."

"Okay then. How's that?"

"But I really want to be a SKULL."

CINDY THE SKULL - She throws you a conspiratorial glance, then presses her finger to her lips and squints up at the sky -- as though straining to hear something in the distance.

"Have you noticed the *quiet?* Every so often, you might hear a gunshot pierce the air somewhere in Jamrock. But in Martinaise? No gunshots, no sirens. The people are languishing in boredom and complacency."

"This place is a sepulcher. We'll paint it red. We bring the raucous -- you bring the sirens."

6. (Attempt to establish contact.) "Hey, sister. Let's talk *politics* for a minute."

CINDY THE SKULL - "And what do *you* know about politics?" She squints at you suspiciously.

"I'm looking for comrades to help me fire up the Great Mazovian Sausage Grinder. Will you help me?"

"Mañana at the harbour said there's someone organizing an *underground revolutionary cell*."

"My nose told me that you're also a communist. We should team up, join forces."

"I'm searching for a bunch of *mole people*."

CINDY THE SKULL - The girl erupts in a cackle that seems like it should belong to a much older woman...

"Oh, that's very nice. The little piggy wants to make sausages. Out of what, his little piggy friends?"

"No, out of the bourgeoisie."

"That's what we need to talk about. I don't know who I'm supposed to be making sausages out of!"

(Turn to Kim.) "Don't worry, Kim. I would never make you into a sausage."

"That's right. I'm gonna make juicy sausage links out of the entire 41st Precinct."

KIM KITSURAGI - "It was not a concern of mine." The lieutenant blinks once.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Success] - In the break room of Precinct 41, Sergeant Mack Torson is just now warming a grey sausage over an electric range. The oil in the pan hisses and pops. Torson is dabbing a spot off his pants when his partner, Satellite-Officer Chester McLaine enters, sniffs the air, and frowns...

CHESTER MCLAINE - "Good fucking god, Mack. What is that smell?"

MACK TORSON - "What, like you've never reheated leftovers in the break room?" He skewers the greasy sausage with a small fork and removes it to a limp paper plate.

CHESTER MCLAINE - "Hey, if you wanna dress that up, I think there's still that old bottle of mustard logged in evidence..." He's already laughing at his own joke-in-progress.

MACK TORSON - "What, you mean the one Vic yoinked off..."

CHESTER MCLAINE - "... that hobo in front of the Frittte? Hahaha!"

Keep listening.

(Turn to Cindy.) "Okay, then. Will you help me find the communists?"

CHESTER MCLAINE - "Now you got to ask yourself, Mack. Are you desperate enough for *hobo mustard*?"

MACK TORSON - Torson chews thoughtfully at his sausage for some time. "Hey, Chester, speaking of... do you think Harry ever solved his money situation, or do you think he's gone full hobocop?"

CHESTER MCLAINE - "You mean, like, is he out there right now, sleeping in a storm drain, chasin' down rats for leads?"

"Yeah, I could see it. He's always been weird about money stuff."

+5 XP

"Okay, Cindy. Does that mean you'll help me find the communists?"

CINDY THE SKULL - "Sure. I know someone who'd love to talk that ideological stuff. You're looking for Steban."

"Who's Steban?"

CINDY THE SKULL - "A right communist. Who runs a *mega cool* and *very secret* meeting."

"Does this 'Steban' happen to have a jacket like this?" (Show her the white jacket.)

CINDY THE SKULL - "He might."

"Will you help me find him?"

CINDY THE SKULL - She pretends to think about it for a moment. "No."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant lets slip a sigh that seems to suggest this turn was utterly predictable.

"Is it money you want? Here, take some. I've got plenty." (Offer her 5 reál.)

"I guess I should just give up, then. Nothing *ever* works out for me."

"Just tell me what you want me to do!"

CINDY THE SKULL - "God, if he isn't the saddest pig in the world..."

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - Incidentally, 'The Saddest Pig in the World' is the title of a popular Gottwaldian children's book, written and illustrated by Moritz Metzger. In '26 it received the prestigious *Kritikerpreis* for youth literature.

CINDY THE SKULL - "Oh, fine, I'll help. But first, I want something from *you*..."

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - She's got you by the balls, chief. And she intends to squeeze them.

"What's that?"

CINDY THE SKULL - A wicked grin extends across her face.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - A laughing skull. Death hilarious. This is gonna be baaaad...

CINDY THE SKULL - "Oink for me, piggy. Just once."

"I'm not oinking for you."

"Come on, this is no way to treat your revolutionary brother!"

(With gusto.) "Oink, oink!"

CINDY THE SKULL - "Be a good pig, now. No oink, no goods."

"Come on, this is no way to treat your revolutionary brother!"

(Reluctantly.) "Oink, oink."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Wrong. This is exactly how I treat my little brother."

3. (Through gritted teeth.) "Oink."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Well, well. Seems like we're dealing with one tough pig. I'm impressed..."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Yes, somehow you managed to oink with at least a modicum of dignity.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant, needless to say, is not impressed.

-1 Reputation

CINDY THE SKULL - "Sounds like you're really serious about meeting Steban. It's touching, sort of."

"Steban's group meets only at night, in an old room in these apartments here. It just so happens you're in luck: Their weekly meeting is *tonight*."

"Poke your snout around sometime after 22.00 and you might just find them."

This is the main reason I wanted to come back to Martinaise: I couldn't remember what time we needed to meet Steban.

"Hold on, what else can you tell me about this Steban?"

"That's very helpful. Thank you, Cindy."

"Hmm, why do I feel like there's a catch..."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Just that he's a real communist. Not like the play-acting you've been doing. The rest you'll have to see for yourself."

3. "Hmm, why do I feel like there's a catch…"

CINDY THE SKULL - "Oh, smart pig, because there *is*..."

"See, Steban's a bit on the paranoid side. He's got all these *mega secret passphrases*, to keep out infiltrators and the like. You can't join the meeting without one."

KIM KITSURAGI - "*Ahem*..." The lieutenant clears his throat.

"Not to interfere in your personal errand, but I wonder whether it might have something to do with that phrase Mañana mentioned overhearing."

"Wait, what phrase?"

"Oh, right. Good thinking, Kim."

"I was *totally* about to say that."

"That's really dumb. You should feel embarrassed even suggesting that."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant consults his notebook. "'Remember Dobreva and Abadanaiz'."

"Oh, right. Good thinking, Kim."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant nods.

+1 Reputation

CINDY THE SKULL - "Guess this is what happens when two pigs put their heads together..." She seems slightly disappointed.

"That's enough. Off with you then." She makes a lazy shooing motion with her dangling hand.

6. "Catch you later, Cindy." [Leave.]

[millenari]

Munkustrap for the ask game? 🥺

1. Canon I outright reject

I CANNOT find the post but there's this one Jack Rebaldi interview where he mentions something about how 'no one likes Munkustrap because he's the leader and nobody really likes the guy always giving you orders' and as much as I love Jack Rebaldi's Munk I just don't agree with that interpretation. Everybody loves Munk. To Me.

2. A canon or headcanon hill I will die on

On the flip side of Munk actor interviews, Michael Gruber saying

'[Munk is] entrusted with giving the information to the other, maybe younger cats who have not been to the Jellicle Ball before. He gets up and says exactly what they're here to do. He's also caretaker of the kittens. He wants to make sure everybody's safe; in all the Macavity scares, he's there to protect the tribe. So he is the protector'

about Munk is really fundamental for me and how I see Munk, Munk's role in the tribe, and Munk's role in the story.

