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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years ago

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I Know Places - Director Orson Krennic x Reader 4 (Rogue One)

* I was originally going to use this song for Patience. So. It’s come full circle!

Finale to I Think He Knows / Hero / Protector

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale

Author’s Note: We’re here! We are concluding my 4 part Retcon / AU Krennic request series! @purebloodwitch I can never thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to write this! I know it’s taken me almost a whole year to finish it! 🙈 But I do hope you’d forgive me, and I hope you enjoy my conclusion! 💙💜

I Know Places - Taylor Swift Ah, we begin and end with Taylor and also similar titles!

Disclaimer: Rogue One characters not mine / Star Wars plots etc not mine (might have slightly screwed up a little here but...) / lyrics & gifs not mine

Premise: Your relationship is shaky now, how can it not be? Orson’s career is in ruins, and you have strategic battles to win. There’s a lot on both your minds, and in trying to protect each other from The Empire, wires get crossed...

Words: 9834

Warnings: Swearing / Basically constant ‘threat’ / AU/Retcon

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You stand with your hand on my waistline It's a scene and we're out here in plain sight I can hear them whisper as we pass by It's a bad sign, bad sign Something happens when everybody finds out See the vultures circling, dark clouds Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out It could burn out 'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns They are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run Baby, I know places we won't be found And they'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down 'Cause I, I know places we can hide I know places, I know places Lights flash and we'll run for the fences Let them say what they want, we won't hear it Loose lips sink ships all the damn time Not this time Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it, my love They are the hunters, we are the foxes, and we run Baby, I know places we won't be found And they'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down 'Cause I, I know places we can hide I know places They take their shots, but we're bulletproof And you know for me, it's always you In the dead of night, your eyes so green And I know for you, it's always me

---

Orson didn’t have too much time to get totally depressed about it, not really. You were back in the air and had a job to do. But you clearly weren’t his favourite person; when he requested a room of his own aboard the Resolution it stung. But you couldn’t grant him his wish, due to lack of availability. So even though he was in your room he wasn’t sleeping with you, and any time you tried to broach the subject with him he simply pushed you away. You had to give him time, and as much space as this ship, and your quarters, were able to provide. He had to know that you never wanted this. He had to know that your only option was to save his life, again. If the Empire managed to tear you apart over this, then you were about to have serious doubts over how genuine this relationship was.

You were sure he hadn’t been black listed, considering his tablet pinged on occasion and you couldn’t think it would do that for any other reason than work. But Krennic would stare at the message and then sigh and turn it over again. You had thought about leaving him to collect himself on Coruscant but, if you did that, he would likely run into people that would ask a lot of uncomfortable questions of him. Let alone, with the tensions between you, the arms of someone else… he still had that reputation. You were also wary of the potential for just about anyone to come for him again - and at least Krennic agreed that he was safer with you.

You weren’t really sure how you were supposed to tell him that he looked so good out of uniform though - you thought he’d get angry if you did that. It was freedom, you thought. Yet not freedom he wanted. Still, button up shirts and smart black pants were his new uniform of choice and he was easy on the eye.

Today you were sprung into action by an emergency alarm - the Death Star was under attack and your assistance was urgently required. Part of you debated ignoring orders - Tarkin got himself into this; he could damn well get himself out. However, you knew you were already on thin ice you’re your superiors, and it was Orson’s baby. Like it or not that Tarkin was in charge now - you weren’t sure you’d forgive yourself if Krennic found out you’d disobeyed these orders.

You turned to your bridge, after weighing it up and sighed gently; “Okay, Sayra-!” “Yes m’am!” She stood to attention, but it looked like she was already three steps ahead of you. “Make sure that what we’re doing is broadcast ship wide... Tell Tarkin the Resolution is on its way. Alarms on, battle stations, prepare for the lightspeed jump. Don’t wait for my signal, take it as soon as you’re able.” You turned to Jerod, “You think Tully will be there?” “Without a doubt.” “Great - with me, we need a strategy...” Jerod got a little closer than necessary. “This better not be a plan for treason!” “You think I wanna help Tarkin?!” “I think your partner thinks you’ve done enough-!” You scoffed, “All he needs to know is we’re going to ‘protect’ his project.” Jerod smiled knowingly - you still weren’t talking; “I knew you broadcast ship wide like that for a reason.” ** Tully stared at you (probably rightly) like you were insane, “You’re lucky they don’t monitor this-! Are you crazy-!?! Hasn’t Tarkin done enough to you!?” “If he thinks I’m just gonna bend to his will from now on, he’s got another thing coming. I wanna get out of this alive Tully, don’t you!?” “Staying on the edge of the battle is going to look like what you’re saying it is. Y/N, we’re gonna have to really milk this for it to not look like further treason on your part!” “Treason!?” You laughed, “We’ll be helping out.” “Barely...” Tully placed his fingers to his lips for a moment to consider it, “you trust me?” “Of course I do.” “Then we go with your plan. But if he asks me to do more, Y/N-” You held your hands up to stop your fellow Officer from panicking, “I’m not expecting you to follow through when Tarkin starts screaming, don’t worry.” “Why are you so adamant about this?” “I dunno. Part of me thinks I’d feel better, at least, if I saw that thing blown out of the sky.” Tully laughed, with a wink as he signed off, and you heard the rumblings of his ship breaking out of lightspeed. “Be careful what you wish for!”

By the time you were up on the bridge you were also preparing to drop out of lightspeed. “Shields up, get ready to fire on all cylinders. But careful, this Rebel Alliance is tricky. We’ve seen what it’s capable of on Scarif and I’m sure none of us want a repeat of that.” Especially not you. And you were right of course, they were being very tricksy. Exactly what you wanted; time to execute your plan: “I want fighters in the air. Keep a few of our teams on standby. I would expect that the rebellion has more to the fleet and they’re holding back right now... I don’t want us running low before we can even make a dent.” You flipped a plethora of statistics up onto your main viewing screen and studied them thoroughly; the less of your crew that had to suffer the better.

It was all going fine until there was commotion at one end of your bridge, you turned to see officers barring none other than Krennic from entering: “Ranked officers only on the bridge, Sir!” “Sir!?” He spat, outraged, “Ranked officers only-!!? Don’t you dare-” “Stand down lieutenants.” Your voice carried across the bridge and they stood back, “It’s okay. If there’s anyone here that knows anything about this station, it’s him.” Krennic brushed off his shirt and gave them both a smug smirk before he approached you, taking the steps up to your command platform. “General, if I may...” You motioned him to follow you to the window, “You may not be a Director, but in my eyes you certainly still are. Your advice here would be greatly appreciated.” His voice lowered considerably, “The rebellion?! They’re coming for the Death Star and you and I both know why.” You stared back at him pointedly, “The flaw.” “Yes. Now what are you... looking for them to exploit it?” “Yes. And giving them as much time as necessary whilst looking like I’m backing it up.” “Who else is in on this?” “Tully.” “TULLY!?” “Orson, I trust him. My question should be to you, if the rebellion somehow exploit Galen’s one in a million flaw... do you care?” He looked out across the expanse of space, at the orb just floating serenely in the chaos of the dog fights that surrounded it. Krennic was hesitating: and you knew that it was a big decision, it was his life’s work. He might have muttered to you that he didn’t care now it was Tarkin’s, but everything he’d worked for was there - Orson had to decide, and quickly, if he was alright with it being blown up right before his eyes. “No. You do what you’re doing. Do not get this ship in trouble.” You smiled, “That’s my job.” Then nodded to him, “Thank you, Krennic. You are dismissed if you do not wish to stay, and I’d understand that.” “No.” He turned to you. “I’m here.” Then very slowly he slipped his hand into yours and linked your fingers, “We’re going to see this through.” Your smile grew, and you were happy that he was back with you here. Maybe he’d even forgiven you. “I’m glad you’re here. I need you.” Orson’s smile was sincere to match that look in his eyes, “I’m with you, Y/N. I always have been.” *** The dog fights along the surface of the Death Star had you mesmerised, and you kept glancing to Krennic every time his hand tensed in yours. He knew what he was looking for; you didn’t. What you did know was you were losing far too many TIE fighters. “Are we about to fire on the rebel base?” Jarod looked from the planet to you, “Well, yeah.” But then tapped the screen to show the base was obviously shielded. “So why aren’t we getting involved here…” You apologetically slipped your fingers from Orson’s and approached your assistant, “Why can’t we all fire on it, why does it need to be the Death Star?” “You want to get in range of that-!?” “Well, they didn’t exactly care on Scarif.” “Scarif was single reactor ignition, just like Jeddah was. When they blow the planet you’re gonna be glad we’re out here!” You looked back to the orb, “…What are they waiting for?” “What do you think they’re waiting for?” You turned back to Krennic, fingers to his lips, looking worried, “…Hopefully we don’t get to find out.” You cleared your throat and turned back to your communications team, “Pull our fighters back, we are losing far too many in stupid circumstances, I’m not having it. They’re getting too careless.” Sayra blinked at you a few times, “You… actually want me to say that?” “Yeah. I’d rather not have to completely replenish my ranks!” Krennic chuckled from behind you, making you turn to him, “Something to say?” “No.” But he was amused, even with his eyes still on the expanse of space, “Damn, I see why they gave you this job.” Suddenly Krennic’s smile faded and his hand shot out in an urgent need to call you over, turning back to make sure she was relaying your order, you strode over to him. “What?” “See this- this one!” He pointed out the X-wing to you, “That’s a pilot.” “Yeah?” That was not the only reason he’d called you over. “The run they’re making…” He paused, but not insignificantly. Making your own eyes widen as you turned to him, “The flaw is-?” You didn’t have the opportunity to finish your thought, let alone your sentence as the sudden flash of the explosion lit the darkness of space. Everyone on your bridge who wasn’t already on their feet suddenly stood, and gasping and yelling of all kinds was present. The three of you on your platform were stunned into momentary silence as the battle station ignited, and all that was left in front of you was debris. The shock waves carried enough to rock your ship, causing you to grab Krennic to steady yourself. Shield’s whining at the strength. “Pull us back a little, I don’t want any more dents in her!” “Shields are holding General!” “I still err caution!” You stumbled towards the viewing window still staring at where the Death Star should have been, Krennic joined your side. “You’ve heard of poetic justice, right?” “Yeah.” “I think we might have just witnessed it.” “Don’t let anyone else hear that!” Jerod’s screen filled with notification after notification – urgent contact messages, and all for you. Sayra and he looked to each other in sudden realisation and he called you. “General, what is our next move!? The fleet wish to know!” You couldn’t have looked more confused as you turned to him, “The fleet!?” Orson’s voice was much quieter, “Tarkin just got taken off the board, General. You’re the highest ranking officer here now.” Jerod nodded encouragingly to Krennic’s explanation and you swallowed hard as it hit you: Tarkin was gone - too late to help your lover, perhaps. But not a second too soon for your liking. Turning to Krennic your eyebrows raised, “We’re the only ones who know about the fault… we control the narrative!” He nodded encouragingly, making you in turn nod to Jerod, “We just lost our most important battle station – that’s a strategic loss! We’re in sight of the rebel base; who knows what the hell they have down there that can wipe out the rest of our fleet. We’ve just lost our highest ranking military official, and our edge.” You were assured in your stance, “We need to regroup before they can catch us off guard. Lose the battle, win the war. Pull everyone off the field Jerod. That’s an order!” *** You weren’t exactly commended for the battle – but your quick thinking, and quite frankly bullshit excuse, to get away from the rebels was appreciated. Now you were back on Coruscant – and without a super weapon the Empire was in disarray. Not something you wouldn’t bounce back from, but it left you restless. And no one was giving you a promotion to Tarkin’s position. Which annoyed you no end. “They won’t give you what you want, if they did you could reinstate me. Right now, they have you where they want you and unable to assist me.” You turned to Krennic from looking out over the city, “Well then it’s a good thing you still have your architecture.” He shrugged, “It’s still quiet, people are still cautious. Except Lexrul. Which is okay, but… I didn’t exactly grow up on a planet that can afford… me.” Walking across the room to you, Krennic gathered you in his arms and you melted into him, head on his chest. “I’m worried, Orson. This isn’t the end. The Empire will want revenge, but the Rebellion has the upper hand. It’ll get worse before it gets better – I want to be involved in what’s going on.” “And you will be, but you know more than anyone you need to be careful…” He pressed a tender kiss to your hair, “I can’t lose you out there.” “Really? I was under the impression that you’d rather lose your life than those plans of yours.” Krennic tensed suddenly, making you raise your head, “What? What is it?” “They still have my work. Vader will keep you on a leash that’s for sure, but my work.” He took a step back, hands on your shoulders, “Y/N, they will hold me over you as long as I’m breathing, you know that.” “You better not be suggesting anything stupid,” You growled, pulling him back by his shirt collar, “not after what we’ve just been through!” He tried to release your grip on him, to no avail, “If they can’t make those plan’s work-” “Stop it.” That caused your hands to tighten. “They’ll drag me back into it, only I won’t have rank.” “They CAN’T have you. They made their choice. If they think they can take you away just to break you again-” you stopped, and then narrowed your eyes, “Wait. Are you talking about a SECOND Death Star?!” It all seemed fairly obvious to Krennic, “After all why not. Why stop with one!?” “It took you years to get it up and running.” “Yes. But now they have a complete works. Give it 3 or 4, maybe 5 and we’ll have another. I doubt the Empire will fall in that time with people like you leading the fleet.” “Orson…” “Well only one of us will be privy to it, Y/N.” “What if they do?” “…Well, we must prepare for such a situation.” “And the Empire?! You can’t talk about it falling and not-” “Hush.” He placed a finger to your lips, “Don’t think on that one just now.” “Orson!” “Don’t… You’ve done enough. This time you really have…” You let his collar go as he drew you back to him, “No matter what happens, Y/N, I love you.” “Stop talking.” “But-” “You’re scaring me…” You mumbled, burying your face in his shirt, inhaling his scent. Tonight it wasn’t comforting. “Baby, you’re scaring me…” ***