3. Obscure headcanon

His owner is an old unmarried lady who lives in an apartment by herself; she calls him Felix and he feels responsible for her bc she 'has no colony'.

4. Favorite line

Michael Gruber's American-ass delivery of 'or hairier' in Pekes is my favorite comedy moment in any and all versions of Cats I've seen, it gets me every time.

5. Best personality trait

He cares, deeply and personally, about pretty much everyone, and never hesitates to put himself out there to assist if someone needs it. He's a natural leader and a quick decision maker even under pressure, but he's still patient and compassionate with everyone he meets-- even when he's stressed or angry, he still makes efforts to be kind.

6. Worst personality trait

Munk physically cannot remove himself from a situation if he thinks he's needed, even if he's actively making it worse. He also is one of those people who refuses to let people just vent at him and tries to solve everyone's problems even if they don't want a solution to their problem.

7. Age/height/weight headcanon

Munk is shorter than Tugger but significantly stronger than him, so he can just scoop Tugger up in a fireman's carry and remove him from a situation if he's being annoying.

8. Unpopular opinion about them

Honestly I think I'm even more normie about Munk than about Tugger. I don't think I have any truly unpopular hot takes about him.

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character

I do love his part of Jenny's song-- the way he's singing directly to the kittens on the ground, and his section of the song has this lullaby feeling to it that's just so calming and tender. I really love how for that song it's a duet (sort of) between a young dude and an older lady, but the older lady gets the snappy upbeat part and the younger dude gets the slow & sweet part. It really just establishes Munk as this soft and nurturing figure from the beginning.

10. Best moment on screen (or in the book)

Bway revival Macavity fight imo. It's just so damn good.

11. Faceclaim for the role

Michael Gruber is rlly my Munk, even the unique shape of his wig in 98 sticks out to me as a Fundamental Munk Thing™.

In human aus he's kind of this lighter-skinned 'racially ambiguous' kind of guy with dark hair, smile lines, a little bit of stubble, and a frequently worn sweater vest.

12. Crack headcanon

I feel like his human version would be a Beyonce fan, but like in the cringiest middle-aged-dad way possible.

13. Dumbest thing they’ve ever done

Munk's always been a pretty level-headed and mature guy, even when he was young, so there isn't much that he's done that I can label as 'stupid' except perhaps jumping into dangerous situations to protect someone without considering his own safety first. My hc for how Plato joined the Junkyard starts with Munk running straight into traffic on a busy street bc he saw baby Plato abandoned between two lanes and petrified from fear.

Random ass kitten Munk had never seen before in his life, and he charged right into mortal danger without a second's thought about it. Brave, but also stupid.

14. Most heroic moment

Munk's doing heroic shit all the time. My previous answer is actually a good example, plus, you know, he's tangled with Macavity more than once.

15. Worst thing they’ve ever done

Munkustrap Has Never Done Anything Wrong, Ever, In His Entire Life.

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves

I don't know if this is 'never admit to himself' levels but Munk wonders a lot if he shares some blame for how Macavity ended up. He and Mac grew up together, and while he always knew his older brother had a temper, he really and truly thought Mac was just rough around the edges, and that he really did care about Munk and the rest of the tribe deep down. But when Macavity betrayed the tribe and started doing Evil Deeds, Munk was left wondering if Macavity had always been rotten deep down, and hid it from all of them for all those years, or if he'd just.... snapped somehow, from the pressure of being Deuteronomy's heir, or something, and maybe there was something Munk could have done to help him before things got too bad.

As is, Munk may never know.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

“There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”

18. What they’d go to see a therapist about

Stress & setting too-high standards for himself, probably.

19. Vices/bad habits

Never resting, for one. He basically never gets enough sleep. It's funny, in my human aus both Tugger and Mac suffer from insomnia, but Munk is oftentimes just as sleep deprived as those two despite being the only Deut bro without insomnia, just because he's always doing things. That man is responding to his work emails at 1:24AM for no goddamn reason.

20. Scars

He's got plenty of scars, most of them not huge, but he's been in all sorts of fights and even if asked he wouldn't even be able to identify how or when he got them.

21. Drink of choice (not just alcoholic)

I think he drinks wine in one scene in my human/celeb/soulmate fic, otherwise he's a real coffee man.

22. Best physical feature

I don't know what other cats would consider his best feature! By cat standards Munk is a handsome dude, but kind of in a normal, average way. Just, you know, a handsome guy you'd see on the street. Honestly I think his general vibes are his most attractive trait, though that's not physical. But nobody in all the world can look at a large muscular man being sweet and cute and patient with little kids and go 'nah 3/10 for me'.

23. If they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

I'm thinking like... forest or campfire or something like that.

24. Most annoying habit

Asking someone to complete a task for him and then changing his mind and completing it himself before they can get to it.

25. 3 things they’d want to take with them if they were dropped off in the middle of nowhere

Again I need more details for this question but a book for sure regardless.

26. What they would do if stuck in an elevator with [insert character of your choice from the same fandom]

Munk I think is a pretty boring character as far as getting-stuck-in-an-elevator shenanigans go. Except for Macavity, that would probably be interesting. Anyone else would probably just be the two trying to escape together and then rock paper scissors for the next six hours.

27. Their guilty pleasure

Human Munk probably has a variety of snackies he considers guilty pleasures, like special chocolates or whatever. Cat Munk would probably say it's 'oh sometimes I go off somewhere in the Junkyard by myself and just sit for a while and enjoy the silence' and the person he's talking to is like THATS NOT A GUILTY PLEASURE THATS JUST KEEPING YOURSELF SANE

28. How they feel about [insert character of your choice from the same fandom]

I headcanon Jemima as being Bomba and Macavity's daughter, though this is a fact Bomba very much keeps to herself-- she's only admitted it to two people and Munk is not one of them. However Munk.... has eyes & he's perfectly aware of who Jemima's father is, though he's never gotten Bomba to actually admit it. This kind of creates a. .. . not 'weird' relationship, but a kind-of sad one, because Munkustrap knows he's this delightful little girl's uncle but she doesn't know it in return, and her finding out will probably be more devastating than anything, because it would come with the knowledge of who her father is.

So Munk just kind of has to treat Jemima just like he does the rest of the kittens and keep the knowledge of their relationship to himself, though he's always wanted a big family.

29. Eating habits

Munk is a Deuteronomy, so in both cat and human aus he can eat for fucking forever. Human Munk likes to cook and bake as well, and he and Demeter make their dinner together every afternoon, and very rarely order takeout.

30. Sleeping habits

Whoops, I already talked about this. He doesn't sleep as much as he should, but he sleeps soundly whenever he does get around to putting his head down.

31. If the had a tumblr what would it look like?

Probably politics. Plus some pictures or art or such that he finds interesting.

32. Something guaranteed to make them smile/laugh

Kittens being cute will very easily get a smile out of him, though he doesn't laugh-laugh terribly often. One thing people don't know about him is that Tugger suffering something that he 1000% brought upon himself absolutely will get an evil grin or two out of Munk.

33. Something guaranteed to make them cry

Just like Tugger's answer, Deuteronomy's death. Munk's not a big crier I don't think, but when he does cry he's usually pretty quiet.

34. How they react when they are feeling X emotion (sad, angry, excited, scared, etc.—can specify as many as you like)

Most of these I think would result in Munk throwing himself into his work with vigor to get his mind off of the Bad Feelings. Munk's not quick to anger but he is quick to calm down after an outburst, and his excitement is usually going to be expressed through singing or dancing.