What Krennic had said was deeply worrying, and it weighed on your mind heavily for a whole year. You tried not to let it show, and sometimes you almost forgot, almost but never quite until someone said something that would bring it flooding back. People always liked to ask you what Orson Krennic was doing these days. You made a mental note to distrust everyone that did – and you kept him as close as possible. Luckily, as it appeared the Empire wouldn’t keep to their black listed word, his client base picked up and Krennic became happier. But you didn’t let him out of your sight, and as the Empire sent you away time and again with the Resolution to extinguish pockets of Rebels, he came with you. It was nice sometimes, to return to him after a hard day of ordering people around in some of the most bogged down space battles you’d ever endured. He always took care of you when your nerves were frayed, and it was just as nice to wake up tangled up with him in your sheets. You’d learned that Krennic didn’t so much like being called Director anymore, but the way that General spilled from his lips was still rather pleasing. If only you could command your ship from your quarters, you would stay with him all day. It wasn’t possible; but you would let him make you as late as he wanted. The Empire could keep on blaming themselves for that. These fights were more frustrating than anything else. You never seemed to get a straight answer from the lofty heights of command – now apparently Vader and the Emperor working through others, but you never answered to either of them directly. They were being strategically shifty with you, sending you to far off battles that didn’t mean much - and you knew this - but were apparently ‘important’. You thought all they were doing was wasting your time and resources, and sometimes you felt command wished the Rebels would get lucky and take you out as a problem. It never happened; they should have known better. It was starting to get tiresome for you, and on occasion it was obvious that – despite your rank – the chain of command hardly cared for you. You got a higher frequency of conflicting messages the more you were sent out. To which you’d always turn to Jerod. “So, which one is it?” “Any of them?” “Screw this, we’re doing it my way. What’s the point of this damn bar if they’re gonna control me!?” “Well. The Resolution follows your lead, General.” Apparently no one cared about that either, because you were never hauled into offices for doing things that were quite frankly dangerous. You came to the conclusion that it can’t have been because the Empire was in such disarray – but because they wanted you to make such a big mistake you’d be disgraced or killed in action. You were smarter than that; you didn’t get here on blind luck and you refused to lead good people into a battle without straight orders. Better to ignore them and follow your own intuition and instincts – they hadn’t let you down yet. Besides, you had an ex-Director to advise if necessary – and Krennic was a great card to have up your sleeve. The Empire didn’t see that either. On yet another jaunt across the galaxy, Orson did the unexpected and refused to go. “WHAT!?” You backed him against the old senate building, furious, “Are you insane!? They will kill you if I’m not here!” “Tully is staying, I’ll be fine with him.” “You think I’m going to fall for that-!? You’re coming with me!” Tully cleared his throat, “The Excelsior is in for repairs. Krennic is welcome to stay with me whilst we see to them. I’ll keep an eye on him, Y/N.” You scowled at him, “And what about if you get called off planet!?” “I’ll take him!” Your eyes narrowed, “Y/N, you know I’ll send you coordinates and you can retrieve him.” “I don’t like this.” “You leave him alone when you’re at meetings, right? You know he can fend for himself…” Tully pulled you away from Krennic for a moment, allowing Orson some breathing space and to straighten his clothes. “This could be good for you.” “I’ll just worry-! Tully this is not a good idea!” “Focus on your job for the Empire. What they think you ought to be doing. You already know what they’re trying to make happen here. I’ll watch out for him I promise. You do what they hired you for.” You took a deep breath looking back to Krennic, who was clearly trying very hard to lip read you both. Tully turned you away, aware of this too, “You both almost died on Mustafar. I know you don’t need reminding of that – but they reinstated you. Stay in favour and play it smart. Be the General who is defending her Empire. I think there’s some important strategic meetings coming up about a certain battle station that I could use some intel on, if you follow me.” You turned back around, understanding completely, eyes sorrowful as you looked to Krennic – and yet knowing what you must do. You nodded, swallowing thickly before looking at Tully hard. “Protect him. Or I SWEAR.” “I’m dead. More than dead. I get it.” You gave a firm nod before crossing back to Orson, taking his hands in yours, “Stay alive.” “I’ll try.” “You better!” You brushed your lips to his, “I’ll be as quick as I can.” “Go. I told you before, didn’t I, they’ll follow you anywhere, Y/N. You’re the Empire’s only hope.” You chuckled, letting him go with one last quick kiss, “I think there’s no hope for the Empire you’re thinking of. That went up in flames when they hurt you.” Krennic was good at keeping himself hidden – years as an intelligence operative had sharpened those skills enough to mean that Tully didn’t need to keep as much of an eye on him as expected. Orson busied himself with his work and kept to himself. Except at today’s briefing, where Tully had brought him down to the senate – he would have to impart all the information he heard to Krennic very quickly, and he didn’t think he could retain it on the journey back to his apartment. They both had an inkling on what this ‘breakthrough’ briefing could be about. Tully hurried through the building a lot quicker than he should have to where Krennic would be waiting – almost the very first to leave, Tully had to be extra careful not to look to shifty. Orson swept from his hiding place and in step with the General, as if he’d always been there. “Are we correct?” Tully nodded, “They’re certainly making one.” “And?” “Well your name hasn’t been mentioned yet, but it’s only a matter of time before it is... then god only knows.” “Why has she not been informed?” It may have been obvious, but you still out ranked Tully, to Krennic it made no sense for them to exclude you. Besides, they could still hold Orson over you. “I assume because once they do mention your name, if they decide they need to drag you off to force you to work on it, she can’t tip you off and have you half way across the galaxy...!” “What do they think she’s going to do? I’ll compromise her no matter what!” “Well, what are your suggestions!? They’ll make sure there’s no way to blow it up this time – however the Rebels did that…” “She’s too limited with me alive.” Krennic stopped on the steps and turned to Tully, “There are no more moves to make with me still on the playing field.” “You’re NOT suggesting you die!? After what you two went through!? And how?! Do you KNOW what she’ll do?” “We need a plot. It’ll have to be well planned, complicated and elaborate but… Tully I need to die. Imagine what she can do when they can’t threaten her with my death.” “Complicated is one word for it, how about impossible!” The younger man’s look was sharp. “Not impossible. You and I know enough about the weapons division to know it’s possible… Tully, consider this. There’s a way out of this for all of us!” “Then can we both agree on something, before we think of enacting something so CRAZY!” The General hissed, eyes wide. “Yes.” Krennic blinked, ready to hear something at least a little level headed. “She isn’t going to like this one bit!” Krennic’s face fell, but then he chuckled nervously, “No… she’ll probably kill me herself!” There was an abnormally long silence – and Tully and Orson both knew this was bad even by your standards. You sat listening and all your face went through was varying stages of dread, before your head finally sunk into your hands – and you’d remained in this position after they’d finished. Finally you removed one hand from your forehead and waved it between them; “Which of you idiots do I have to thank for this!?” Orson was defensive: “It’s my idea. It’s the only way this is going to work.” “You think me waltzing into the senate and declaring you dead is going to work, do you!?” There was far too much buzzing around your head about what exactly could go wrong, for you to be polite about it. “There’d have to be witnesses-” You shot Tully a venomous glare, “You?! You think that’d be good enough? They know we’re friends Tully. It’s not exactly evidence is it!?” “Then there needs to be something solid.” Krennic’s eyes fixed to Tully, the two of them thought they’d come up with a good solution. “You have to kill me. To make sure they can’t ever use me against you again.” “-WHAT?!” Your anger at the idea reached its peak and Orson could see the flare behind your eyes that was about to have him met with a string of curse words. Instead he cut over you. “The weapons division will have something somewhere that will look like blaster fire. It’ll probably hurt like hell. Give the illusion that I’m really dead. But I’ll be fine. And it has to be YOU, Y/N, for them to believe you’re back on side. That what happened on Mustafar was more than just you betraying me-” Krennic paused to indicate he knew that wasn’t what happened, “-but was to get you back on track. You and I are done. You used me… whatever anyone wants to call it.” Your eyes flicked back to Tully who nodded to confirm that such weaponry was available. “Well I don’t trust just anyone… What if they deceive me and I end up really killing you?! In fact, I barely trust anyone in the Empire now. It’s getting harder to trust my own crew. It doesn’t surprise me that some of them think I’m losing it…” Not those most loyal, but those on the edge… those amongst the crew who shunned the once great Director, now he’d been stripped of everything. “See-! All you need to do is shoot me. And I can think of a billion times I’m sure you’ve wanted to.” “That’s not the same as really doing it…” You tapped your fingers against your lips, “They need footage. That’s what you’re saying.” “Yeah.” Tully stepped forward, “As for the ammo itself. Don’t worry, I know a guy. I think we can pull this off.” You stood, crossing to your partner, “And then what? When you’re “dead”?” “We win the war. I lay low on some far-off planet. And you come back to me.” “Leave you alone?” He gathered you in his arms, “We all have to make sacrifices for this to work out.” Your gaze fell back to your friend, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Tully gave a deep nod. “I’ll set it in motion.” He left abruptly with a bow, so as not to overstay his welcome. “You trust him?” Krennic’s ask was quiet, and you scoffed – hadn’t they just planned all this out together? “Tully may be more loyal to the Empire than I am, but he’s a good man. Better than most. I trust him with my life – it’s whether or not I trust him with yours.” “And do you?” Although you didn’t answer straight away, you did smile: “I do.” Krennic didn’t respond with words, instead pressing his lips to your forehead, before looking back over the city. It was now dark, and the stars winked in the night sky. Krennic tried to commit all the architecture to memory – so much of it was his, so much he’d had a hand in. It was never something he thought he’d leave, and yet looking at it now he knew he would be saying goodbye soon. He swallowed hard, hoping against hope that these plans wouldn’t unravel. He needed this to work, for your future together – for you more than anything, Krennic desperately needed this to work. He looked back to the stars exhaling, only luck could save you both now. *** Just when you thought the Empire might be getting back on track, balance tipped. Too many whispers about the return of the Jedi had you thinking they were true and the Empire was just trying to squash them. The Rebellion had hope – the people living under the flag of the Empire who wanted rid of it were gathering in vast numbers. The only thing on your side was your kindness and mercy – but it wouldn’t save you. Anyone taking one look at your rank would have you tried for war crimes at the very least. Krennic, with everyone in fairly good spirits (and seemingly excluded from the second Death Star), had done some travelling to smaller planets where his services were wanted. He’d re-grounded himself on the pretences that perhaps people would think that an unprotected ex-Director’s death would have the same impact on the Empire as a high profile General. He didn’t need that weighing on your mind too. It was only supposed to be a fake death, after all. But the whispers didn’t stay whispers, and people freely and openly talked about defying the Empire – about what the Rebellion was planning. Where once he would have run straight to High Command with this information, maybe even would have run to win back their favour, now Orson only thought of you. Included amongst them – a Rebel fighter who had a good shot at you would only see high ranking official. Not everything else you’d ever stood for. Orson wouldn’t allow it to happen. He COULDN’T allow it to happen. Which is why he sprinted from his shuttle back home. You were just finishing an important holographic meeting as he flung the doors wide and you turned, surprised, as the blue holograms flickered out. “Orson, wha-” “We need to do this. Now.” “Do what?!” “Enact the plan. You need to call Tully and we need to do it NOW.” He pulled your sleeve towards the communications pad. “Orson, Orson, calm down. What’s wrong?” “You know the Empire is falling apart, the Rebellion grows stronger every second we stand here talking. We may not show it on the outside, but there are cracks, you know this.” “Yes, I just got off a call that said something fairly similar. Hey-!” You turned his face towards you with your fingertips as he began punching in Tully’s calling card number. “Slow down a minute. What does that have to do with our plan?” “Everything!” You pulled his hand and sat him down, hands firmly on his shoulders you slid yourself into Krennic’s lap, “Darling, elaborate.” Carding your fingers through Orson’s hair you brushed your lips to his, “And please, calm down.” He took a deep shaky breath, and nodded, “It’s you.” “Me?!” “I mean it’s likely the Rebellion would want to kill me out of spite. I did build the Death Star, but you. You’re a High General. You’re as high up as it gets without being in the… I mean you should be up there. If they don’t KILL you, they will try you and THEN kill you – probably. Prison for sure. If we enact this fake death thing… What if I never get you back?” “What if the Empire pulls through and we have nothing to worry about.” “Yeah, alright. Call this new disarray fixable, if you will. It doesn’t change your role here. If we enact this now, we can get you out of here too.” “Orson, I’m not running from the Rebellion. I’m not leaving my crew and my friends. Not until there is no other choice. But I need to get you out of here and soon, that much is true.” You kissed him gently, “Mark my words, I will return to you. Leave Tully to me. If you panic you will make mistakes; we can’t afford to put a foot wrong here.” Krennic obviously glared at you for insinuating he ever made mistakes – but sometimes he did let his emotion get the better of him. “Besides, Krennic, as if I didn’t before – I definitely outrank you now. I won’t lose you.” You stood, “I need you to trust me with this. I’m trusting your plan will work. You need to let me do my job and finish this fight with the Rebels. Whether the Empire comes out on top or not.” The look on your face was firm, and Krennic knew the only thing he’d get himself into was another argument. He stood with you, and took yours hands. “Return to me. PROMISE me, that no matter what happens you will come back to me.” “You mean more to me than anything, Orson. How could I promise you anything else? I won’t ever leave you. Don’t you know that by now?” He couldn’t help but laugh at that, yes. Of course he did.

Tully’s message just read ‘ready’ - it was dark, and you’d waited up on the pretence of working. Orson wasn’t allowed out after nightfall, that was a rule. Needless to say he wasn’t impressed and whined that you were no fun – obviously to have you prove to him otherwise – but rather that than he wind up dead in some back ally either by Rebel or Imperial hand; or whoever else he’d managed to piss off in his long career. So you’d sent him to bed early – how often did he even think of that, let alone do it? – and sat up with your tablet watching him. You almost missed the message for thoughts running around your head observing him: this wasn’t exactly a new activity for you, but now you were here you were thinking of how much you were about to miss this. His silhouette lit by the harsh lighting of Coruscant’s cityscape, softened by the organza curtains. There was a gentle breeze tonight, cooling, and the light kissed his bare shoulders and arms; highlighting his muscle structure – more battle-hardened warrior than you thought the Imperials would ever give him credit for. Never afraid to get his hands dirty – Krennic had enough smaller marks on him to tell all those stories on their own, you liked running your hands over them as he recited the accounts again and again. You’d never get bored of him; you’d never get enough of him. You tucked your tablet away and pulled on a dark cloak. You walked to the door to leave but paused, turning back to the bed with a gentle sigh, you rounded him. Positive that he was in a deep sleep – you had to be; you knew he slept with that blaster under his pillow. You never mentioned it, but you knew it was there. Such were the times these days. You ran your fingers gently through his hair and bent to kiss his cheek. Orson mumbled incoherently, but didn’t stir. You stood, knowing that you were on a time limit now, but you couldn’t help but smile – once you did this, he’d be safe. That was all that mattered to you now. When you caught up to Tully you unravelled your cloak from your face with an impatient sigh: “Is there a reason we’re sneaking around like this!? I feel like I’m some kind of Rebel intelligence operative!” “If people figure out what we’re doing we have BIG problems. And Krennic being dragged off as a slave to the Death Star is the very least of them. These weapons are probably illegal.” “NOW you tell me.” “Look, do you want to save him or not!?” Tully pulled the blaster out of his jacket – it looked just like something standard issue. You supposed it, or its ammunition, had been highly modified. “So, is this gonna work? He’s gonna be fine right?” “Well... it’s gonna hurt, but it won’t kill him.” Your pause was lengthy; you weren’t sure that you wanted to hurt him, but you supposed it needed to look authentic. If it was painless it would be fairly obvious you were firing blanks. “Are you SURE!? Shit, Tully I can’t risk it on one shot-!” “Look I tried my damn best, I’m not a miracle worker-!” You sighed, tucking it under your cloak, “Well it’ll have to do, you’re a damn sight better than anyone else.” Tully pulled you back, “Just, word of advice, don’t aim for his heart.” “HELPFUL!” You very nearly hit him. “If it goes wrong, we want this to be fixable!” You rolled your eyes, he was going the right way about having you question this completely. “Okay, okay. No heart.” “Are you gonna tell him when you do it?” “No. He knows enough! I want it to be as close to as surprise as it can be…” “Well, I better be there too.” “Why?!” “Well, you gotta move a body and make sure that this doesn’t all fall into the wrong hands.” “MOVE A BODY!?!” Tully waved his hands to quiet you down, “Yeah, what part of ‘act like he’s dead’ don’t you understand, he can’t walk out of the situation, Y/N. That defeats the point.” “Fine. I’ll give you a call by the morning. To set up the where and when.” He nodded, “Then I’ll leave you to it.” You gave a nod, eager to now return to your partner on what could be one of your last nights together for a while. Certainly one of your last nights together on Coruscant. This time when you turned away, cloak hood up Tully didn’t turn you back, and you placed your hand over the blaster to make sure it was still there. What the hell were these men about to get you into-!?