35. Their idea of a perfect day

This man will honestly be like 'yeah the perfect day would be a bunch of relaxation with my tribemates watching the kittens play and so on and so forth' and then refuse to stop working for ten minutes to make it happen.

36. Their favorite season

Late winter/early spring, the time of the Jellicle Ball and the incoming of the warm season.

37. What they really think about themselves

Munk struggles a lot wondering if he makes the right decisions as a leader and measures himself up to Deuteronomy all the time. He really wishes he could do more even though he's already always busy, and worries a lot whether the trust that the tribe places in him is justified.

38. Favorite holiday

Christmas bitch. Probably also a thanksgiving bitch as well.

39. Favorite game

He probably likes Monopoly. Like an insane person.

40. Favorite book

I imagine he likes reading but I'm not sure what I would say is his favorite book! He probably likes books about history and such a lot, and the occasional historical fiction.

41. If they could have lunch with anyone in the world (living or dead, from any fictional universe or the real world), who would it be?

Probably his mother, whom he doesn't remember well.

42. 3 comfort items

UHH for human aus: he loves the old scrapbooks from when he and his brothers were kids, his favorite flannel jacket, and uh........ does his wife count as a comfort item,,,,

43. 3 favorite foods and 3 they despise

You KNOW Munk has got to be a steak guy. Unlike Tugger he can probably enjoy a good salad, and box mac and cheese is probably one of those things he whips up every once in a while for childhood nostalgia reasons. There probably aren't a ton of foods Munk even dislikes, much less despises.

44. Their happiest memory

Like I mentioned before, this question is hard for me. I hc that he and Demeter have triplets at some point after the events of the musical, so maybe when they were born.

45. Their favorite celebrity

He seems like the type of guy to like Elvis, idk why.

46. The person they most admire

Deuteronomy. I feel like that one is easy lmao

47. Their dream job

I don't think he really had big career aspirations, more of a family man.

48. Scariest moment of their life

Probably when Macavity betrayed the tribe.

49. Favorite toy as a child

He seems like a stuffed elephant kind of guy. Or maybe his collection of the little green plastic army men.

50. A memory they’ve blocked out

I don't think he really has any memories he's consciously or subconsciously blocked out. There are things he tries not to think about or remember, but not on the level of fully blocking anything from his head.

[xtruss]

Kayaking The Waters That Shaped New York City

As NYC Turns 400, One of the Best Ways of Understanding What Propelled the City's Astronomical Growth is by Paddling the Rivers that Built it.

— Eliot Stein | Wednesday 11 September 2024

Credit: Markley Boyer & Eric W Sanderson, from Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City

Somewhere near Inwood Hill Park, home to the last native forests on the Island of Manhattan, the jackhammering racket of the city softened and an orchestra of crickets trilled in unison. I paddled closer to the water's edge, where a tangle of gnarled tree roots gripped boulders deposited during the last Ice Age. Just then, a great blue heron swooped low, landing on a small sandy cove before disappearing into the reeds towards the last remnant of the original salt marshes that once surrounded Manhattan.

"Finally," I thought, after spending the day kayaking around one of the most man-made places on the planet. "Maybe this is something the island's original residents might recognise."

This year marks the 400th anniversary of the founding of New York City – or, more accurately, The Dutch Settlement of New Amsterdam that would grow to become one of the world's greatest cities. It's a complicated milestone, and for years officials have been grappling over what, if anything, they should do to observe the event.

According to historian Russell Shorto, the founding of New Amsterdam 400 years ago is when America began. Credit: Getty Images

As Russell Shorto, author of the best-selling book The Island at the Center of the World explained, this tiny Dutch settlement effectively birthed "The World's First Modern City" – a place powered by pluralism and capitalism under the promise that anyone, regardless of where they came from, could make something of themselves.

"If what made America great was its ingenious openness to different cultures, the small triangle of land at the southern tip of Manhattan island is the birthplace of that idea: this island city would become the first multiethnic, upwardly mobile society on America's shores, a prototype of the kind of society that would be duplicated throughout the country and around the world,'' he writes. More so than Boston, Plymouth Rock or Jamestown, "Manhattan Is Where America Began."

At the same time, the Dutch created this multiethnic society by removing Native people from their lands and importing enslaved Africans to build much of Lower Manhattan. "They brought tolerance and intolerance; capitalism and colonialism. We have to process both of these things in a nuanced way that acknowledges their achievements and failures," Shorto told the BBC.

"Manhattan Is Where America Began."

As a result, the few events honouring the city's quadricentennial have tried to carefully balance how this settlement forever shaped the nation with its dark legacies of land dispossession and slavery. "We're viewing this anniversary more as a commemoration as opposed to a celebration," said Sarah Cooney, the executive director of the Holland Society of New York, which is co-sponsoring a picnic on 14 September at Governors Island, where the Dutch Landed in 1624 before permanently settling in southern Manhattan soon after.

Those early immigrants never could have foreseen that the far-flung fur trading outpost they established would one day rise to become the most linguistically diverse city in history, nor that it would play host to a remarkable experiment that continues to this day: to see whether all the peoples of the world could live together in a single place.

New York City is believed to be the most linguistically diverse city to have ever existed. Credit: Getty Images

In many ways, Manhattan stands as the ultimate triumph of man over nature. But while it may be tempting to view it today less as an island and more as a cement reef covered by steel skyscrapers and manicured parks, the story of how this relatively small 23-square-mile enclave grew to become the economic capital of the world is directly attributable to a natural phenomenon many New Yorkers have long forgotten: its access to water.

"It's all about the water. The entire city is about the water," said Captain Jonathan Boulware, the president and CEO of the South Street Seaport Museum in Manhattan. "The growth of New York into the city we know today as a global capital, a cultural capital and a multicultural city, every single aspect of its identity is rooted in water and its connections to the rest of the world."

And so, as the city reflects on the many things that have made New York "New York" over the last 400 years, I lowered myself into a kayak and set out on a 30-mile circumnavigation of Manhattan in hopes of better understanding the one thing that made it all possible. It turns out that this nine-hour journey isn't just one of the most unique ways of seeing New York City, but a dramatic reminder of how Manhattan is rediscovering its relationship to the very rivers that shaped it.

A Front Door Into The New World

In 1609, Henry Hudson, an English explorer hired by the Dutch to find the fabled Northwest Passage to Asia, steered his ship from the churning waters of the Atlantic into an immense protected bay. He pushed 150 miles upstream on the mile-wide river that would one day bear his name, hoping it led to China. It didn't. But while Hudson had failed to find a faster route to the riches of the East, he stumbled on one of the world's largest natural harbours.

Sheltered from the sea's wrath by Staten Island and Long Island and stretching across a 770-mile network of navigable waterways extending into the continent's interior, this geographical gem wasn't just "a safe and convenient haven, wherein 1,000 ships may ride in safety", as the Dutch chronicler Adriaen van der Donck wrote in 1650, but a front door into the untapped resources of the New World.

The Dutch settled Manhattan because of its incredible access to (and protection from) the sea, and its network of navigable waterways into the interior. Credit: Getty Images

"The harbour of New York is like no other. It's a marvel. It's wide, it's so deep it rarely freezes and it serves as the nexus for two bodies of water [the Hudson and East rivers] that come together to transport goods," said Dr Louise Mirrer, president and CEO of the New-York Historical Society.

This immense commercial potential is what attracted the Dutch to Manhattan from the start. At a time when the most efficient way to move cargo over long distances was by water, the Dutch Republic catapulted from relative obscurity to become one of the wealthiest and most powerful nations in the world by controlling maritime trade. It's also what made Manhattan distinct from other early US settlements. Unlike the Puritans who founded Boston, the Quakers who came to Philadelphia and the Catholics who arrived in Maryland, the Dutch didn't settle Manhattan to worship in peace; they came to make money.