***

It wasn’t so hard to convince Krennic to wander outside, just as it wasn’t so hard for Tully to ‘just happen across you’ and decide to take the same walk. You both knew that not only did Orson need to be shocked at the situation he found himself in – diva he might have been, but there was always the threat of overacting it – but he also needed to say all the right things, in case there were any other witnesses who heard or saw anything. You hoped not, leading him to a relatively quiet part of the city; if there was such a thing. You had coaxed Krennic on this walk with a simple “I want to show you something!” – always a phrase to pique the curiosity of an architect and engineer. There were always new buildings going up on Coruscant, some tucked out of the way, designed by new and upcoming architects that Orson would always take an interest in. He was clearly excited, walking just a little ahead of the two of you, eyes darting around and trying to find whatever it was you might be showing him before you introduced him to it. Tully was watching your face and the way you walked, placing a hand gently to your back. “Steady,” he murmured, “Just breathe. It’s all going to work out.” “I know. But with the whole idea, it’s hard to believe…” “You got this, Y/N… you’re a good shot!” He was shot himself, with a sharp look, “Shut up!” Before you reached back for your modified blaster. Time to put all your trust in the man beside you – and hope that Tully really was a friend, and wasn’t simply playing the longest game you’d ever seen. “Where are you taking me!?!” Krennic stopped in the middle of the small plaza, hands on hips, turning left and right on the spot. He’d run out of ideas, although this wasn’t familiar to him, nothing stood out as worth showing him. When he turned back, the puzzlement turned to shock. It would; you were pointing a blaster at him.

A million thoughts raced through his head. Orson knew what was about to happen; you’d talked about it as a group, and planned it. But he thought he might be more involved in the where and when! Oh. Shit! This is it-! He hadn’t got to say goodbye to the view here, your house, pieces of architecture he was particularly fond of, the last night he would get to hold you in his arms on Coruscant, to friends and acquaintances he’d likely never see again… You swallowed hard, “Sorry, Krennic.” There was hardly emotion behind your words – probably because if you let them flood out, you’d be in tears. “This is the end of the road.” He stared you down, one step back with a smallest head shake, his chest heaved. Upset but unwilling to show it in the face of death. “Y/N. After everything-!?” “Especially after everything! You almost cost me my role in the Empire! They don’t trust me even NOW because of you. Seems they don’t need you for the second Death Star project, so you’ve outlived your usefulness.” There was a flicker of apology in your eyes, you didn’t mean it. Krennic knew that – but he still looked shocked and upset; thank god this wasn’t real… “Tully…” His eyes flicked to your friend, “There must be a way to work this out?” Tully gave a shrug, and there was something scarily icy about him – one of Tarkin’s protégés alright. “You ask me she should have done this a long time ago. Should have given you up far earlier. No hard feelings, Krennic. With your plans in our hands… well, you know how the Empire is. You gotta get ahead.” “You’ve held me down far too long.” You affirmed, taking the safety off. Tully, if this doesn’t work…! Krennic’s time here was ending, and yet he was still only looking at you, “Y/N… Please… You don’t need to do this.” Your voice broke over your next sentence, and you couldn’t stop the single tear from sliding down your cheek, “Yes, I do.” Breathe… Just breathe… You pulled the trigger and the red blaster bolt shot across the plaza with one hell of a kick, jarring your arm, hitting Krennic square in the chest (a little too close to his heart for your taste). He grunted like the shot was real, and with his clothes smarting as he tumbled to the floor, you could hear Tully’s ‘I TOLD you not to aim for his heart-!’ resounding in your head. Only then did you breathe; it was a little choked out, but then you breathed deeper. That was unnervingly easy, you waited a few seconds, but Orson didn’t stir - making you look to the weapon – did it work? It must have. Now to figure out how to get him out of here. Tully seemed to have the details worked out on that more than you did. He was running the operation. Even though you’d just shot the man you loved, you couldn’t help smiling, turning to your friend; “Huh--! That worked!” Immediately colour drained from you and your blood ran cold. You were facing a blaster of your own, and there was absolutely no way you were raising yours without getting shot. You let those tears run now. “Tully, no…” You whispered it. Tully gave a shrug, like it was just business, “Sorry, Y/N.” Your eyes widened, adrenaline spiked and suddenly you couldn’t breathe for an entirely different reason. Was this him betraying you!? After everything you’d been through together, he was betraying you!?! Wait! Then what had you just shot Krennic with?! A real blaster bolt!? Had the man in front of you just convinced you to murder your partner? You were outraged, scared, alone. Tully’s finger pulled the trigger back and all you could think of was Orson. “This is for the Empire.”

*** Your head was pounding so hard that even your eyes hurt and that made you unwilling to open them. Even cracking one open and letting the light flood in was blinding. You squeezed them shut and groaned. Your body felt stiff and as you stretched, your joints cracked – complaining at you for having to do something. When you were certain your body might actually obey you, you opened your eyes again, and were faced with a bright white and yellow ceiling. You could feel a breeze too, and curious, you pushed yourself up on your elbows. “Aw, she’s back! Sorry that was probably a little stronger than the one you used on him.” You froze, turning your head slowly to one side, met with the grinning face of one General Tully, relaxing on the bed next to yours, book in his hands. “Welcome to the land of the living, Miss Y/N! Course I can’t call ya General now. You’re officially dead!” You blinked a few times, utterly confused and stared down at the rest of your body, now dressed in a soft white button up shirt and pants, this was very reminiscent of a hospital – but there were no machines or medicine in sight. Turning to him quicker and ignoring your head spinning, you glared: “You’re lucky I don’t KILL you!!!” All he did was laugh, and you had to put a hand to your head, closing your eyes to stop yourself from throwing up; “What the hell was in that?!?” “A decent amount of Tranq. Don’t worry you’ll be fine.” “Geez. Remind me never to ask you for a favour again.” You managed a chuckle, rubbing your head and turning to the bed next to you, half expecting to find a woozy Krennic waking up. Panic seized you when the room was empty. You weren’t in a position to stop it from crossing your face, but Tully soothed you. “Don’t worry, he’s fine!” You looked back to your friend; “Was this your idea!?” Tully shook his head slowly, eyebrow raised: “You don’t think he wanted to keep you safe too?” “Son of a-!” You lay back flat on the bed and sighed deeply. Tully was the only one in on everything, you were glad Orson trusted him that much. With both of you ‘dead’ – both of you were safe. And you assumed now far away from the Empire. It was well orchestrated, you’d give the General that. You bit your lip, a wave of sadness overcoming you at the consequences of a plan you hadn’t been aware of; “I never got to say goodbye to my friends...” “Don’t contact them yet. When whatever happens is over, they’ll find out you’re safe. If you trust them, they can know the truth.” “My ship...” You loved the Resolution. Everyone on it – what about Jerod, he was a great assistant. He didn’t deserve this… Sayra, always ready to go along with any of your ridiculous schemes and communications. Without her you’d never have got Krennic back on Scarif. You owed so much to them, just leaving like this wasn’t fair on either. “Sorry, Y/N. It was the only way.” You wiped your eyes and sniffed, swallowing hard, “I’ll reach out in due time. So they know the truth, those you want to know. But you can’t disclose your location.” “Do they know you did it!?” “No. Tragic rebel accident - don’t worry they were caught and killed. Unfortunately, your civilian partner also died. Guess some rebels saw the Director and didn’t care.” “And the rest of the Imperials?” You wondered how some people would take the fact that Tully had to announce your ‘deaths’, when he’d clearly been the one to kill you as a High General. At a time when the Empire would need people of your ranking most. “I’m sure you know that you’re not favoured amongst them. All I had to do was find the ones who would want you off the map... and get their blessing.” “You’ll be okay?” “Yeah. Found a good planet, got them on board and dressed them as flight crew. Easy to move and dispose of the bodies. Cleanly.” He indicated around the room, and you guessed that it must have been their planet that you found yourselves on now. Tully wasn’t staying, that was obvious, he’d go back to the Empire and do his job. No questions, no answers. “I feel like it’s good we’re friends. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you! No wonder Tarkin liked you so much!” He laughed again, “Well, you know... luckily you’re the good sort.” When your body had calmed again you sat up and this time your look around the room was more pointed – searching for clues as to if there was a third person here somewhere. Nothing, though. To stop you potentially fretting over whether or not you might have accidently killed him, Tully nodded towards the open door, “Go on, go outside!” You turned questioningly to him, but he just gave you a smile like you didn’t need to ask, and turned back to his book. With clearly no more conversation coming from him you slipped off the bed, your legs immediately buckled from having to take your weight. You heard Tully snort from behind the pages, making you glare back at him, before you stood straight again and continued walking forwards. How long was I out!?! You stumbled a few more times but could catch yourself, and by the time you reached the door you were walking perfectly normally. Your breath caught momentarily, the planet was beautiful. The particular part you were on like a small cluster of houses on a resort. Bright sunshine and tropical plants, not a beach, but a resort you might expect to find on one. Standing at the end of the (alarmingly orange) stone pathway, arms folded and studying the sky, was Orson. You leant against the door, suddenly incapable of calling him, but overcome with happiness. Your plan had somehow worked. You had both made it. Stepping down onto the path was a little hotter than you expected – and you exclaimed your surprise before tentatively placing your bare foot down again. Krennic turned at this sound, instantly smiling and watched you careful navigate down the steps, only raising your head when you got to the bottom – when you beamed. “Tully said it might take a while. I woke up on the way here. Took me a few days to function fully… so be careful.” You weren’t about to heed that, of course, and ran the rest of the way to him, throwing yourself into his arms. “We made it.” “We did… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” “Oh, you’re in SO much trouble!” You giggled into his shoulder, loving that you could hold him close. If you’d stuck by the original plan, you might have been leaving him on such a planet and returning to war – this way you at least got to keep holding him. Krennic wound his arms around you, “We’ll stay for a little, but I’ve already learned much. This planet is unable to support us fully. There is a ship docked with enough fuel to take us to the outer rim. I suggest we find a planet and stick to it. Tully already says we ought to change our names, I’d like to think it will be temporarily.” “Well look at you, doing all your research.” “Not much else to do. Figure out how to rebuild from scratch. A challenge, but a fun one.” “You’re an architect and an engineer. You built a whole damn battle station that people named – and subsequently proved was – a planet killer. I think building a new life somewhere will be no trouble.” He chucked, a little bashful, “Perhaps. We shall see. I have you too, that’s more important than any of that.” You grinned, pulling him closer, “Ah, you old romantic.” Lips to his, Krennic wound his arms around you. Now you had the whole galaxy and the rest of your lives. You were safe, for all intents and purposes you were dead - ghosts, whispers across the galaxy. It was time to start again, bigger and better. And you could build this better future together.

*** It took a shockingly short amount of time for the Empire to fall to the Rebellion and their Alliance. But it also took longer than necessary for the news to spread across the galaxy.

The war is lost. The Emperor is dead. The Empire is broken, the Rebels win. One short transmission, heralding the arrival of something much more important. The Imperial Cruiser looked out of place so far from home. In the skies above a far, far, far outer rim planet. Out here they hardly even knew what the Empire was – Krennic wasn’t a name people had heard, beyond the skills of a certain architect who was making quite a name for himself. And his wife, a skilled Engineer – and tactician; if you needed something planned out or strategized for you, she was your woman. They had come from relative obscurity, to escape the Empire, and now lived in solitude on the far side of the planet they decided to inhabit. House fronting onto a private beach, there wasn’t another soul for miles. And yet everyone who wanted to, knew exactly where to find them. The Imperial Cruiser that landed on your beach front was, however, not an unwelcome sight. You and Orson stood in the doorway both smiling. “Is he an idiot?” “Think they’ll get shot out of the sky around here?” “Aren’t we supposed to be hiding? A well-intentioned missile and they’d be toast.” “Who around here would know how to do that?!” You raised an eyebrow at him, thinking that he already knew the answer to that question, before jumping down onto the beach and heading towards the cruiser, now opening its door. Orson followed you slower across the beach, but was the first to wave as Tully hopped out onto the sand – in civvies. “I see you’ve dropped your rank bar, General!” “Well, gotta survive somehow!” He grinned, as if it hadn’t been so long. As if the last time you saw each other wasn’t him hurriedly boarding his cruiser to head back to Coruscant, before you and Krennic had even decided on what you wanted to do. “I’m glad to see you, Tully. I’m happy you’re alive.” “It’s good to get to see you. Got a little sticky at the end there…” He ran a hand though his hair, “We got out. We’re okay.” Tully nodded back to you, “Lot changed?” You laughed, “Well, married now.” “Shit-! Really? Congrats! Nice house.” “Well, marry an architect and… his work becomes…” You waved in the direction of the house, “I’m very proud of him.” Tully called back to Orson, “She’s talking like you aren’t here!” “She’s very welcome to if it’s all compliments!” At first they shook hands, but then it became more of a hug, “Now we’re all civilians I suppose things can start… becoming more normal for us.” “We can hope.” Tully grinned, “I still can’t decide, part of me wants to join the Alliance, the Republic. Defecting – maybe but, I know where my strengths lie… Or live a quiet life like this…” Krennic scoffed, “You’re young. You have time.” “I do. We all do.” Tully turned back to you, “I have some people for you to see.” Your eyes widened, “You do!?” “Mhm.” All three of you turned back towards the ship as Jerod descended the ramp with a sheepish grin, holding his hand out to help Sayra hop down after him. “Hey, Y/N.” “J-Jerod!!” You ran to him and you embraced, “Holy- Oh my- I’m so- I’m so sorry, I-!” You were nearly in tears as you hugged Sayra tight too, “Hey, when Tully got back, he told us everything we needed to know. I get it.” “The Resolution, I-!” He grinned and Tully howled with laugher, both of them had made a bet on how long it would take you to mention your beloved ship, “Well, she, survived. Right until the end. But we never did find a captain quite like you. She’s holed up on a star base. Decommissioned. Sad but beautiful. You’d be proud of her and her crew, Y/N.” “I always was.” You smiled, grateful that everyone you cared about was here, and safe. Hopefully they could make lives for themselves in this strange new world, just as you had. Krennic cleared his throat, “Well, much as we could stand out here on this gorgeous beach all day, you’ve have had a long flight. Can we offer you a drink, of any strength?” Tully immediately grinned, “I’m here for it.” “5 o’clock somewhere!” Jerod agreed, Sayra beamed, “Besides, you’re really into wine, right?” “You’re lucky I like you enough to break out a good bottle.” Krennic’s humour was dry but still raised laughs and you nodded along. “Come on, you three should rest up, get comfortable.” “Yes M’am!” They grinned in unison and you couldn’t help but beam back. Orson held his hand out for yours as you all made your way back across the sand, and somehow that beam became stronger. A ray of sunshine; both of you free from the constraints of the Empire – you’d grown in ways that neither of you had ever dreamed. And you’d done it together. It was time for your friends to do the same, and you were looking forward to seeing it. You caught his eyes, and Krennic smiled to, squeezing your hand a little tighter. Who would have thought you’d end up here? From glaring at him in his pretentious classes (you’d always stand by that), to ordering him around as his superior officer, to a romantic relationship seemed far-fetched enough. Now you’d been through hell and back and faked your own deaths… on to marrying out here, so far from all you’d ever known. Yet, you knew there was so much to come. You pulled yourself into him, winding your arms around his and resting your head gently on his arm as Orson continued to banter with the others. Whatever there was yet to face, in this strange new world of the Republic, you’d do it together. Stronger than ever.