"The Dutch basically created a colony dedicated to capitalism. They didn't really care about religion; they were open to anybody involved in commerce," said Dr Gretchen Sorin, a historian and the director of the Cooperstown Graduate Program at the State University of New York at Oneonta. "And so from the very beginning, New York has always been an incredibly diverse place." According to one document, by 1646 the island was home to some "400-500 men of different sects and nations" speaking about "18 different languages".

But as Shorto explained, "Manhattan was a cultural crossroads long before Europeans arrived there. It wasn't just the Lenape who used it to fish and exchange goods, but also the Shinnecock and other [Native Algonquin] peoples from the whole region who came to take advantage of the harbour and rivers."

Before the Dutch arrived, Mannahatta was an incredibly biodiverse island. Credit: Markley Boyer & Eric W Sanderson, from Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City

After the Dutch purchased Mannahatta or "Island of Many Hills", as it was known, from the Lenape in 1626, more and more seafaring entrepreneurs poured into the harbour to navigate up these rivers, shipping beaver pelts, tobacco and grain from the continent's interior back to Europe. The Dutch eventually declared the settlement a free-trade zone in 1640, and by the time the British took it at cannon point in 1664 and renamed it after the Duke of York, this ambitious, polyglot little seaport had planted the seeds of religious tolerance, individualism and enterprise that would eventually spread across the nation.

Mannahatta: An Ecological Oasis

When the Dutch arrived on Mannahatta, it was a stunningly biodiverse place. In his book Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City, landscape ecologist Eric W Sanderson details that in 1609 the island was home to 66 miles of rivers and streams, 233 species of birds, 32 types of reptiles and amphibians, 70 kinds of trees, 24 species of mammals and 55 different ecosystems – which is more, per acre, than Yosemite and Yellowstone or a typical coral reef or rainforest of the same size. "If Mannahatta existed today as it did then," he writes, "it would be the crowning glory of American national parks."

The British soon surpassed the Dutch as the greatest maritime empire on Earth and Manhattan became a nexus point for the flow of goods and people around the globe. Coopers, blacksmiths, sailmakers and shipbuilders began flooding to the island city, and by the 1770s, New York had become "the breadbasket of the Atlantic", shipping wheat and timber to Britain and importing rum, molasses and sugar – as well as enslaved people – from the Caribbean and Africa. The city would burn at the end of the American Revolution, but over the next few decades, it would become the largest place in the western hemisphere – all thanks to water.

In 1795, New York replaced Philadelphia as the country's main port, and as more ships from around the world flooded in and out of the harbour, the city expanded north from the southern tip of Manhattan at astonishing speed. Old Dutch farms and English estates were quickly carved up into smaller and smaller plots until DeWitt Clinton (arguably the greatest or worst New Yorker in history) spearheaded two ideas that would forever change Manhattan.

The first was to level the entire natural geography of the island to accommodate its growing seaport. In 1811, the city filled in its marshes, paved over its spring-fed ponds and levelled the oak and hemlock forests where wolves and bear once roamed, replacing it all with a massive 11,000-acre street grid that turned this "island of hills" into an island of rectangles.

By 1900, New York harbour was the busiest port in the world and Manhattan was the centre of a new global supply chain. Credit: Alamy

The second was the construction of a 363-mile-long ditch connecting the Hudson River to the Great Lakes. When the Erie Canal opened in 1825, it not only paved the way for Manhattan to become an industrial juggernaut by giving it direct water access to the Midwest, but transformed the young nation by allowing the mass movement of goods, ideas and people across the country. The city was on its way to becoming the busiest port in the World and the centre of a new global supply chain connecting the continent with the rest of the globe. As Manhattan exploded with industry and became the place to do business, so many immigrants steamed into the harbour that according to Census records, by 1860 nearly 70% of adults in New York City were born outside the US.

Manhattan: America's Emporium

The book Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898 reveals that by 1836, 62% of all imports to the US came through Manhattan, and on a single day that year, 921 boats on the East River waited to dock on South Street, while an another 320 waited on the Hudson.

"If you look at aerial photos of Manhattan [in the late 1800s and early 1900s], it's so completely ringed with piers that it looks like a porcupine," Boulware said. "These ships were coming from all over the world to load and unload cargo, and there were a lot of entrepreneurs trying to creatively turn $5 into $6 on those docks. It was an early example of the New York hustle. This is the DNA of the city and the port and water is the core of it."

As planes started replacing passenger liners and container ships were diverted to New Jersey in the 1950s, Manhattan's maritime industry began to collapse. Over the coming decades, piers and warehouses were abandoned, docks fell into decay and New York Harbor, which had been one of the most diverse and dynamic environments on the planet when the Dutch showed up, became a de facto dump.

But in the last decade, billions of dollars have been pumped into cleaning up the city's waterways, a string of ambitious projects have transformed Manhattan's rusting piers into landscaped green spaces and the city's once-derelict waterfront has become a model of urban renewal. As a result, more than four centuries after Hudson's crew reported that waves of Lenape came out to greet their ship in "great canoes" as they approached the island, Manhattan is returning to its water-bound roots, and quickly emerging as one of the US's most unique paddling destinations.

Many boathouses now offer free kayaking all over New York City. Credit: Alamy

"There's no place like it in the country," said Suzy Basu, managing partner of Manhattan Kayak Co, which offers hourly rentals, classes and guided tours around the city – including a 30-mile lap of Manhattan. "So many people here don't even realise Manhattan is an island, but when you paddle around this magnificent, man-made mountain range of towers shooting into the sky, it changes your whole perspective of the city. You'll see."

Kayaking Manhattan

Pushing out of Pier 84 and into the Hudson's swift tidal flow, it quickly became clear that the key to navigating Manhattan's waterways on your own power is something the island's Indigenous residents understood long ago: it's all about the current.

The original Algonquin name for the Hudson River was Mahicantuck or "river that flows two ways". That's because, like the East River that rings Manhattan's opposite end (which isn't actually a river but a tidal strait), its current changes direction every few hours as it flows in and out of the ocean. Therefore, our floating parade of 14 kayakers and four stand up paddleboarders would travel counterclockwise around the island in a perfectly timed route designed to take advantage of the rivers' shifting currents.

Accompanying us were three guides armed with two-way radios whose job was to safely navigate us through the rush of ferries, barges and sightseeing cruises – one of whom was Eric Stiller, Manhattan Kayak Co's 64-year-old founder, who estimates he's circumnavigated the island 80 to 100 times. He explained that back in the 1980s, there was no access to the water for paddlers anywhere, so he used to jump fences and launch his foldable kayak in the Hudson from rotting piers. As word of his exploits spread, people started paying him to lead them out into the rivers where no one else dared go.

"My first paying customer was [American singer] David Lee Roth, followed soon after by John F Kennedy Jr," he said, as we paddled towards the glimmering pinnacles of the Chrysler and Empire State buildings in the distance. "We used to wheel kayaks out [in the Meatpacking District], jump the fence and paddle out to Ellis Island. That's how this all started."

Fast-forward to today and the New York City Water Trail connects paddlers with 160 square miles of navigable waterways, dozens of launch sites dot the city and many of Manhattan's newly opened boathouses now offer free kayaking.