--- Thank you very much for requesting this from me! I hope the conclusion was worth the wait! Thank you for reading! 🥰💕

#181 #Ben Mendelsohn #Director Krennic #Orson Krennic x Reader #Director Krennic x Reader #Orson Krennic #I mean He's not a director anymore but here we are...#Linzi Writes #Linzi Writes Requests #Smol Bean Drabbles #Basically played Levitating by Dua Lipa on repeat to write the back half of this.#Which is funny cuz i'm giving it to Keller BUT it would work for Krennic.#Anyways that's beside the point #Ya'll be sleeping on everything but ITHK - ya'll all love that #and I'm like /theres 3 more! C'mon!/

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tradeway2 · 3 years ago

Text

Session 2 17 Jul 2021

Ed and Matthew are being haylords (literally - they are baling hay), so we start a little late. Also Sophie is away, so someone else will be taking Hilda for her.

Mina has been building Gundams…

We make Nature checks to see if anyone of us remember what we are. Hilda does not make a check as she is still at 0HP. Ren, Marcus and Milo remember that ‘zombies’ are made with weird food; but we can’t be zombies because we know our names. We’re amnesiacs; we’re like characters from Neighbours. Not zombies. Pshhh.

Matthew has bestowed upon us some XP for the last fight, plus some extra for entertaining him so beautifully.

Cora thinks we should try to find a way to preserve our food a bit longer. From the feet up from now on?

We make Investigation checks. Milo notices that although the surrounding area contains weapons and spoiled food (mostly what we made), etc., there isn’t much in the way of bodies. He wants to know what size the food is; he thinks they must be from the same litter. They’re all about the same size; medium. (It goes: small, regular, large, goliath, god.) He looks at his friends; we look wounded, but there are no organs or anything hanging out. Some bandages wouldn’t hurt.

After the fight, we discovered our food was carrying some money. Between us, we scrabbled together 13 gp. We remember that money is useful, so we keep it. (Ren decides to invest his in cryptocurrency.) Hilda is the strongest, so we pile to money on her still unconscious form. We also find 7 gems, and 5 bottles, and a sphere.

Bingo asks if we mind him hanging around; he gets very excited when we tell him he’s welcome to chill with us. He’s excited to get to the horde as well. “Everyone’s friends there, it’s brilliant!” Cora decides it’s a bit like Burning Man. Leslie looks us all over; he does that old people thing when they nod along with the young folk. Let young folk be young folk.

Ed joins us, yay!

It turns out that Leslie has never been to Burning Man. Or the horde. I think? He doesn’t like being around big crowds; he prefers to spend time alone. Somewhere a bit greener. Does he mean over there? (Pointing). No, it turns out he arrived by boat. Hmm. Pilfer gets a sense of salt on the air, and the movement of a ship - for a fraction of a second, and then disappeared. He burps something disgusting; this is not strange to any of us.

Leslie comes from a place what is different to the place what we are standin’ on. ‘E’d love to go ‘ome. (For the sake of argument, and the fact that he can’t keep the accent straight from one week to the next, it’s decided that Leslie doesn’t keep his own accent but takes the one from whatever body he’s inhabiting. He’s gone from West Country to Brizzle. Or it might be the Chezzy Massive.)

This sphere that we found has a smooth surface, and weighs about a pound. Ren rolls a 17 Investigation. (Matthew asks me to roll a d4; “No reason.” Uh oh. I roll a 4. That’s either really good or really bad.) The sphere is made of glass.

Pilfer: “It’s a snow globe!”

DM: “… It’s opaque.”

Pilfer: “It’s not a snow globe!”

Ren blurts out, ‘Driftglobe!” It will light up as if the Daylight spell is cast. He can speak the command word in Friends and it will light up. It works once per day and recharges at dawn. It can also float.

Milo hears some food shout, a sort of sad, whiny sound, but then it’s gone.

What’s in the bottles? They’re glass, reasonably ornate, long necked, with a rich red fluid in them. Not sauce. Ren opens one and gives it a sniff. It smells like the best food in the world. Leslie advises against drinking it, however. Marcus asks him if he knows what it is; it’s a healing potion. Two seem to be in fancier bottles than the rest. We decide to give Hilda one of the fancy ones. (We now have two remaining RHPs.)

We distribute and take various potions, and then set about deciding what to do. Bingo panics when he realises he doesn’t actually know how to find the horde; Cora manages to calm him down, and earns herself Inspiration.

Leslie seems to have more of an idea of what to do and where he’s going, so we decide to go with him and work in a visit to the horde as and when we can. Bingo thinks we might be starting our own horde. Trendsetters!

Matthew does a sound effect and drowns himself out. “Who’s playing Metallica?” “You are!”

We carry on: The battlefield scenery continues for the better portion of the day. Does it bother us that we’re walking on a carpet of the dead? Well - that’s the thing. There’s not many bodies. Sometimes flying food comes and pecks at it, but when we grab at it, it nips out the way real quick. (We know what birds are, but we are aware that these aren’t birds. These are flying food. There’s a difference.) There are weapons on the ground, but not whole corpses. There are bits, sure, and we can hear friends shouting in the distance.

“I’m Bingo!”

“Can I be Bingo too?”

“Sure!”

(Interesting note - they are all Bingo, but they are all aware which Bingo is which.)

The sky begins to clear. The carnage appears to be thinning. There are fewer weapons, less spoiled food. We snack on what bits of food are still dragging themselves along the ground. Ren: “Mmm, trail mix.”

Cora asks Pilfer if he needs his parasol - he belatedly fumbles around for it. (Also DM has added a sketch book to Ren’s inventory for his lyrics and drawings. He knows it’s his, but he doesn’t know why he’s done all those hieroglyph, squiggly weirdness in between the pictures.)

Something hoves into view as the scenery improves:

Bingo: “I know why they do it - it’s for the freshness!”

Pilfer: “Has anyone got a tin opener?”

Ren: “It’s got its own tin opener strapped to the back of it, look.”

We see the canned food shake its head and draw its can opener as it approaches us. And we roll initiative…

The food goes first; it steps forward and prepares itself to be opened. (It holds an action.)

Milo goes next. He moves forward and tries the first of his two can openers, for a dirty 20 with his javelin. Yeah! He pierces the protective container; we will have to eat this meal today, it won’t keep now. The food pulls Milo's opener out of itself, and there is sauce on the end of it. Milo is delighted.

Cora moves forward, and holds an action, as do Hilda and Marcus. (Marcus makes an INT check to see if he’s noticed he has a quarterstaff yet; he has not.) Ren shambles forward as well, and does the same, holding up his second spear. "Kebab."

Pilfer hucks some cutlery at the food, once he’s within range. 19 to hit with his dagger-spoon. Spork? Ed: “I reckon you could do some serious damage with a spork.”

Leslie shambles up and holds back for now, but Bingo can’t contain himself. He uses all of his movement to get right up to the food, and its tin opener. This is not going to go well for Bingo, as he’s now the only one in range of the food. The food now attacks Bingo.

Ren: “Poor Bingo.”

Cora: “Bingo is about to get a lot shorter.”

Matthew finds the right button and hits Bingo with a 21 and a 22, for 11 slashing damage.

Pilfer: “… Bye, Bingo.”

Luckily the food misses its second attack, and Bingo is still up. He’s only cleaved a bit in twain; he’ll probably walk it off.

Cora has a go at tenderising the suit. She swings her mace, but misses. Milo moves up and uses another can opener - but 15 misses. “This food is tricksy.”

Hilda flings her hand axe but it bounces off the can. Marcus runs up and does a Slam but misses. Ren walks up to the food for an attack as well; he pokes it with his spear, two handed. 15 misses.

You know, food can sometimes be quite dangerous. We should have a rule where we can horde up and all attack together (as in, we can flank for advantage.)

Pilfer, having run out of cutlery, hucks a ‘smol hammer’ at the food as an improvised weapon. 21 hits! Right in the noggin! 1 point of damage, awww.

Leslie stays on the outskirts a bit, but he’s making his way round. Bingo’ll have a go. “He’s so excited!” 9 misses, though. He paws ineffectually at the can, frustrated. The food has a go back, but misses Bingo. The second one hits for 7 damage.

Matthew, clicking buttons: “ Poor… old… Bingo.”

We hear Bingo say, “Ow!” He looks poorly now.

Cora is up. Open this can! She has a try at grappling the food to the floor; she makes a STR check for 14. She does not grapple the food. Milo moves up to flank it with Marcus, and does a bite by making a Slam attack with his teeth. 4 Bludgeoning damage!

Hilda moves up but can’t get near the food, so she elbows Marcus and Ren in the back of the knees. Marcus attacks, now that he’s flanking with Milo, and manages a Slam for 6 bludgeoning damage. Yeah!

Ren shuffles around so he’s flanking with Cora, and has a stabby at the unprotected side - but sadly, even with advantage, he misses. His spear skitters across the surface of the can. Pilfer wishes to Slam him. “Slam to your heart’s content.” Sadly he’s so excited he slams the floor instead.

This is standard Friend tactics - surround and overwhelm - we don’t need to change a thing. Leslie has a go as well now. He misses.

Stuff is leaking from Bingo, but he’s still up and for the first time in his career with this new horde, he scores a 20 to hit for 2 bludgeoning damage. We all cheer.

Canned food does some sword work at Bingo, hits him, and Bingo goes down.

“NO BINGO NO!!!!!”

Bingo is not dead, because he’s significant enough to have a name, we are assured. Hooray! The food takes aim at Milo, but only rolls a nine. Phew!

It’s Cora’s turn. The canned food smells worried. She has another go at grappling it, but rolls a 7 - she uses her Inspiration and grapples it.

Milo has a dim memory of catching something like this that had pinchers, so he pokes between the plates with his javelin to get at the good stuff - and gets a Critical Poke! DM: “I’m not gonna lie to you guys, you needed that.”

Does Milo get any nice chewy bits out? He’s pushed his javelin right through the knee joint; he’s separated the bones in there, and it’s all just connected by meat now. If the food survives this, it will never be knight again. He now has a long career as a meme to look forward to.

This food is now much closer to being prepared now. Milo even gets Inspiration for such a wonderfully timed Nat 20. Hilda takes aim at his other knee, cackling all the while, and hits with a 24 for 6 bludgeoning.

Marcus aims a Slam at its head with 23 to hit for 7 damage; canned food is struggling but not down. The only thing holding it up is Cora’s grapple and the fact that we’re standing all around it. (Like when you pass out at a gig.)

Ren remembers food on a stick (hazy memories) and has another poke - and misses. He realises he’s been using the wrong end of his spear, so he turns it around for next time. DM, through tears of laughter, awards Inspiration.

Pilfer takes a swing and a miss.

Duncan, OOC: “Don’t stop me now…”

Ren realises he’s humming under his breath.

This food is smelling pretty ready now. Not perfect! But close. Bingo makes an Undeath save. a 19! Canned food struggles against Cora’s grapple, but fails. DM: “It is weary, and ready for eats.” Cora wants to start sucking the juice out of the eye holes. She makes an attack but a 14 misses; she used her Inspiration last round.

Milo takes aim at the armpit. DM: “Horrible little man! I love it!” He rolls two 8s, sadly.

Hilda has been cackling since last round, and takes aim at the same spot as last time. 21 hits, for 4 bludgeoning damage and with that the meal cracks open. Underneath the can is lots and lots of lovely freshly prepared food!

Pilfer retrieves his hammer and knife, and Hilda picks up her axe. Marcus stops shovelling food into his mouth for long enough to give Bingo a potion.

Milo wants to bend some metal into a sort of cup shape, and try saving some of the food for later. He can add “Some food in home made can” to his character sheet. Matthew adds that he must note: “Not airtight.”

We all get some treats! 116XP! As we consume our meal we find 8 more gp, some more gems. Marcus asks to keep the can's can opener, as he doesn’t have a weapon; Leslie nudges him and says he might have something on his back. Marcus turns around.

We also find two more RHPs, some fancy boots. We don’t know what they are, but Leslie suggests they might be worth taking along. Pilfer claims them, and the food’s hat. The head falls out; Ren starts digging around behind the jaw for the good bits. We also find a fancy stick! Milo knows what it is - and now he has Proficiency in Investigation rolls. He and Ren both know it’s a magic stick. Not just a stick, either - a staff. It’s got a snake’s head on it. He doesn’t know the exact nature of it, due to his own nature. Marcus picks up the tin opener/greatsword.

We have a nice sit down meal. Bingo is so delighted with us and our micro-horde, he’s starting to forget about looking for the main one.

We decide to devote another week to this, as we started late. We finish with a dream for Cora:

She knows she’s asleep. She is in a pretty setting of rolling meadows; she feels at peace. She knows that she knows more now, but can’t grasp what exactly that is. It is the height of summer. A bright red comet races across the sky, and it starts to rain. The sky grows dark, and she feels a sense of melancholy. The rain grows heavier. At a table in the middle of the meadow is an old man, gorging himself on food from silver plates. His eyes turn black, and he smiles. (A midget talks backwards and is gone.) The old man becomes a figure holding a sword and speaking gibberish. A mountain crumbles to dust. The figure advances. It grasps Cora by the throat -

And she wakes up.

#dnd #tradeway2 #campaign diary

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johannstutt413 · 4 years ago

Text

(requested by calligomiles; continuing from this post)

“Hey, Zima?” Gummy called from the kitchen. “Should they be here by now?”

“I dunno what the Doctor’s hours are. They’ll get here when they get here.” The general was reclined on their double-wide futon, a book balanced in her lap and one earbud blasting Ursan rock music.

She shrugged, busying herself with casing sausages. “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“Do you think she’ll share better than I do?” Zima closed her book and got off the futon. “Or do you think she’ll like the Doctor more than us?”

“Why do you say that?” The master chef wiped her hands on a towel to get the worst of the meat residue off and met the general as she was walking into the kitchen.

Once she was in grappling range, Zima wrapped both arms around her and sighed. “You saw how happy she was with the Doctor’s attention. I’ve never seen her like that.”

“I haven’t either,” Gummy admitted, squeezing her closer, “but I’m sure she’s happy for us, not just herself. Don’t worry about it too much, dear; they’ll come home, we’ll have a nice dinner, and then we’ll show the Doctor we play as hard as we work. It’s all gonna be fine, ‘kay?”

“You really are a teddy bear...Thanks.” The general honestly didn’t want to let go, but she was hopeless as a cook and dinner wasn’t that long from now, so she reluctantly left Gummy to it after a drawn-out kiss.

She’d always worried about Gum feeling left out, since at first Istina had paid Zima substantially more attention, but now she wondered if she’d overdone it and accidentally left Istina feeling left out. Since they’d made it to Rhodes Island, their doting defender had done her best to make them all feel at home with the organization and keep their spirits up, but much like her own tough shell, the general knew their time in Chernobog had taken its toll, and on top of that, she still had her parents to fret for. The girl was a ball of all of the USG’s anxieties wrapped up in kitchen grease and grins, barely keeping it together on especially hard days but never cracking. Hopefully, having the Doctor around would give her a chance to let go of some of that...for all she did for them, she deserved all the love she could stand.

And then there was Istina. There’d been a real fire there before, a passion Zima now tied to the fact that she’d been their rescuer during their first meeting, but as time passed, for one reason or another, that passion had smoldered into something more complicated. Istina was self-contained, thoughtful, concerned with questions of philosophy that sometimes got in the way of the fiery revolutionary spirit that dwelled in the general’s very bones. Whereas all Zima cared about was getting rid of the corrupt government that controlled Ursus’ settlements, Istina wanted to be sure they could replace it properly and swiftly after crushing their opposition, which meant having discussions about topics she’d rather not have to think about...But she was the Winter General, after all. Nothing should be impossible for her, and so she read everything she could that could make her the leader her friends - no, her nation - needed her to be. It was a lot of pressure, and oftentimes it was the two people she loved most dearly that were the victims of that pressure, something Gummy simply shrugged off while Istina fanned the flames with contrarian argumentation meant to “make her a better debater.” If only she could do a better job at timing.

Speaking of timing.

“And we’re here.” Istina walked through the door, the Doctor behind her. Was it Zima’s imagination, or did they both seem a little less put together than when they’d gone to the Doctor’s office? “Gummy’s cooking - that’s the amazing smells in the air right now - and Zima- well, there she is.”

“Evening. Make yourself at home.” The general’s mask fell into place as she went back to her book, tilted on the futon so she could watch the pair go about things.

The first thing to happen was that Istina walked over to her for a welcome-home embrace. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Well, that was disarming. Zima rested her head on her right-hand’s shoulder. “How’s the new job?”

“We um...we didn’t get a lot of work done.” The heat from her blush said as much. “I was going to wait until we all could together, but one thing led to another, and-”

The general sighed. “You don’t have to explain, it’s fine. Gummy, how long do you think dinner’ll be?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take?”

“Thanks!” She held her gaze for a dragged-out second. “After we eat, the four of us need to have a talk.”

Istina nodded. “I thought as much. In the meantime, I want to try and finish Gyle’s Pauldron before dinner.”

“Um, hey, where should I put my jacket? And my shoes, while I’m at it. This carpet looks soft.”

“I’ll show you.” Zima’s left hand lingered for a shoulder squeeze before she went to help the Doctor settle in. “Shoes can go wherever so long as we aren’t going to trip. Jacket can go on one of those hooks or on the back of a chair. We don’t care much about keeping the place neat outside of meetings with our backers.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed. “Backers? As in the people supporting the revolution?”

“Revolution isn’t the best word for it,” Istina mentioned from her perch on the futon. “Ursus’ governing body lost its right to rule some time ago, so we don’t recognize its current facade of governance as anything but a surface-level deception while those in ‘power’ enjoy its privileges.”

“...Basically, you’re right, but like she said, they sucked way too much at their job by the time we were born for us to give them a modicum of recognition beyond threat analysis. Speaking of, Doctor, I need you to tell me something, and be completely honest with me when I do.”

She nodded. “I’d never dream of anything but.”

“Did you join this polycule for a relationship with all three of us?” It stung, but she had to know. “Or just for Istina?”

“General!” Her right-hand looked up from her book, stunned.

The person with the unenviable task of answering that question thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Zima. She convinced me with her rhetoric, and I may find myself drawn more to her than you or Gummy, but I haven’t spent enough time with you all to know for sure.”

“Spoken like a politician.” Zima nodded to herself. “Or even a general.”

“Hey, Doctor, can you come here for a second? I want you to try something!” Gummy called from the kitchen, presumably for a taste test.

She took a step towards the kitchen, hesitated, and then turned back to Zima. “I’ll be right there, Gummy. Just one thing before I do...”

“Hmm? Why are you loo-” She’d closed the gap and, with a twinkle in her eye, kissed her cheek. “Ah...huh?”

“Hehe.” The Doctor booped Zima’s nose with a triumphant grin and went to the kitchen to join Gummy.

Istina giggled. “She turns on a dime when she wants to. One minute she’s shy, the next she’s tricksy, and right after she’s sweet and tender...If she’d said she was only here for me, what would you have done?”

“...I don’t know.” She sunk into the couch next to her. “I don’t wanna think about it now that it’s resolved.”

“You would’ve missed me that much?”

Zima managed a nod, but nothing further for a minute or so, before giving in and sitting next to Istina, pulling her into her lap and kissing her cheek. “More, even.”

“I see.” Istina leaned back, smiling as her head met the general’s shoulder. “Hey, um...I’m sorry if-”

“Shush. No think, just cuddle.”

“...Okay.”

A few minutes later, the Doctor carried Gummy out of the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready! Aww...Hey, Gum, can we join the cuddle pile before we eat?”

“Yeah, but just for a minute!” She kept talking as her courier tried running with an entire Ursan in her arms. “It’ll cool down really quickly-”

“Incoming!” She turned her forward dash into a backward stumble, landing next to the other pair with a smile on her face.

Istina and Zima shared a glance before nodding to themselves. “Gum?”

“On it!” Gummy shifted her weight and knocked the Doctor on her back before making space. “Ready!”

“Wait, did you three plan this out?”

They joined the pile, the general kissing the Doctor’s cheek as she settled in. “We wanted to be ready. Just a couple minutes, Gum?”

“...Maybe longer.” Her head was quite comfortable against the Doc’s chest. “I can reheat it if we need to...Zima, you have to try this. She’s like a pillow.”

“Alright, scoot over, then...Istina, I’m guessing you knew about this?”

She smiled, content with an arm each from the Doctor and Gummy around her, hers around the Doctor’s neck. “Mmhmm.”

“...I’ll reheat food later.” Gummy yawned. “You’re so comfy~”

“And you’re all so warm. I’ll never have to worry about the AC ever again. Ahh...Hey, Zima? Wasn’t there something you wanted us all to talk about?”

Zima shook her head, giggling under her breath at the resulting jiggle. “Not anymore.”

“Good, because my brain is fried.” She sighed. “Wake me up when we’re ready to eat, okay?”

“Aye~” They chorused, each with something entirely different on their minds...

#arknights #zima (arknights)#istina (arknights)#gummy (arknights)#calligo i have no idea why this refused to come together #it took like more than three days to gel into this #ugh #maybe it was the v-tubes #that's a fair excuse right guys?#heheh...yeah...#arknights fic

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what-big-teeth · 5 years ago

Text

Spark (Male Fire Elemental, pt. 2)

There are two sides to every story. And for many, both are worth hearing. To help her father heal and to better understand Ignis, Simone knows she must learn of the fire elemental’s past. That is, if he chooses to tell her.

Female Human (POV) x Male Monster [Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

TW: self-harm

As a child, I used to scream myself awake at night.

Sweat soaked my pajamas every time and my muscles ached from thrashing around. The only thing that brought me to my senses was the gentle touch of Nana’s hands.

My lungs always struggled to take in air and there were times when I threw up. But Nana would just draw a warm bath then gently wash my body with lavender soap. And she never let me feel ashamed.

But during the worst nights, I couldn’t look at her. Even after she’d dress me, change my bedsheets, and tuck me back in. I wanted nothing more than for her to leave so I could stay angry at myself. She never did.

“Simone?”

“Mm.”

“Are you too old to be my grandbaby?”

Every time she’d ask that question with a playful tone, I’d meet her eyes and shake my head.

“Then you aren’t too old to hear me tell your favorite story. Are you comfy?”

I’d nod, only after snuggling further into bed. The act would bring a smile to her face every time.

“Ready, Nana.”

And without fail, she’d spin her tale. Once upon a time, there was a brave, Black girl who lived in a quiet town. It was so quiet that the girl decided she wanted to go on an adventure in the woods. So, she did.

As she explored the forest, the girl found something amazing: fire trapped in an unbreakable glass sphere. But neither were ordinary fire or ordinary glass. The flame was a tricksy spirit and the sphere was its prison, etched with strange symbols. At first, the spirit didn’t want anything to do with the girl and told her to leave. But the girl refused and told the spirit that having company was better than being alone. To the girl’s surprise, the spirit agreed.

Years passed, and with time, the girl and the spirit grew close. The girl eventually found a way to shatter the glass sphere and released the spirit. But once he was freed, the spirit didn’t leave. Instead, he declared his love for the girl. But the girl couldn’t accept because her heart belonged to another. This angered the spirit and he vowed to destroy the quiet town where the girl lived. To save the boy and the town she loved, the girl tricked the spirit and trapped him again using her own blood.

“The girl later married the boy and lived a happy life, but she still thought about the spirit from time to time.”

“But he turned bad. So why Nana?”

“Because before he became the girl’s worst enemy, he was her dearest friend.”

________________________________________

I can feel Mica’s gaze trail after me as I unload my large, rolling suitcases and from Mason’s pickup. He slams the tailgate home with more force than usual and the bang drowns out her sigh.

“Are you sure about this, Simone?”

Going from “tidying up Nana’s house” in November to “living there for a week as a test-run” the next month didn’t sit well with her. More so when we found evidence of forced entry in Grandpa’s old den. Just about everything was turned over and rummaged through. And the back-door handle laid mangled in the backyard. The discovery spurred Mason to buy two, top-of-the-line locks and install them while we were still there. I offered to repay him for the locks and new keys, but he refused.

When Dad learned about our discovery, all the color drained from his face. Not surprisingly, he lost his composure when I told him my idea. Mason immediately offered to come along for additional safety as did Mica. Mainly to keep Mason in line and to help ease Dad’s growing worry. Thankfully, after I promised to put his number on speed dial and check in with him daily, he agreed.

I haul the heavier of my suitcases up the front steps and lean it against the door. Once I’m sure it won’t topple over from its own weight, I grab the second one and give Mica a reassuring smile.

“Positive. I don’t want my inheritance to go to waste.”

Mason frowns in return, but Mica quickly intercedes before he can speak.

“If you need anything, give us a call, okay? The motel’s only ten minutes away.”

“I will,” I say.

But neither twin moves. Or says anything. A long silence follows, one that’s filled with unvoiced concern.

“I’m serious, you guys. If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Promise.”

The tension in Mica’s shoulders subsides, but Mason just shakes his head and heads towards the driver side of his truck without saying goodbye. As he closes the door, Mica pinches the bridge of her nose with a gloved hand and lets out a deep breath.

“Don’t worry about him,” she says. “His bad mood will blow over and he’ll be back to his normal grumpy self soon.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Mica’s hand falls away from her face and she stares at me with narrowed eyes.

“Wait, he hasn’t told you yet?”

“If you mean the reason he’s been acting weird lately, then no. He hasn’t.”

My guess goes unanswered until she stomps her foot against the cold, hard ground.

“That dumbass!”

“Uh, Mica—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” She waves off my question and gives me a horribly forced smile. “I’ll take care of it and text you later!”

Before I can say anything, Mica jogs over to the pickup’s passenger side and climbs inside. She starts tearing into Mason the moment she’s settled in. But Mason’s stony expression doesn’t crack. He just focuses on reversing the truck and driving away.

I shake off the feeling of forced ignorance and head inside. No use in getting frustrated over what I can’t change. Not when there’s something I can. And it’s past the foyer and down the main hallway, disguised as a normal fireplace piled with ash.

I stare at the dark hearth, thinking of how to best announce my presence. I’m tempted to let my noisy air mattress pump do the job for me, but any sort of pettiness will hinder my goal. So, I pick up a nearby fire iron and knock it against the brick mantle.

A tiny burst of sparks emerges from the ash slowly followed by bright flames that curl upward until they fill the iron hearth. Unlike the sharp grin Ignis first wore when he first appeared, his features are stretched wide into a yawn.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I say.

Ignis takes his time coming around, his mouth closing with a sharp crackle. When his gaze lifts to meet mine, I give him a smile. His eyes narrow.

“You’re back.”

“Considering how I’m the rightful owner of this house, yes. I am.”

The bit of flame acting as his mouth stretches into a joyless sneer.

“Does your newfound ownership extend to me?”

I back away from the fireplace and plop down in the middle of the clean area rug.

“No, it doesn’t. And it never will.”

Ignis falls silent and his mocking smile melts into an unreadable expression. I keep going, not wanting to lose his attention.

“All I want is to know the truth. Nana told her side of the story as best she could to a young child. And Dad won’t say anything about what he knows. That just leaves your perspective, if you’ll let me hear it.”

The outline of his humanoid face wavers then vanishes. Ignis retreats altogether, leaving unlit ash in his wake. That was…unexpected. As much I want to learn what happened between him and Nana, I know it’ll take time. Hopefully before Christmas week rolls around. Interfering with my friends’ holiday break isn’t an option and neither is causing Dad further distress. But for now, there’s plenty to do pass the time.

It doesn’t take long to inflate the air mattress and unpack the bedding. Or plug in Nana’s old portable heater. My clothes stay put inside my suitcase, but I drop off my nighttime essentials in the nearby guest bathroom. Mason’s suspicions about rotten wood weakening the second floor were dead on, so the upstairs is off-limits for now.

With all of that taken care of, I kick off my boots, grab my laptop and the mobile wi-fi hotspot, then settle on the loveseat across from the sofa. The lumpy cushioning keeps me alert while doing some early job searching.

I break for lunch after bookmarking a few promising offers and call up Mica. The twins soon arrive and we head into town for food and groceries. Ignoring the suspicious stares from the other shoppers would be easier if Mason and Mica weren’t giving each other the silent treatment. Even the drive back to Nana’s house is awkward with the air charged with an undercurrent of anger.

It’s sad to say, but I’m happier once I’m left alone again. As the day slowly dwindles into night, I make dinner then tuck myself into bed. The dark fireplace is the last thing I see before drifting away. It soon becomes a common sight.

Ignis remains unseen the next day. And he doesn’t appear during following day, either. Worry starts to gnaw at my mind, but I keep busy as best I can.

Clearing Nana’s garden of weeds and wild plants takes an old pair of gloves, lots of elbow grease, and the better part of the day. But it’s worth the sharp aches and stiff fingers once I’m able to see usable soil. With careful planning and the right fertilizer, it’ll be green again. That is, if I can remember what Nana used to grow.

I drop onto the couch and take a much-needed sip from my bottled water. Glancing at the dark fireplace, my curiosity gets the better of me.

“Any ideas about what plants would grow best in the backyard?” I ask.

Nothing. Not even a hint of cinders. Sighing, I flick some dirt from my cheek and get up.

“Abigail was fond of daylilies.”

I freeze in my tracks. Ignis looks at me with that same unreadable expression.

“At least,” he says, “that’s what I heard during the times I was aware.”

My chill-bitten lips stretch into a grin. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“Thanks! I’ll give them a try.”

Progress is slow but steady after that. Ignis becomes more open to talking, and even though I’m left leading our conversations, he still provides his own opinions and ideas. He tells me that he likes the sunrise, since the sight reminds him a growing flame. But he prefers the darkest of night as that’s when he used to shine brightest. When I ask him about any powers he may have, he tells me to be patient. The next day, to curb my excitement, I decide to tackle re-painting Nana’s front door.

“You may want to come inside,” he calls out a few hours later through the open front door.

I wipe the back of my hand against my cheek, smearing more burgundy paint onto my skin. My old overalls and sweater are completely wrecked, still stained with streaks of dirt from Nana’s garden. And a break sounds wonderful, to be honest.

The moment I step inside with the paint can and brush, rain starts pouring down in a steady torrent. My mouth drops open as lightning streaks across the sky.

“But how did you know?” The forecast didn’t predict any showers.”

Ignis snorts, the light of his flame brightening temporarily.

“Nature is as unpredictable as she wishes to be, regardless of the instruments humans use to try and quantify her.

“Oh?” I say teasingly. “Is that right?”

“Yes. And the cool air blowing in told me all I needed to know.”

This is all just another small part about him, but it still leaves me wanting more.

“Think I can learn how to do that?” I ask “Or is it a special elemental thing?”

“Perhaps,” he says. “You’ve shown an aptitude for many things. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did the same with this.”

His warm reply sends a pleasant shiver down my spine and it takes all my willpower to keep a straight face. Deciding I’m done with chores for the day, I give Ignis a quick ‘thanks’ and head to the bathroom to clean up.

Friday night rolls around with Ignis and I having grown more comfortable with one another. We converse a lot more and he keeps me company as I continue to job search, asking questions about the process. I answer him as best I can, but some of my explanations fall short. He tells me doesn’t mind at all and his words send a rush of happiness through my body.

“Are all humans required to sit through an ‘interview’?”

I hum and close my laptop.