As the current carried us south along the 550-acre Hudson River Park that runs along Manhattan's western shore, the island's recent waterfront revival unfolded in front of us. Since first opening in 1998, the park has been slowly transforming many of the collapsing piers that once propelled the city's growth into creative urban oases – all while paying homage to Manhattan's maritime past and incorporating native ecosystems that thrived here 400 years ago.

We soon paddled past Little Island, a $260m "floating park" rising like a bouquet of tulip-shaped concrete columns from the Hudson that opened in 2021. Built atop the former Cunard Line dock that shipped people and goods between Manhattan and the British Empire (and next to the pier where the survivors from the Titanic landed in 1912), it's home to 350 species of flowers, trees and shrubs that Mannahatta's early residents would recognise today.

Moments later, we drifted past Gansevoort Peninsula, where novelist Herman Melville spent years working as a customs inspector at the wharf after writing Moby Dick. Opened in 2023, the park features a restored marsh, native grasses and a 1,200-ton sand beach designed to mirror those that lined the island's western shore when the Dutch arrived.

The $260m Little Island park now rises from the nubs of Manhattan's commercial piers. Credit: Getty Images

Tribeca's 2.5-acre "ecologically themed" Pier 26 then came into view, where a newly planted woodland forest, coastal grassland and maritime scrub is designed to mimic the river's original coastal habitat. A brand-new "Estuarium" opened in January 2024 featuring a playground inspired by fish species that thrived in the Hudson before European colonisation, and as I looked to my left, I spotted children climbing into the gills of a colossal Atlantic sturgeon.

Work is underway on the other side of Manhattan, too, where the East Midtown Waterfront project is part of a grand vision to close the loop and provide New Yorkers with continuous waterfront open space around Manhattan once it's completed in 2026.

As we approached the southern tip of Manhattan where the Dutch settled, a sudden "Hold!" command from Stiller thrust me back into the present. Four centuries later, these waters remain Manhattan's busiest maritime throughfare. With boats and barges rumbling all around us, Stiller explained that once he gave the signal, we had exactly 10 minutes to round the island's southern point before the next Staten Island ferry stormed by.

I glanced over at the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island on my right, One World Trade Center on my left and snapped a quick picture with my phone. Then, one of our guides, Tommy Montgomery said, "You're going to want to secure that now before we get to Hell Gate."

"Before we get to what?" I asked.

But before he could reply, Stiller shouted, "Now, now, now!"

Top: Paddlers pass under 21 bridges when circumnavigating Manhattan, including the Brooklyn Bridge. Credit: Eliot Stein Bottom: One thousand ships every year used to crash at Hell Gate, and when officials blew up its bedrock in 1885, the explosion was heard 50 miles away. Credit: Alamy

Paddling as hard as we could, our crew quickly crossed the channel, caught the East River's flood tide and shot north on an 11-knot (12.5 mph) highway past the last 19th-Century cargo sailing ship still docked at the historic South Street Seaport and under the Brooklyn, Manhattan and Williamsburg bridges. At one point, I noticed we were zipping past a kid biking along the East River Greenway. As we neared the northern tip of Roosevelt Island, Montgomery looked back at me.

"Okay, this" he said, "this is Hell Gate. Stay to the left and paddle hard."

Coined by the Dutch (Helle Gadt) and known as the most notorious stretch of the city's complex waterways, Hell Gate is the swirling, churning, narrow tidal strait where the Harlem and East rivers meet. It's also the final resting place of hundreds of ships. But because successfully traversing it could save merchants sailing from New York Harbor to New England days of travel, so many sailors tried to run its gauntlet that in the 1850s, an estimated 1,000 ships ran aground here every year. In 1885, at the height of Manhattan's maritime might, officials determined that subduing this treacherous passageway was so crucial to the nation's economy that the US Army Corps of Engineers blew up its bedrock with 300,000 lbs of explosives in the largest planned detonation before the atomic bomb.

Today, the confluence remains chaotic and unpredictable – akin to "paddling through a whirlpool", as Stiller later told me – but with the currents working in our favour, we were soon beached at Randall's Island.

One of the consequences planners likely didn't consider when they paved over Manhattan's natural topography is that there are virtually no places people can feasibly stop when kayaking around it – even for a bathroom break. A rocky beach on Randall's Island is one of the few exceptions. So as the other paddlers downed their energy bars and I tucked into my Bodega Sandwich, I took a moment to meet them.

Of the group's 17 other paddlers, 11 were women and only one other person had never completed "the circ". There was Nick Avrutin, who said he spends so much time on the water with Manhattan Kayak Co that he now stores his kayak at the boathouse; Stacey Hull, who was attempting her first circ on a stand up paddleboard after many in a kayak; and Giandomenica Becchio, who travels from her home in Turin, Italy, to New York every summer to lap the island.

"When you get on the water, it really gives you a different perspective of what the city is," said Eva Rivlin, looking down at a crab that had washed up on the beach. "Our shorelines are these incredible, diverse ecosystems, and to see it from this perspective, you really understand not only the scale of the city but how it all fits together."

As we chatted, a family waded into the water nearby. Officials maintain that after decades of neglect and abuse (and a more-than $45bn restoration effort), the city's waterways are now cleaner and healthier than they've been since the Civil War. In fact, many experts agree that it's generally safe to swim in the Hudson, and I even spotted a swimmer tearing through the river later that day. Rivlin pointed across the river to one of the 700 outfalls that dump billions of gallons of sewage into the city's waterways each year, but she also pointed towards a rusting pier reclaimed by the Billion Oyster Project, whose ambitious goal is to restore the 220,000 acres of oyster reefs that sustained the Lenape and nourished the Dutch.

"People still have this perception that the water is dirty and not safe, and it's still dirty, but it's incredible the developments in the last 15-20 years that have changed it by leaps and bounds," Rivlin said.

A 1,000-Year-Old Rock in Inwood Hill Park marks the site where the Dutch allegedly purchased Manhattan. Credit: Alamy

Two hours and 13 bridges later, we had finally paddled our way out of the Harlem River's modern industrial sprawl and reached the island's northern tip at Inwood Hill Park, where Mannahatta's primordial past still defies Manhattan's paved presence. It's perhaps fitting that here, just a few steps from a series of caves used by the island's Native inhabitants for millennia, a 1,000-year-old rock marks the site where the Lenape purportedly sold the island to the Dutch four centuries ago.

Moments after I watched the heron vanish into the reeds, the trilling of crickets was swept aside by the whooshing traffic and whirring helicopters of the city. My fleeting glimpse of Mannahatta was gone – or so I thought.

As we waited for the Hudson's current to shift so it could carry us south towards the soaring skyscrapers of Midtown, it occurred to me that for as much as this island had changed in the last 400 years, one part of its natural landscape remained the same – and it had been guiding me around Manhattan all day.

[synthy-sizer]

Eventually, Violence lets you out of the room. "You're better off with Heresy for now. I'm not really a people person." He smiles at you awkwardly and waves you off. "Her group is a little strange, but you'll be ok." You walk back out and see Heresy leaning against the wall. The woman she was talking to is gone. "Who was that?" She perks up when she sees you. "That was Lust, she's one of us." You follow her out into the cool night air. "But who are you, exactly?" Heresy looks at you. "Sit down with me." She sits down in the grass and you awkwardly follow suit. Heresy looks up at the sky. You do too, and look at Luna, your former home, from far away. "It's me and 8 other people. We all somehow got dragged into Purgatory and were reborn as something else. When we came back, Earth was in ruins. Absolute chaos. People were being possessed and turned into monsters. And angels like you saw were roaming around. It was literally Hell." You turn away from the moon and look at her. She has sadness in her eyes. "But we were ready. We were...powerful. We had broken free from our cocoons and managed to establish order. We took over the old Apollo facilities and saved people, and formed colonies. The 9 of us, working together, forming factions and unraveling everything Apollo hid from the world. And we decided on a plan." Your anxieties come bubbling up again at the mention of a plan.

"What are you going to do?" She looks back at you. "What else? We're going to chase Apollo down to where they're hiding. Some of us are curious, some want revenge, and I'm seeking something greater." She smiles at you. "We all have different reasons, but we're working towards the same goal. Like a real community." You look back up at the moon. "Did you bring me here to spare me?" She looks down and back up. "It's not like I chose you specifically. I was told to search, and I found you. I want to save everyone I can, of course, but you're here for more than that. You're special." You don't really understand, but you're not sure you ever could. "Hey, why don't I get you something hot to drink?" You nod. You would like that a lot. Heresy stands up and walks back to the building, leaving you to watch Luna. You reach out your hand and grasp at it. So close and yet so out of reach. You lie down on your back and take in the atmosphere. You're so tired. It's been so long since you had a moment to yourself to rest. Even when you were still on Luna, ever since you found the hatch you had felt unsafe within your own home.

After a while, you hear footsteps in the grass and Heresy comes into your vision, standing over you with a ceramic mug. "Hi, Sofia." You sit up and take the mug from her hands, and she sits back down next to you. You take a whiff of the mug. The smell is very familiar and yet somehow as if you haven't tasted it in years. "I brought you some coffee." You hold the mug in both hands, letting the warmth soak into you, alleviating the shivering cold. "Do you have cream and sugar?" She shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it isn't that bad black." You take a sip. It's bitter and strong, but strangely pleasant. Maybe your dad was right. "Hey, Heresy?" You ask. "What is it?" You look down at the mug and then back up at her. "Is Heresy your real name?" She shakes her head. "No, just a title." You take another sip. "Do you mind if I ask what your real name is?" She smiles at you. "Not at all."

"It's Jordan, Jordan Bernett." She holds out her hand, recreating the gesture of meeting you for the first time. "Nice to meet you, Sofia."

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[emblazonet]

DRAGONSDAWN REVIEW

This is a heckin weird book and I started off enjoying it until I Was Not Enjoying it.

The intro seemed interesting enough: we’ve got people who are escaping a variety of circumstances (including retired war veterans). They’re looking to colonize an uninhabited planet, which neatly sidesteps major issues in other colonial literatures, since, well, there’s no one sentient to object!

Personally, the sciencey stuff seems fine... I’m nota science person to begin with, and I was mildly interested by their tech and how it was described. Nothing stood out as weird. Maybe funny, when they refer to film or tapes, since we’ve established this is in our future and the colonists are often from actual places: Ireland, etc.

I did find it weird that they name a bunch of places after places on Earth. Why bother? Why not just make names that actually communicate something about the landscape they’re in? This is somethig that obviously colonists did here to North America—every city I’ve lived in has roads that are named ‘Hillside’ or ‘Pinevale’ or something (even if there are no hills or pines). In my hometown, Beacon Hill was a region my high school was in (and I’m not sure there was ever a beacon or a hill); in my current city, Beacon Hill is a park. It’s stupid and I hate it. Name things organically, or else it feels WEIRD. (In books. Obviously IRL just use the indigenous names and maybe please do a land back, like with Haida Gwaii!)

I know, I’m yelling about colonial problems at an author who has a weird obsession with bloodlines. And who killed off all the black characters in the first Threadfall. Uh huh. Moving on.

There are too many characters in this book, by the way. There are too many AND they are kinda bland. They run together. I don’t know why I should care about any of them. It’s weird that it’s supposed to be multicultural or whatever but it never feels like it. The way other cultures are represented is kinda uncomfortable. Spoilers and stuff upcoming.

Paul and Emily seem like they should have Main Character Energy, but neither does. They’re important people or something but the narrative never makes you feel it. There’s a whole bunch of names that keep coming up but I can never rememeber who they are or what they do... Pol, Bay etc. Idk.

Sorka and Sean are obviously telegraphed as some of the first dragonriders, they’re the sort of Adam and Eve first kids of Pern, and they’re boring and I grew to kinda dislike them by the end of the book because they’re just like Generic Hetero Couple and it was very yawn.

I liked Kenjo, I though he was going to be The First Dragonrider because the book goes on and on about his flying ability, the way he can conserve fuel, all that. But actually he dies halfway through and I hate that actually, because it feels like any build up with this character never went anywhere. His death was pointless but the story didn’t even make it about the pointlessness, so like... why?

Sallah’s seduction of Tarvi, a pretty man, was awkward as fuck. She drugs him and they fuck and then later she’s like ‘why doesn’t he seem to love me?’ BECAUSE YOU DRUGGED HIM? OH MY GOD????? At least Dragon Sex Pollen gives you an out! There’s no excuse to for this nonsense! And then when she dies, Tarvi—changing his name to her last name, Telgar—has this ‘oh I DID love her after all’ grief thing but it comes across as super contrived.

Look, I stand by actually liking Lessa/F’lar, but I’ve pretty much hated every single other romantic relationship in this series (except for Moreta/Alessan ... Moreta is the best book).

Speaking of Sallah’s tragic death aboard the orbiting, fuelless colony ship—her murderer is the Obviously A Villain Avril Bitra. Who is a mean gold-digger lady who is also a slut, and Anne, did you need to work something out with this one? Avril is set up as a villain but instead of being a threat to anything, she basically does a stupid and dies, but manages to take Sallah down with her. But her inexplicably meanness with Sallah has a weird sexual undertone to it? I’d be into it if I didn’t hate it. Like. The scene where Sallah is cut up and Avril is tormenting her is SO CHARGED and it could’ve been so good except it’s... it’s just not. It feels incredibly out of place! It’s the climax of the book in terms of intensity, but it’s in the middle and we haven’t even gotten to the dragons yet!

Thread, by contrast, wasn’t even that dramatic. Oh noo, there’s Thread.

And the dragons feel sort of rushed into the end of the book. There’s something weird about the biologist and her granddaughter. They’re Chinese, and everyone loves the grandmother, but apparently the granddaughter is an unpleasant bitch and there’s no explanation offered at all. I have no idea why the characterizations are so weird and awkward, but they really are.

How many times can I say ‘weird and awkward’ in one review???

Also, why does that one MAGA-style asshole, Ted Tubberman, try to bioenginner felines? What even was that? There’s literally nothing relevant about it? WHY WAS IT INCLUDED? Why wasn’t it cut?? It doesn’t do anything for the plot or characters except, I guess, kill off a loose end? Who was already exiled?

By the way, the glee with which everyone exiles this dude is so weird. ‘We didn’t kill him! We just ostracized him forever!’ Wow. Just. Wow. I don’t even know what to say.

In sum, basically, this book is a structural mess with bad characters. It had a fun dragonfighting sequence three pages from the end, and that was probably my favourite part.

I don’t know how a book with so much stuff happening crammed into it could be so boring, but here we are. Like, this wasn’t Nerilka-level bad: it didn’t do any character assassinations because it wasn’t a sequel to anything that came before. But it was a slog, and it didn’t even have the grace to have a lot of dragon-related screen time to offset it.

3/10, a structural disaster.

[liminal-librarian]

Video game idea

You're a Borg drone (or similar) being sent to covertly infiltrate a relatively well-established Federation colony world (or similar). (Waking up from a Total Recall-like reprogramming scenario would also work.)