“Honestly, I think it depends on the job—”

Glass shatters. A heavy weight hits the floor; a rock. It settles against the rug just as a black-sleeved arm shoots through the broken windowpane. It bends up and starts struggling with the window latch. I jump to my feet and back away.

“G-go away! I’ll call the cops!”

More glass shatters and my stomach drops.

We took care of the doors, but overlooked the windows’ old locks. If the intruder gets in, they’ll see me and then I’ll be—

“Stay calm, Simone.”

A calming heat washes over my shaking body and I remember how to nod my head.

“Close your eyes and trust me.”

Biting back a sob, I huddle against the couch and screw my eyes shut. A blinding, white light pierces through the darkness of my eyelids for a few brief moments. Against the brilliance, there’s a scream. Then, nothing. Only silence.

“They’re gone,” Ignis says in a weak voice. “You can look now.”

I do. The only sign of the intruder that remains are the shredded tatters of their black sleeve clinging to the broken glass. Ignis is still present, but not as a brightly burning fire. He’s nothing more than the cinders and sparking in the glowing red fireplace.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice straining.

I jump over my fallen laptop and scramble towards him.

“Me? What about you?”

“It seems…I expended a greater deal of energy than originally planned. Strained too much against my restraints. If the intruder comes again, I won’t be of much help.”

Restraints? My eyes dart around the fireplace and find two identical marks, both glowing a molten red. Two triangles enclosed by two perfect circles. But the marks aren’t etchings. In fact, they look just like…

“Bloodstains. That’s how Nana sealed you.”

Ignis doesn’t reply. And the light from the cinders is growing dim.

“You wanted to hear my side of things, didn’t you? Call for help, and I will tell you.”

“But I—”

“Please, Simone.”

The heavy fear his plea urges me to locate my phone. My thumbs tap against the touch screen and hit the dial button. A low ring fills the living room three times until—

“Hello? Simone?”

Relief floods by body at the sound of Mason’s groggy voice and I let out a hitched sob. I tell him about the attempted break-in and he immediately comes around. In just a few minutes, he and Mica are inside of his truck, the engine roaring to life in the background. Mason’s voice sound stronger when he speaks again.

“Stay on the line. We’ll be there soon, alright?”

I rub at my eyes with the heels of my palms and promise to do so. Then, I turn back to Ignis. The cinders’ light pulses for a moment, then dims.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Please don’t.” More hot tears scald my cheeks. “You’re dying. You’re…”

“As promised, let me tell you my story.”

The usual steadfast bravado in his voice isn’t present. And the cinders are growing dimmer. But I agree all the same.

“My first memory of humanity is of my captor, binding me to an engraved, glass flask. I had no one but my younger, cocky self to blame. My captor soon sold me for a hefty sum of gold and from there I was exchanged by many hands: philosophers, merchants, nobles, kings. Even Paracelsus possessed me for a moment in time. Each and every one of them never attempted to free me.

“Soon enough, I arrived here in the New World by way of ship. It was a miserable journey crossing the ocean, almost torture. Back on land, my last handler hoarded me, wanting to use my knowledge to become wealthy. But he was discovered conversing with me and deemed a heretic. He ran and unknowingly dropped me in a dense, forested area. I could do nothing but wait and observe. Until one day, a ray of light found me: Abigail.”

He’s still slowly fading. I swallow down the painful lump building in my throat and dig my nails into my palms.

“You loved her,” I croak out.

“Yes. But before then, I only saw her as a means to an end. I tried to trick her into releasing me, but she was too clever. Instead, she sincerely offered me her friendship. After everything I went through, all the years of powerlessness, I was stunned. A mere slip of a girl offering me something so simple? Out of curiosity, I agreed. I soon forgot about wanting to be set free, but Abigail didn’t. Somehow, she found a way to release me from the flask. From that moment on, I already knew my heart belonged to her. But the love she felt for me was only friendship.

“When I learned she had fallen in love with your grandfather, my jealousy consumed me. And in my rage, I threatened to burn down the town with him in it. In return, Abigail asked me to meet her inside her home in three days’ time. I’m ashamed to say I thought she would come to her senses by then and renounce her love for your grandfather. But instead, she bound me using her own blood. And here I stayed, partially aware of the passing time. Of her husband and her only son…and later, you.”

He’s only a few glowing cinders at this point. Almost gone. I ignore the sharp pain of my nails cutting through my skin and bite back a sob.

“It’s strange,” he says weakly. “But I just remembered something from that day.”

“What?”

“Abigail was crying as she sealed me away. My anger back then blinded me to that. And now, I’ve made you cry. Please forgive me, Simone.”

It’s funny. Even as an utter wreck kneeling on the ground, I can’t help but wonder. Could Ignis and Nana have reconciled if Ignis had let go of his anger earlier? Would Nana have released him? Would we have met under different circumstances? I’ll never know. But as I unclench my hands, I realize I still have an option left to use.

“Simone?”

This is a huge risk I’m taking. I don’t even know if this will help or make things worse. But his voice is so weak and it’s the only thing I can think of.

“Trust me, okay Ignis?”

“What are you—”

I slam my bleeding palms against the sides of the fireplace. Right on top of Nana’s original seals. A scream pierces my ears and echoes in my blood. A brutal heat engulfs my body, growing in intensity. I shut my eyes to it all, and soon feel myself falling.

_____________________________________________

When my eyes open, I’m not in pain. Even though I should be. Instead, my body is blanketed by a gentle warmth.

“There you are,” a familiar voice whispers.

The well-built man cradling me in his lap looks down at me with ruby-red eyes. His long, thick black curls stand out against his deep russet skin. He smiles down at me, a kind gesture that highlights the slight bump in the bridge of his wide nose. A soothing heat seeps into my hands and sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Slowly, the blisters covering my palms flatten into normal, healthy skin.

“But how…?”

“You did mention wanting to learn more about my powers, didn’t you? Although that was a rather careless way of doing so.”

It can’t be.

“Ignis?”

His smile widens into a mischievous grin.

“In the flesh,” he says.

My mind can’t connect the living flame in the fireplace to the man holding me. Because something is missing. As he examines my hands for more injuries, I slowly lift them and place them against his cheeks. He leans into my touch and I bite my bottom lip to steady myself.

“This isn’t what you really look like, is it?”

He stiffens. I keep holding his gaze and eventually feel the tension in his body seep away. He shakes his head.

“Show me. Please?”

Ignis closes his eyes. And slowly, his human appearance evaporates away. The russet tone of his body gives way to black skin, fissured with what looks like molten lava. But the cracks are organic and follow the natural lines of his large, humanoid body. His real form has no mouth or ears, but two white, hot eyes lacking pupils. And his hands are tipped with sharp claws that lightly ghost across my arms.

“This,” he says, “is the true me.”

He starts to pull away from my hands, but I coax him down and press a kiss to the smooth, surface of his cheek. Ignis looks at me stunned and I grin.

“What? I’m just saying thank you for taking care of me.”

Ignis’ expression softens into something that makes my heart race. He chuckles then nuzzles against the side of my head.

“I think I should be the one thanking you.”

I’m content to stay in Ignis’ arms until I fall asleep. But I know that won’t be possible. The familiar hum of an approaching engine is proof of that.

But as long as we have each, we’ll face and overcome whatever comes next. Together.

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #fire elemental boyfriend #exophilia #once I get over this illness #I'll start on part three #my writing #female reader #fem reader

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shriekbackmusic · 4 years ago

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Collaborations #1 (’Shriekback are Seeing Other People’)

Well, collaboration is everything really innit? No man is an island, not even the ones who pretend they are. That’s what I reckon. Merging somebodys’ talents and energies with yours. What a thing. The very stuff of life.

Still, it can be a fractious business: politics will come into it. LIke: who’s in charge here? Who gets to say whether your bit is better than my bit? And how do we work that shit out? A microcosm of the world or what?

Undeterred, we seem to do it (collaborate) quite a lot. And these are some pretty successful tunes, I would say. Good for us. Bold and resolute Shriekback!

So there’s Hope, right?

(BA)

MART’S TRACKS:

DROP BY DROP Barker/Burridge

Taken from my Album" Water and Stone." Exploring my rolling Gtr and groove in 7 with the wonderfully talented musician cellist Emily Burridge.

Inspired by the miracle of water, its rhythm, its music, its journey, its myths, its poetry and beauty

FLYING SAUCER Barker/ Roedelius/Noah1

Lovely to have met and worked with the master of Ambience, Hans Joachim Roedelius for the Album Fibre.

Recorded up in the hills of Shropshire with George Taylor (Noah1) and Jez coed

This piece was inspired by my riff Im playing on the Hang Drum, hence the title "Flying Saucer"

GOLDEN MOON Barker/Young

Taken from my mini Album” Blue” Talitha Rise.

This was my first big endeavour into the musical spiritual world and collaboration with Jo beth young.

We are joined on the Riti by Juldeh Camara.

PILGRIM`S WAY Barker/Adams

My new project/collaboration still ongoing with the mighty talent of Justin Adams .

This first piece inspired by ancient walks.

This new whole album partly inspired by the writing of Robert Macfarlane "the old ways"

SANDLINES. Barker/ Adams

Second piece inspired the Ancient paths of the desert.

THE LAKE Barker/Young taken from the album" Abandoned Orchid House” Talitha Rise

Another collaboration with Jo beth Young and another piece in 7!

Intense, energetic and rich with riddles.

THE SELKIE. Barker / Pynn

Second Piece taken from my Album "Water and Stone”

Inspired by the Myths and stories of the Selkie. With the magical multi instrumentalist Nick Pynn on Violin.

CARL’S TRACKS:

Words Fail Me

with AMANDA KRAVIT

(Barratt/Marsh)

David Barratt and I were introduced to Amanda by John Mrvos, one of the A&R team at EastWest Atlantic in New York (Happyhead’s label) - she was his girlfriend and he wanted to get her recorded, basically, so we came up with this. Dave had done some kind of publishing deal that allowed him to sample the company catalogue, hence Ravi Shankar playing sitar all over it. Backing vocals by Bill Clift; some of the drums sound like Jim Kimberley, sampled from HH sessions (1992ish.)

The Longest Goodbye

with BILL CLIFT

(Clift/Marsh)

I’ve written loads with Bill under various banners, of course. This is a mid-90s demo recorded in Bill’s flat in Greenwich. BVs by Stella Clifford and Marilyn Gentle, bass (I think) by Gary Brady… not sure who did the wibbly organ. This song was later recorded by Bill’s band Fuzzbuddy, re-titled Killing Me Now - it’s just been re-released as part of their Complete Studio Recordings compilation.

THE PALACE DOGS

with GEOFF WOOLEY

I’ve collaborated with Geoff Woolley since Out On Blue Six, and in school bands even before that. These two tracks, from around 1995, are both built from sampled TV shows (and therefore subject to all sorts of potential copyright issues…).

Queen of Peoples’ Hearts

(Marsh/Woolley)

The self-styled QOPH’s Panorama special, cut up and pumped up with added Dario Argento and a spot of Jeremy Paxman. The Original is all-electronic; the Guitar Version has not only mine and Geoff’s rhythm bits but some wildfire lead from Steve Bolton (Atomic Rooster, Paul Young, The Who etc. and currently fronting the mighty Dead Man’s Corner). Take yer pick.

Crazy Dames

(Marsh/Woolley)

The main voice and piano on here are from a 1961 Twilight Zone episode called The Midnight Sun, in which the Earth is knocked out of orbit and is spiralling towards the Sun… it gets hot. Other vocals by Stella Clifford and Marilyn Gentle.

GASWERKS

The Ying Tong Song

(Milligan)

Basically the same format as The Palace Dogs with the addition of Bill Clift, whose idea it was to knock out a dance version of The Goons’, er, classic. Dig that crazy rhythm, indeed. We were told the novelty song market was a hard one to crack… by the singer of Black Lace, who should know, I suppose…

WOOLLEY/MARSH

The Girlfriends Of Dorian Gray

(Barratt/Marsh/Woolley)

David Barratt came up with the conceit of a modern Dorian Gray who preserves his youth (or immaturity) not by having a grotesquely ageing portrait in the attic but by having an ever-changing string of girlfriends who absorb the consequences of his many flaws and are discarded one after another. Dave sketched out the chorus and then proposed that he, I and Deni Bonet (NY-based violinist and writer that we’ve worked with on various projects) should write our own versions of the story, possibly with the idea of creating some kind of meta-version combining them all. That never happened, but I like the track Geoff and I came up with and the lyric is nice and tricksy - shades of Costello, maybe, if I say so myself.

You’re The Only One

(Marsh/Woolley)

A re-write of a Happyhead demo, switching New York electronica for some 90s Britpop vibes, it sounds like. Bit of a kinky ménage à trois scenario with reasonably loud guitars. Nice.

BARRY’S TRACKS

The Frances & Martine poems, with Hilda Sheehan (2014)

part 1: GLOW, GOOSE, CORN-REMOVER

part 2: COAT, ARM, KNOB OF BUTTER

I met Hilda Sheehan - through the (surprisingly vibey) Swindon poetry scene when I was stationed back there for 10 years in '04. She was often the star turn at their spoken word events and, I thought, had the mark of a real artist in that she came with her own self-contained world (’magical realist Northern UK kitchen sink’, if I had to describe it).

I thought it would be fun to 'set' (as they say) some of her poems to music and so I did. From Hilda's considerable oeuvre, I picked the Frances and Martine series - I liked F&M's mutually abrasive dependence - the key ingredient in any sitcom - and the succinct and sometimes brutal nature of each of their adventures.

Dame Hilda Sheehan

The Anaxaton6 EP with Mike Tournier (2013)

I first worked with Mike Tournier (Big Mike as opposed to Little Mike - these were Flukes' Contrasting Mikes at the time) as producer on their OTO album c.94. Techno outfit Fluke apparently liked them some Olde Shriekback (they had worked previously with Wendy and Sarah) and thought I might add something to the project.

It turned out that producing a techno band is every bit as awkward as you might imagine (there’s only one computer screen for a start) and we abandoned the collaboration after I'd failed to insert myself into Fluke's process in any useful way (sandwich run doesn't count).

Anyway, we stayed in touch and collaborated rather more successfully on a Fluke/Shriekback tune and performance for MTV.

It was the redoubtable Julian Nugent, Fluke's manager, who got in touch - in 2013 to suggest that Mike and I might like to try knocking up a tune together.

I liked the idea of this straightaway. Mike can produce huge, hi-torque productions and I had an idea of a songwriting approach which I though might complement this. The vocalist would be recognisably the bloke out of Shriekback but CG’d with florid new appendages. I fancied some mad-as-a-rat lyrics (Welcome to their secret sign: Boola Stack! Haunted Lego of the Mind! Boola Stack!) but the music would be slick and vivid and solidly crafted because that's always how Mike rolls. Thus you get something quite absurd being taken very seriously which is, to my mind, the best thing you can possibly have.

extract from the sleeve notes:

BONE MARAUDER tells of a pure love, painful engorgement and hog sorcery.

JUJUGRID (GO LIVE!) wrangles with hedonic guilt, ecclesiastical turpitude and leaves everything else the fuck alone.

BOOLA STACK! - There are so many things to say of Boola Stack that to ennumerate them insults us both.

NO FOOL BOLETUS... let's just be clear about this: you got nothing to hide, there's no need to worry. Be lucky.

Michaele don Turino and Bleary Android are the naked mortals chained to the husky obelisk of ANAXATON6

Anaxaton6 has some videos here:

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=anaxaton6

Mike Tournier

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thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

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Shadows of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 22

Shadows of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because OHGOSH the Skeksis are evil?!