The thing is you are Human or Romulan (whichever you picked in the character editor), and the colony you're trying to infiltrate is the other.

So you look mostly right but are subtly wrong and alien, (and you bleed the wrong colour, if things ever go bad enough for that to matter).

Meanwhile, you are out of touch with the collective, (perhaps all cutscenes are when you are in contact with the collective and therefore your actions are not your own decisions to make.)

Also, because most borgs have excessive numbers of implants as soon as they finish growing, and some even earlier, you're a kid.

But that's fine, your job is to infiltrate not to fight.

I think it's somewhat open-world (like Minecraft, except you're not yet strong enough to mine at the speed an adult would, or at all.) and somewhat mission-driven (like Quake 2). (I guess that sort of totals out to a game rhythm similar to Freelancer.)

Anyway, I was thinking of first-person shooter aesthetics as much as possible, but it's really an RPG where you are the illegal /undocumented alien and have to accomplish the tasks without combat or legal employment.

And the thing is, you're mostly in civilian areas for the early part of the game. And maybe in the middle part of the game, you're in military bases, but if the planet isn't yet in lockdown / high alert status, no one really pays attention to a kid wandering around as long as you're using the sidewalk or kicking a soccer ball. But once you actually get into areas that are meant to be secure, now you're going to get in trouble if spotted, etc.

To make things harder and more realistic, your perfect translation protocols rely on being in contact with the processing power of the collective, so the natives' speech starts out say, Esperanto/Toki Pona/[whatever language you selected to learn when you installed] or similar and written in the galactic alphabet or IPA or whatever, and gradually as you become familiar with various words, speech bubbles get interlinear translated/annotated with sitelen sitelen/Hiragana->Kanji)/or whatever, (and eventually English or whatever interface language you set when you installed the game. Or optionally not, if you're here for the immersive language practice and turn that final level of translation off)

Maybe the translator updates are episodic, all the words you heard before the last cutscene you now have better translations for. Or maybe updates are continual/gradual (every time you hear a new word a 3rd/6th/12th time, you decode it to the next level)

I'm also thinking about ... what if you get caught anywhere before the military base:

Do you get deported? You don't have papers, where would they send you? Off planet? Out of the system to a human world? Is the nearest human settlement on/world or off? Placed with a family or in a boarding school? (Hey, now you get the actual tutorial you wanted! But your chance at a speedrun is shot, or maybe it's better this way, you get exposed to a lot more words, without needing to do an extensive amount of sneaking.) And plausibly whatever world you get sent to is also something that the collective would like information about.

I don't know. Make something up, I guess.

Anyway, I'd want it to be playable as an RPG or as a FPS or as a myst-like (explore but stay out of sight.)

[mynameisalanwake]

life shall go for life

a Laoise Shepard origin fic

Earthborn Laoise Shepard had no family to speak of - especially not after what happened to the Reds.

Sirens echoed off the walls of the mostly empty warehouse, strobing indicator lights occasionally illuminating scattered stacks of crates. Laoise Shepard covered her ears and scrambled into cover, but the cargo provided little shelter from the sprinklers that let loose overhead, spitting fruitlessly at a non-existent fire.

“Where the fuck is Leo? I’m going to kill him.” She hissed the threat to no one through clenched teeth. This job was supposed to be textbook for the Reds – rescue a group of humans snatched from the Philadelphia alleyways by wannabe slavers, par for the course in the metropolis. Ever since Earth had cemented its status in the intergalactic community two decades ago, cities were rife with human trafficking as the demand for cheap labor now spanned multiple star systems. Families quickly fled to newly established human colonies, leaving those who could not afford the trip off-world behind. Their contact advised an exchange was meant to occur here, about a dozen people intended for a mining operation on another system, but someone tipped their target off. As soon as the Reds crossed the threshold of the depot, all hell broke loose as the slavers opened fire. Now her second-in-command, an older mercenary who called himself Leo, was missing in action when she needed him most.

Suddenly, shots rang out – first one, then the burst of an automatic weapon unloading.

“Leo!”

The echoes made it more difficult to triangulate the location of the gunfire, but Laoise still scrambled to her feet, knuckles turning white around the grip of her pistol as she scanned the room. She shuffled through the pooling water on the warehouse floor, making her way to the main shipping office that was the group’s original rendezvous point. Its door was locked as expected, but the giant observation window overlooking the cargo bay was now shattered to bits, its shards glittering amidst the puddles. As she approached, the sound of voices became noticeable under the blaring of the siren. Laoise ducked beneath the window ledge, squatting with her back pressed against the wall and pistol at the ready as disembodied voices behind her began to argue.

“Your team were supposed to be unarmed. What about ‘pick up civilians’ says, ‘show up fully armed’?”

“Listen, if you knew the shit we usually dealt with on these operations, you’d make sure you can hold your own.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot your whole ‘vigilante’ thing. You couldn’t convince anyone to leave a gun at home today?”

“Have you seen Shepard? Girl doesn’t go anywhere unarmed.” Laoise knew the second voice in an instant – Leo. The bastard. “Besides, you knew the bitch is biotic. You never would’ve stood a chance one-on-one. Best move is to flush the little rat out, force her to retreat, and take what we got. Five healthy bodies’ll fetch us at least a grand – if we patch up the sixth one, maybe another hundo.”

The first voice laughed, but there was no joy. It was hollow and angry, meant to dismiss Leo, to make him feel small. “Cerberus isn’t paying me to adopt your litter of street urchins, McCabe. They want biotics. I’m here for the biotic.” BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. Each gunshot, slow and deliberate, rang out clearly over the din of the fire alarm. Six shots. Six members of the Reds, other than her and Leo. “Now bring me Shepard.”

The office door slid open and Laoise heard two sets of footsteps retreating through the puddles, one set focused and heavy, the second favoring one foot over the other – Leo’s right ankle tended to flare up under stress. After the door shut, she sat for a moment, the sound of the sprinklers and the siren fading into the background like static as the reality of the situation sunk in and the water soaked her clothes.

This was a trap. Their intel was bad. There was no slaver. Leo McCabe betrayed the Reds. Something named Cerberus wanted her. One two three four fix six shots.

Her team.

Laoise winced as she slowly stood – shards of glass ripped through her too-tight jeans, blood mixing with water on the concrete floor. She stepped through the hole previously occupied by the windowpane with her pistol prepared in case Leo or his unnamed companion returned. A brief scan with her omni-tool didn’t reveal any surprises, just a quickly fading mass of hot spots in the corner of the room: the Reds.

They were laid out along the opposite wall, face down and shoulder-to-shoulder, hands tied behind their backs. Each had been shot execution style, a single bullet through the back of their head. Laoise flipped her teammates over one by one while silent tears mixed with dirty water from the sprinkler on her freckled cheeks.

Mitchell. The oldest on their crew, the one they all called “Dad,” whether he liked it or not. She had never met a more impressive engineer – Mitch could fix anything you handed him and always had a smile on his face while doing it. He looked even older now, the grey in his long dark hair and beard obvious even in the still-flashing lights.

Korin. Just enlisted with the Alliance for his eighteenth birthday. His parents died in the First Contact War when both were stationed in Shanxi. Laoise remembered how excited he was to finally get off this rock and make something of himself. His glasses lay askew on his face, one lens completely popped out. She adjusted them over his closed eyes.

Emelie. Too young to be as talented a sniper as she was. Only a year her junior, Emelie quickly became the bad cop to Laoise’s good cop – while the latter preferred to working things out with words, the former never hesitated to pop off a round in a kneecap to get some answers. She and Korin recently started dating, and she was eager to ship off with him as soon as possible.