Last times on book: Naia’s quest to prove brother Gurjin’s innocence has brought her to the Castle of the Crystal despite numerous warnings by Tavra and misgivings from Kylan. In the castle she sees the Skeksis acting defensive and evasive and the castle staff oddly zombie-esque. Oh, also they confess that they’re super evil and capture Tavra. Yeah.

Chapter 24

Naia finds Gurjin. Things get complicated.

Naia starts heading upward into the castle because the Crystal showed her that Gurjin was being kept in one of the towers.

With the help of Neech, the shoulder eel, Naia finds the right tower.

Iron cages holding Gelfling lined every wall within the cell. Most captives huddled in the cramped space with their arms wrapped about their knees, while others leaned against the rusty bars. Some were alive -- she heard shallow, labored breathing and quiet little whimpers. Some lay so still they were certainly unconscious, if not gone altogether.

Geez.

None moved but a twitch when she entered, and she thought perhaps they were sleeping, but when the faint light from the hallway touched the face of one prisoner nearby, she saw his eyes were milky and vacant, like the Podling slaves... like the Nebrie.

Geez!

I think in comparison, exploding when drained might actually be the better outcome??

Naia finds Gurjin locked in a wooden crate looking... bad.

The croaking voice was almost lost in its fragility, but the timbre in it brought tears to Naia’s eyes. Crouched in a wood crate in the far corner, nearly hidden by shadows, was a haggard Gelfling with gray-tinged Drenchen skin and thick locs pulled into a bun at the back of his head. So much of his natural bulk was gone, leaving him thin and bony like a child. He twisted, holding on to the thick wood and pressing his face between the slats to get a better look at her. His voice was muffled and weak, but it was definitely Gurjin.

“Naia? Is that really you?”

“Gurjin,” she breathed. “You’re all right. You’re all right!”

“All right?” he repeated with a little cough. “I’ve been tossed in a bin like a noggie husk.”

Heh. I can hear this last line in Gurjin’s voice.

Naia breaks Gurjin out with the Totally Sweet Metal Dagger. But Gurjin has been locked up for days with no food and the Skeksis have been drugging him with moonberry. Which is called a sleep-flower.

Learning about botany today.

Gurjin is so weak that Naia has to bear most of his weight. And she realizes that even if she could get the other cells open, she couldn’t possibly carry them all.

Gurjin shook his head. His voice was so soft, it was hardly recognizable.

“They’re already drained. It’s too late.”

Naia didn’t know what he meant by drained, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The awful fact was, they didn’t have time. If she wanted to help the silent dull-eyed Gelfling, she would have to save herself first.

“We’ll just have to come back for them,” she said, determined. “We’ll come back.”

Oof, really kicking up the horror of the drained from the movies. We don’t see much of that in Age of Resistance because of the aforementioned exploding.

She’ll also have to come back for Tavra because she can only support exactly one Gurjin. She is but one girl and nobody told her to bring a wheelbarrow.

Then there’s a gust of wind from the tower stairway. Someone is coming up. And Naia smells something that she realizes is Gelfling essence. (Dunno how she knows what that smells like.)

The Skeksis in black that was staring at Naia in the dining hall comes up the stairs. Being a bit... dramatic.

“One and two,” he purred. He jabbed a finger first at Naia and then at her brother. “Two, but one. Two, one... twin. Had the one and been waiting for the second. Now we have her! Oh, have been waiting for this wonderful night!”

“skekMal,” Gurjin whispered. “No...”

“Now, come. Closer. End this now, skekMal will do. Time for special draining of twin Gelfling. Waiting so long! skekTek the Scientist says may make a special essence for Emperor. Ha! Not if skekMal make and take it for himself.”

You’re dropping a lot on me all of a sudden, book!

So the weirdo in the dining hall was the Hunter? He ran ahead into the castle to sit down at dinner and pretend he was there all along?

And also that the Skeksis have apparently been doing the draining thing long enough that they know that twins are special? Or... I don’t know how to interpret this at all.

This is really a different take on the Hunter. He’s more tricksy, camp, and more willing to deal with the other Skeksis’ bullshit.

I guess he mostly just stomps around the Dark Woods and then goes back home for dinner.

Huh.

The Hunter tosses a partially-drained Tavra on the stairway like a broken bag of potatoes.

A couple of things come together in Naia’s brain. The Hunter was waiting for her. The Emperor asking if Naia was the one they were waiting for. Why Tavra seemed insistent on bringing Naia to Ha’rar in the first place.

“You knew?” Naia whispered.

“I knew they wanted you. I didn’t know why. When I found out, I tried to make it right. I tried to stop you, in the wood, but you followed me here anyway. I’m so sorry.”

Despite the distant sense of betrayal, Naia felt the pain in the soldier’s confession, and then the urgency in the three words that followed:

“Warn the others.”

The Hunter yells that no one warns anyone and just grabs Tavra and starts shaking the age of resistance out of her.

He drops the unmoving Tavra on the stairs and comes for Naia. She holds the Sweet Actual Metal Dagger at the ready but the Hunter just laughs.

“Hard to fight while carrying stone,” skekMal cackled.

It was the grim truth: There was no way she could carry Gurjin and fight at the same time. Letting go of the knife would leave her defenseless, but she would not let go of her brother. But perhaps...

Now the Hunter waits behind him...

He knows not what lies below him...

Who said songs never teach you anything?

Naia tosses the dagger out the window behind her. Which confuses the Hunter. But like in Kylan’s story, Naia listens for the splash and then jumps out the window pulling Gurjin after her.

Which makes the Hunter shriek, probably in ‘ffs not again’

She felt a rush of wind and a blossom of pain in her back and shoulders as the updraft hit them. Naia closed her eyes and prayed, bracing herself for the impact of the water, hoping it could cushion their fall enough to save their lives. Expecting freefall, she clung to Gurjin and prepared for the fast drop to the castle moat. Its thick waters were quiet - save for the single wet splash it had offered when Gurjin’s knife had struck from above.

But they weren’t falling. Instead, their descent was light and airy, like a plumed seedpod drifting on the wind. Looking over her shoulder, Naia saw skekMal hunched in the window of the castle, screeching madly after them, and then she saw them -- felt them.

Black and iridescent, reflecting the light of the storm in vibrant blues and fuchsias, Naia’s wings held them afloat, high above the wood and away from the terrors within the Castle of the Crystal.

“Naia,” Gurjin said. “They’re beautiful...”

Wow!

I knew that all of Naia’s wing-longings were leading up to something and I still was surprised at this moment!

Wings know how to make an entrance!

Its like ‘oh we’re falling to our deaths? Time for wing-puberty!’

But if it had to be either something like this or Naia realizing at the end that wings would happen eventually... well, this was nice.

Of course, she’s not going to be flying on wings that just popped out but she just barely manages to fall with style enough to ensure they land in the moat.

Stunned after falling in the water, someone helps Naia and Gurjin out of the moat.

Naia turned to the one who had pulled her from the water -- had whistled the signal from below -- throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

“You shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous -- they’re coming. The Skeksis --”

Kylan the Song Teller of Sami Thicket nodded, rising and helping her to her feet.

“Then we’d better move, hadn’t we?”

Awwwww! Best boy and best friend Kylan to the rescue! He just fell himself right back into the synopsis!

Naia tells Kylan that the Skeksis betrayed the Gelfling and that they have to tell the All-Maudra. Kylan tells her they need to make it to the Landstrider he left by the river.

Also, they apologize to each other for the fight. Aww, best friends.

But there’s a crash in the woods and they know that the Hunter is coming for them.

Gurjin pulls Naia into a hollow tree stump and Kylan follows. Gurjin tells Naia that he’s too weak and he can’t run. And unless skekMal is stopped, he will find and kill them. Because he’s too relentless and knows the woods too well.

“What... what are you saying?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

“We don’t have time. Dreamfast with me, now!”

Naia numbly took her brother’s hands when he reached out to her, and then all at once, every memory that lived within his mind crashed upon her.

Downloading his brain into her brain, huh?

Hey.

Uh.

I understand that this is a different continuity than the show so I’m kinda worried that Gurjin is going to die. It better not happen. Gurjin is rad. Naia has had such a hard journey with so many complicated emotions about her brother.

I’m just saying.

Don’t.

Do not.

#dark crystal #the Dark Crystal #Shadows of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Naia #Gurjin #Tavra #Kylan #SkekMal #the Hunter #don't look at the tags if you don't like spoilers #dunno what to do about that #not tag?#impossible

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verai-marcel · 4 years ago

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Memory

[Author’s notes: This one ran a little long. But I had an idea and ran with it.]

Adult Male ** Explore ** Wound ** Fantasy

Written January 2015

The sound of huffing and wheezing echoed through the forest, along with puffs of water vapor rising up into the night. Doyle trudged through the snow, holding his side as he caught his breath before trying to run again. It had been three hours of pure moving, constantly going forward through these dark woods, and he still hadn’t found the clearing he had heard of.

“That’ll teach me to follow a fae’s directions,” he grumbled to himself. “Lousy, tricksy, lying creatures—”

His tirade was cut short as his next step fell through the snow and he tumbled down a hillside that he had not seen. Everything had been so white with snow, and the trees were of such varied heights that the topography was impossible to judge from far away. The forest was getting darker by the minute now, but he had kept moving, knowing that he’d be going in blind. Now he paid the price for his recklessness, rolling down a snow-covered hill in the dark.

He finally slid to a stop at the bottom of the incline, and groaned. His face was up against a pile of snow, his feet pushing against a rock, and his arms were wrapped around him in an attempt to keep from breaking them as he fell. Slowly, he pushed himself up and looked around in the dim light of dusk.

A ring of treetops framed the purple sky, and before him, a clearing. One small stone pillar stood in the middle of the clearing, and if he closed his eyes he could hear a thrumming through the air, unnatural and unnerving.

Doyle took a deep breath and started to walk towards the pillar.

***

Three days ago, Doyle hid underneath his sheets, wondering if he could call out sick. He felt drained of all his energy, like everything he had was being sucked straight out of his skin. He wondered if he had just had a really bad reaction to the eight drinks he had the night before, but he normally had that much alcohol on a Sunday night, so he dismissed that thought quickly. He finally dragged himself out of bed and went to the bathroom to relieve himself.

Afterwards, he showered slowly, hoping the water would refresh his senses and wake him up. But it was to no avail; he still felt dull and fuzzy. Hauling himself out of the shower, he dried off and glanced at himself in the mirror.

He dropped his towel and gawked at his reflection.

Dark lines like spider veins traced from his eyes around his face. It was like some sort of black spiderweb mask, except it was in his skin. The lines continued down his neck, across his chest, and centered around his navel.

“Auuugh!” he yelled, getting closer to the mirror to make sure that he hadn’t just hallucinated this. The worst possible thing had happened to him; he had somehow been chosen. These marks were showing up on mortals living on the East coast of the US, ever since a rift opened in the Atlantic ocean a year ago. Supernatural beings had started pouring through, affecting a few select people with their requests. Doyle didn’t want this; from other accounts in the news and on talk shows, anyone who had the telltale symptoms (tiredness, dark lines on one’s skin) had to fulfill some sort of quest, usually dangerous, with vague directions, and most annoying of all, was supposed to rectify a particular vice of the mortal performing the quest. He hated it. If he wanted to drink eight days a week, he wanted the freedom to do so. No one, supernatural or otherwise, could tell him what to do.

Or so he thought. He also knew the consequences if he didn’t answer the call. When the marks first began showing up, people just went to the hospital. Doctors, with no idea what to do, left them in the hospital for observation. After a few days, under many antipsychotic medications, all patients who didn’t act on their visions would crumble to dust. They literally fell apart and no one knew what to do, until finally, people who survived came forward, telling the world that if this happened to them, they needed to follow their dreams. They needed to heed to call, or they too, would succumb to the dusting, as it began to be called.

Doyle didn’t want to be dusted. He called his work to tell his boss he had the marks, and that he’d be taking an extended leave. His boss was silent for a minute before heaving a loud sigh, and wished him good luck on his quest.

“Please, come back safe,” she had said quietly.

“I’ll do my best, boss.”

***

The past three days had been hell, as he had packed his camping gear and started moving in the direction of his dreams. He had traveled through the Blue Ridge mountains, leaving his car in one of the parking lots on the Blue Ridge Parkway to hike into the forest during the winter. He knew going in winter was a dumb idea, but the fae didn’t care about weather, or whether or not this was convenient for their mortal couriers. Also, since his life was on the line, he wasn’t about to have too many qualms about being cold for a few days, potentially weeks.

If it got to months, like he had heard some people’s quests had been, then he’d seriously reconsider the dusting. Fortunately, it hadn’t been that long.

Doyle reached the pillar and touched the top of it tentatively. A tingling sensation shot through his arm, and he quickly pulled back. He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket, and saw the black veins slowly retreat back from his arm, and then stop, and then it started to return back down his arm. He put his hand back on the pillar and watched the black get chased away once more. He kept his hand on the pillar until the tingling had spread all throughout his entire body. The snow around him began to glow a strange blue tint, but he quickly realized it was just reflecting the light coming from him. He looked at his other hand in wonder, as the veins that were once black were now glowing a silvery blue.

Too busy staring at his hands, he didn’t notice the glowing body floating in front of him until he heard a polite cough. He stared at what he believed was a fae, but looked like a glowing ice sculpture of a woman.

“Humans are silly,” the fae voice from his dreams said, a whispery, feminine voice. “You can remove your hand from the pillar, you have completed your mission.”

Doyle lifted his hand off the pillar and quickly stuffed both his freezing hands into his jacket pockets. “So you’re the one who led me here. Why?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“No, and neither has the rest of humanity. Why do you do this to us?”

The fae looked a little sad. “We cannot travel through your cities of iron without great injury. So we travel in you.”

Doyle took that information in. “So why do we become dust if we don’t do what you say?”

The sadness in the fae’s eyes grew. “Because we cannot leave a body until it has reached its destination. With so much iron around, we become dust, and thus, our host too, perishes with us.”

“And why haven’t any of your brethren told us that?”

She shrugged. “None of you have asked.”

He slapped his forehead. It was so simple, and yet no one had even thought to ask. “So why haven’t any of you asked us if it’s okay to take over our bodies? We don’t particularly like possession against our will, you know.”

Another shrug. “We cannot communicate with humans until we have, as you say, possessed them. How can we talk to you if we are not within your souls?”

“So you were inside of me?”

“Yes, our souls have touched. I will be with you forever, as you will be with me.”

Doyle didn’t like this at all. The fae, having been inside of him this entire time, smiled.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It is the way of my tribe. In exchange for passage, we lift a burden from you. There are not many more of us now; soon, we will have all left and traveled past the cities of iron into the mountains, and bother humanity no further.”

Doyle raised an eyebrow, but just shrugged. All he wanted to do now was go home and… and what? He didn’t feel that urge to drink any longer; his craving for alcohol had dissipated. He hadn’t noticed when he had gotten possessed, but now that he thought about it, he hadn’t drank a single drop of booze since then. And the reason he drank… mysteriously missing from his memory. The emotions connected to the memory were dampened, like they were on lockdown.

“You took my memories?” he blurted out angrily. “You think that’s supposed to help me?”

The fae nodded. “Do you feel the oppression of those times upon you any longer?”

Doyle shook his head. He didn’t want to admit it, but the pain that had been weighing on him for so long had been lifted. He looked at the fae, really looked at her. And a tear slid from his eye as he realized something that he hadn’t before. All the news reports had glossed over the fact, even mocking those who had experienced the fae and chalking it up to hallucinations, but blog posts and even some of his other acquaintances had mentioned it. He put the pieces together: every person who had been taken by the fae had lost a loved one.

“You look like her.”