Imrah. A transplant from some country to the south that Laoise could never remember. She was quiet, hard, always had her right hand on her revolver and her left hand on a hidden blade somewhere. Her wedding ring never left her finger, but she never spoke of a partner. She came to Philly hoping for a better future and got wrapped up trying to do some good for others instead.

Vogel. Always hiding his insecurity behind jokes and tricked-out shotguns. His pockets were filled with ammunition and granola bars, which Laoise came to appreciate. Someone had to make sure the group ate, after all. He was clearly the victim of the first round of gunfire she heard: along with the solitary hole in his head, his chest was ripped open, torn apart by an automatic weapon. Probably Leo’s response to some half-hearted joke made in a desperate attempt to save their hides.

Penny. Laoise told Penny not to come, that it was too risky. She was the baby of the Reds, only fifteen and left behind when her parents fled to the new colonies. They didn’t have the funds to bring her along. The team took her in, promised to keep her safe, and now…

Laoise stood up and stepped back, taking one last look at her now-deceased crew. “I’m so sorry,” she quietly choked out, her throat aching with suppressed sobs. “I never meant for any of this to happen.” When she joined the Reds two years ago, they were petty criminals taking turns warming beds in the city jail, gaining infamy for their virulent anti-alien rhetoric as human kidnappings ramped up. The group splintered with multiple factions referring to themselves by the name; Shepard fighting back ferociously against the questionable reputation other Reds cultivated. Their efforts finally made a dent – they were getting hired for jobs, helpful jobs, the kinds that would only improve life for the humans still on Earth.

And now, it was all for nothing.

 She muttered a prayer for her friends, unfamiliar words to a being she didn’t quite believe in, begging for them to get the peace they so deserved. Once she felt the deity was satisfied, she turned from the bodies on the floor to finish the Reds’ last job.

“Leo!” Laoise shouted using every ounce of air in her lungs as she flew back to the center of the room. She aimed her pistol to the ceiling and fired off a few rounds – if he was still in the building, there’s no way he didn’t hear it. “Come on, you motherfucker! Face me!” The sprinklers continued their deluge; the roar of pounding water on concrete was the only sound in the empty warehouse. The buzzer had long since given up its task of alerting non-existent ears to a non-existent emergency. Finally, the rickety metal balcony overhead let out a loud groan behind her. She whipped around, fingering the trigger, and saw Leo watching her from above with a satisfied grin on his heavily scarred face.

He was once Laoise’s go-to guy, an experienced mercenary who chased the woman he loved to Philadelphia and didn’t have the money to follow her off-planet. Leo tried to take down a trafficking ring himself but was instead taken hostage, then rescued by the Reds, which led to him reluctantly joining their cause. Now, he stood over her with the clear advantage and he knew it.

“It’s over, Shepard,” he proclaimed, “your Reds are gone, and I’ve been paid big money to bring you in, especially if you’re still breathing.”

“Not a chance.” She stood stalwart, feet shoulder width apart, pistol pointed right between Leo’s eyes. “I trusted you, Leo. We all did.”

“Trusting anyone on this shitty rock was your first mistake. Why fight so hard for a planet that doesn’t give a fuck about you?”

Rage and biotic energy swirled through Laoise, hot and unfocused. Before she could retort, she was hurtling into him, a glowing mass effect field propelling her to the balcony where the traitor stood. She slammed him against the wall, forearm pressed firmly against his throat, burning it.

“It was never about me.” The two glared at each other, Laoise’s fist raised and crackling with dark energy, Leo’s gloating smirk now a sputtering struggle for breath.

A large crash to their right interrupted the confrontation. The warehouse’s metal door began sliding up on its tracks, gradually revealing the painfully bright high beams of law enforcement vehicles. Laoise shielded her eyes from the light, releasing her grip on Leo. His eyes jumped frantically between Shepard and their interloper – was the money worth it after all? Ultimately, he threw his hands up in defeat and turned to leave.

“You got off lucky this time, Shepard – though you should’ve considered taking your chances with Cerberus. Those look like Alliance trucks.” He disappeared, allowing the darkness between each jarring flash of the emergency light to swallow him whole.

Alliance? It didn’t make sense for those military thugs to be on Earth, let alone in a shitty warehouse in Philadelphia. The sprinklers were now shut off and the depot was quickly filled with scattered conversations and heavy, methodical footfalls through puddles as the soldiers scanned the room. Laoise sat as still as possible, finger hovering over the trigger, now ducked behind the balcony’s guardrail.

“Fill me in, Wilmoth. Why are we here again?” A voice asked, coming through clearly over the din. His tone sounded authoritative but exhausted, as though this was the last item on a very long to-do list.

“Our Cerberus contact gave us intel – they’re looking for biotics, preferably kids. There’s one in a local gang that’s been causing problems for them… and us.” The steps came to a stop barely ten feet away from her, close enough she could hear the first man’s exasperated sigh. “Nothing major, Commander Anderson. Just some flat tires and destroyed recruitment materials.”

“Do we know anything about the target?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“A shame. I hope Cerberus didn’t get them..”

They began to retreat, continuing their discussion. Laoise held her breath and weighed her options. They hadn’t noticed her; if she stayed right here, they wouldn’t see her, and she could get away. But what next? She was alone, no Reds, no friends, just the shoddy little apartment in Center City they shared. The apartment that would be filled floor-to-ceiling with their belongings, reminders they’re no longer around. There was nothing left there for her. There were no other options – just one.

“Excuse me?” She stood, placing her gun down in front of her and holding up both her hands. “Hi. I think they were looking for me.” The Alliance officers eyed her curiously, as though they were still waiting for her ambush from above. After a beat, the older man took a step closer to her. His sharply tailored jacket, decorated with glimmering badges, stood out in the sea of flak jackets – the commander himself.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Shepard. Laoise Shepard.”

“And where are your parents, Shepard?”

She scoffed. “Beats me. Not even sure they’re in this star system anymore.” He chuckled at her casual response. Laoise slid off the balcony, landing with a thud by their side. “Who are you?”

“Commander David Anderson, Alliance.” His answer was snappy, practiced. “We’re supposed to be here on a recruiting trip, but we got a little side-tracked when we heard about Cerberus operating in town. You okay?” He gave her a once-over. She squirmed under his stern eye.

“Been better.” She couldn’t stop herself from staring at the office beyond him. “Mostly just wet, sore.” Another beat. “He killed my friends.”

Anderson was taken aback but recovered quickly – he silently gestured for his men to examine the office while he guided Laoise in the other direction, a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s never easy.” He sounded genuine. He had experience.

She gave an indignant sniff, not yet open to connecting with the stranger. “Nothing I can do about it now, I guess.” Now that Leo escaped. “So, can I come with you?”

“You want to come with us? How old are you?”

“Seventeen. Well, turning seventeen in April.”

Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose as he considered her request. “So, what? You want to enlist with the Alliance? You’re not old enough yet.”

“I’m biotic, remember? And it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. Or I could just wait here for Cerberus…” Laoise trailed off, rolling her eyes at the commander and pursing her lips. He looked to the ceiling – perhaps wondering what his superiors might say? Maybe he thought she was more trouble than she was worth. After what felt like eternity, he let out a long exhale.

“You make a fine point, Shepard,” Anderson conceded. “Welcome aboard.” He extended his right hand, which she gladly grasped with both of hers and gave an enthusiastic shake.

“Pleasure doing business, sir.” A wicked grin crossed her face – one Commander Anderson would come to know all too well.