The fae nodded. “I know.”

“I should let go now and move on, huh?”

“Yes. This is goodbye, Doyle Campbell. Live well.”

With that, the fae turned away from him and faded into the forest, turning into a small orb of silvery blue light, and sped into the night. Doyle closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the brisk winter air.

When he opened his eyes, he was back at his car. He wasn’t very surprised; after all, the fae had just lifted a terrible memory from his mind, a memory that had been plaguing him for a year. It wouldn’t be too far from her powers to lift him back to his car.

Looking up at the sky, Doyle smiled. Now his only memories of his wife were of her alive and beautiful.

“Thank you, Lyssa.”

#writing #original writing #fae #inspiration dice prompt

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shannaraisles · 5 years ago

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Care To Wager?

A Dragon Age commission fic for @radflannel and @reaperskillerthighs, featuring Dorian and Varric.

***

"What do you think of this? ‘With a flare never before seen in the royal court of Ferelden, the mage crossed the floor to the throne. Sparkling lights danced at his fingertips; women swooned as he passed; and every man there wished he had even a fraction of the mustachioed masculinity he exuded with every step.’"

"It's dreadful. The Orlesians will love it."

Varric chuckled, setting his quill down as he twisted to look over at his companion. Dorian lounged in their bed, ankles crossed, one hand behind his head, his own book held aloft in the other as he read. Clothing was apparently optional for today. The Tevinter mage glanced down from his reading, raising a brow in sardonic amusement.

"My dearest dwarf, I do realize I am quite the arresting sight, but I was under the impression that you needed to write today," he said, his smile almost winsome. "I am even proofreading this appalling dross that keeps you supplied in paper."

"Don't let Cassandra hear you say that," Varric warned laughingly. "Every word of that dross keeps her sweet."

"You should never have let her introduce the sisters in the Chantry to this syrupy nonsense they call romance," was Dorian's stated opinion. "Though I must confess, it is rather delightful to know that the holiest of holies down here in the south is all but addicted to a serial bodice ripper written by a dwarf she cannot stand."

"I'll have you know Cassandra and I have settled our differences for the most part," Varric retorted, his low voice gruff with amusement. "She doesn't order any Exalted Marches on Kirkwall, and I don't write anything subversive about the Chantry. It works for both of us."

"And yet you persist in trying to capture my glorious personage on parchment as a means to tell the world that your contraption lost out to a terrifying magister." Dorian's chuckle was warm with pleasure. "If I didn't know better, I'd imagine you were even proud of taming a Tevinter trickster."

"Sparkler, you and I both know there's nothing tricksy about you," the dwarf countered, rising from his desk to make his way back to the bed. "You're all front."

"I would venture to suggest you rather like my front," Dorian said, lowering his book with a grin as Varric climbed onto the bed with him. "You certainly have a way with it."

"I don't really have a choice these days, do I?" Varric chuckled, stretching out on the rumpled bedclothes with a comfortable groan. "Not since you showed me what my chain was really for."

Dorian laughed, laying the book aside to roll over and drape an affectionate arm about his diminutive lover's waist. The only thing that could possibly make this time even more wonderful would be the presence of the third member of their loving trio. Sadly, Odinel's mission to seek out Solas had not allowed him to take even a day to join his lovers on this rare reunion.

"I refuse to believe that you did not know that," he said cheerfully. "Honestly, amatus, wearing it so openly and still refusing to acknowledge what it said so succinctly about you? I was shocked."

"I doubt that," Varric countered, propping his head on his hand as his thick fingers stroked up and down Dorian's arm. He liked these quiet moments, though they were too few and too far between these days. "How long before you go back this time?"

Dorian sighed, his smile fading as he contemplated the many burdens waiting for him back in Minrathous. The Lucerni were slowly becoming a coherent political faction, with Maevaris' help, but with that coherence came a greater danger of assassination. The more others listened, the more the corrupt would seek to silence them. The Magisterium was not a place for the faint of heart, nor for the slow of mind. Indeed, he likely would not be able to leave again for quite some time.

"A few more days," he said finally. "Maevaris can hold down the fort a little longer without me, especially since Cullen's volunteer templars took up their positions in the various households we are holding together."

"You know the Merchants' Guild have been pushing for a representative in Tevinter for a while now," Varric began, but Dorian shook his head swiftly.

"It is too dangerous," he said bluntly. "Between the inevitable scandal of our association and the stranglehold Kal-Sharok insists on maintaining for our supply of lyrium, you would be utterly surrounded by enemies on all sides. I will not have it."

"You think I like knowing you're in that same position, miles away from me and Bianca?" Varric asked rather pointedly.

"The difference, my dearest dwarf, is that I am a mage, and a person of influence within the Magisterium," Dorian reminded him. "In Minrathous, you would be seen as a means to weaken me, at best. I have no great desire to place you in such a position. At least here you have your guards and the love of your people to protect you."

"I don't like it," Varric muttered, unhappy to be shut down so sufficiently and with such clarity of mind.

A warm hand curled to his cheek, drawing him into a tender kiss.

"Stay here, amatus," Dorian whispered to him. "Stay safe. I can face anything knowing that you are here, waiting for me to brighten your days with my sunny personality."

Varric snorted with laughter, letting himself be kissed once again.

"You know, Sparkler ... you have a real way with words," he mused. "Care to wager on whose personality is sunniest?"

"You know me." Dorian grinned, nuzzling close as Varric's arms enfolded him. "I rather think I will win that bet."

#radflannel #reaperskillerthighs #commission fic #dragon age fic #dorian pavu #varric tethras #dorian x varric #implied poly #fluff #comfort #established relationship

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recalcitrantlycaffeinated · 5 years ago

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Let me tell you a fucking STORY

This is a long-ass story but it’s maybe the most insane thing that I can remember happening to me.

Once upon a time, as a homeschooled high schooler, I was a part of my church youth group. On a lock-in retreat, a neighboring youth group leader came in to run the most batshit insane icebreaker that has ever been icebroke.*

I had never met this youth group leader (let’s call him Matthew) before, so when he said he needed ten volunteers, it didn’t immediately send off alarm bells in my head. His own youth group members had volunteered willingly, so when my youth group leader (her name doesn’t matter) volunteered me when there weren’t enough enthusiastic guinea pigs, I just went along with it.

Matthew, possibly the most chaotic evil individual ever to be put in charge of youths, who presumably took this job solely in order to cause suffering in children to an extreme degree, informed us that the game was called “Kiss the Fish”.

Not one of us raised our hand or stepped forward to say, “Excuse me, what the FUCK?” None of us said, “I’m out.” We were high schoolers. We were sheep.

Even when Matthew pulled a very real dead fish out of a cooler he’d brought an hour and a half from his city, and informed us that nine out of the ten of us were literally going to have to kiss this slimy wet cold being, nine out of ten of us kept our thoughts of “like HELL I am” to ourselves or resorted to quietly whining to one another. (One girl very logically pointed out to the adults that she was deathly allergic to fish, but some brave soul had to step in to take her place in order to satiate Matthew’s desire for human suffering.)

Thus began the worst game of Hot Potato I have ever taken part in in my life. Every time someone was eliminated, by being caught holding the fish when the music stopped, they were forced to kiss the fish before being ousted. Everyone else in the audience, and still in the game, as well as all of the adults present, was told to chant “KISS THE FISH! KISS THE FISH! KISS THE FISH!” until the hapless loser gave into the overwhelming peer pressure and planted one on the smelly aquatic corpse.

Now, you may be saying at this point, “hey, Robyn, you’ve worked with teenagers for a church before. Can’t you see where this is going? This is clearly all just a plot put together by the tricksy adults, who were trying to teach you about the evils of peer pressure and the courage it takes to be the smart person who says no to a situation that’s obviously akin to jumping off a cliff because your friends are doing it! The adults were hoping that one of you would say no and refuse to kiss the fish, or at the very least, they were planning at the end of the game to turn the whole thing into a stern lesson!”

Well, stranger, you would be 100% wrong. Not only were all of the adults committed to putting the pressure on us to do something we were clearly uncomfortable with...partway through, they legitimately went full Jigsaw and decreed that the person who came in second place would need to french kiss the dead fish. They did not see anything wrong with any of this. If one of us had pointed out that this was exactly the type of situation adults normally told us to avoid, they would probably have called that person a pussy and dunked their head in a toilet. The grown-ups had gone straight insane.

Now here are some things you need to understand:

I hate peer pressure. I have always been pretty fucking immune to peer pressure, going all the way back to childhood, where I refused to play parachute with the other toddlers because I wasn’t into it, and boycotted the Farmer in the Dell because I didn’t want to take the chance of becoming the cheese. In 99.9% of my life, put in this position, I would have laughed in the adult overlord’s face and said no and walked away. You could have chanted “KISS THE FISH” at me for three hours straight and the closest I would have gotten was maybe accepting the fish and then spiking it into the ground or yeeting it into some adult’s face.

However, unfortunately for the drama of this story, I had an ENORMOUS crush on one of the guys who had also ended up in the Doomed Ten. There was a much-less-than-zero part of my brain that thought secondhand kissing him via a fish was...worth it? Let me once again remind you I was in high school and thus had a lot of learning still to do.

I’m not saying EVERYONE in the Doomed Ten had never kissed a person before, but the fact that we were all Catholics lame enough to go to youth group meant that for probably a majority of these people, kissing the fish was the closest they had gotten up to this point to a real kiss. I can almost guarantee that none of us had even considered french kissing a person, so the idea that whoever came in second place would have to french kiss a fish was not only insane, but probably counted as some kind of emotional cruelty on the part of the adults.

The fish was sharp. It had teeth. My hands were bleeding because of this fish and its teeth. What kind of monster was Matthew to suggest that some teenager french kiss the demon fish?????? Did he not realize he would be liable for the inevitable damage this would cause?? Was he planning on skipping town right afterward to become a youth group leader somewhere else so he could execute this scheme again? Was he planning on keeping the bloody fish as some kind of trophy? I have a lot of questions.

It eventually came down to me and one of the boys from Matthew’s youth group; the kind soul who had stepped up to play in the allergic girl’s stead (possibly because he was a BOSS at Hot Potato?). Matthew was in charge of turning the music on and off, and his back was not turned, so he deliberately waited until a moment when the fish was on its way through the air to me before turning the music off. I did not catch the fish. The fish fell to the ground with an incredible squelching sound. There was clear discomfort in the group of teenagers, who, when it came down to it, really didn’t want to see a homeschooled girl lose her tongue to a dead fish. Matthew, on the other hand, was downright gleeful, and asked, “Who wants to see Robyn french the fish?”

I wasn’t going to french kiss a fish, even if my crush HAD kissed it earlier. Thankfully, our gallant winner prevented me from having to publicly defy authority by snatching up the fish himself and yelling, “WHO WANTS TO SEE MATTHEW FRENCH THE FISH??” and chasing him with it.

There was no lesson. None of the adults tried to tell us peer pressure was bad and they were just pretending to see how we would react. All of them remarked on what a fun icebreaker this was. Eight teenagers were pressured into kissing a dead fish against their will, and I needed first aid to treat my bleeding fingers.

HOW WAS THIS REAL LIFE.

*If you have ever played this game, it will blow my fucking mind, because I can’t believe that an actual adult ever suggested this even once, let alone multiple adults thinking this is a good idea.

#behold i wrote a thing #stories #high school #youth group #repressed trauma i forgot about until rereading old journal entries #i have mentally and verbally sparred with many adults in the wrong over the course of my life #but never was a full group of adults so clearly wrong as this moment #which is so insane it defies all logic #what's more insane is that nine people felt too powerless to stop this and just went along with it #while i'm over here a piece of shit thinking i could stop this but i'd rather let it happen because it was the closest to kissing a crush #that i had ever come #GUYS #THIS IS AN EMBARRASSMENT #i had yelled at managers at work who i thought were being vaguely unjust #i had sassed bullies of all ages including basketball coaches and religion teachers #i know this story could have ended with me sassing everyone if the fish hadn't been weaponized against Matthew #but i'm really disappointed i didn't immediately call this nonsense out for what it was because of a BOY

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chalkrevelations · 4 years ago

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Episode 32 of Word of Honor, and once again, this is just. A LOT. A LOT is happening, and all of it is A LOT. Also, show, what is even happening? I have questions. A LOT of questions.

(Spoilers. Go ahead and scroll on by, then come back later, if you want to watch it unspoiled.)

BUT FIRST, before anything else, you know I have to yell about this for a minute because we once again see that the Gu Xiang/Cao Weining relationship and the Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishou relationship are the same relationship. We get the same scene with A-Xiang and Cao Weining – again – that we’ve already seen with Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu, this time from Ep 27, with Fan Shishu in the role of Ye Baiyi. Fan Shishu (YBY) asks “Do you know who she (he) is?” and this time, Cao Weining knows, just as ZZS knew in Ep 27. Cao Weining (ZZS) literally throws himself in front of A-Xiang (WKX) to protect her (him). “Kill us both” (Ep 27). “If you’re going to hurt her, kill me first” (Ep 32). Fan Shishu, like YBY, eventually lets A-Xiang and Cao Weining go, despite having them in a position where he could do them in. Color palettes between the two couples in these scenes match again, with the younger couple being more intense this time – A-Xiang and Wen Kexing in pinks, Cao Weining and Zhou Zishu in blue. (ZZS is mainly in creams and grey, but the piping on his robes is a very light blue, I think the greys have a blue undertone to them, and when you stand him next to Chengling in more intense blue while he’s wearing that particular outfit, it really starts to pull out the blue of ZZS’s outside robe – you can see this at the end of Ep 26.) Between the way these relationships continue to mirror each other and the hairpin scene from the last ep, I honestly don’t know what our takeaway is supposed to be, other than that WKX and ZZS are essentially married.

I also find it interesting - although this almost seems like too much of a stretch to be anything other than coincidence - that we get a specific callback to Ep 27 in this episode, as Ep 27 is also when WKX talks about not wanting to lie to Chengling about who he is anymore, and this ep is when they finally (apparently) meet again after Chengling learns the truth.

Aaaand now A-Xiang is crying, so of course I’m crying. Aaaand then we have the mournful montage. Give me a minute. And some tissues. I notice how much of this mournful drunken montage is ZZS remembering all the times he was cranky with WKX. Oh, honey. No. That’s what you’re remembering, because you feel bad, but it’s not what he would remember at all, if he was looking back over his time with you. And even if he did, it would be with great fondness.

Yeah, so, if I haven’t mentioned, this episode is a LOT. We get a big confrontation between WKX and half the jianghu/the Scorpions/some of the Ghost Valley contingent, ZZS showing up to support his man, Fantastic Cranky Grandpa of my heart getting in his eleven cents, Chengling shooting one of his dads, and two yeets off a cliff. And that’s only 15 minutes into the episode. This is too much, show. And I have too many questions. Also some observations. Also some wild speculation, not just about the fact that Wen Kexing is not dead but also about how he may have (not) got that way. And not just because there’s still four episodes left, and it’s too early for him to be dead.

First a small observation but pretty significant, I think: WKX is NOT in his blood-red Ghost Valley master robes during this confrontation. In fact, I think we’ve seen this set of robes in happier days with Zhou Zishou and Chengling. Just noticing this. Also noticing WKX’s face when Shen Shen starts going on about WKX’s parents and how omg if they could see WKX now they’d die all over from the shame, and WKX’S expression is like, the fucking audacity of Shen Shen saying this, and if he could actually kill people with the power of his mind, Shen Shen would be twitching and frothing on the ground. Also noticing the complete change when WKX sees Chengling – it’s like Shen Shen ceases to even exist for him. Gong Jun, your face, it’s killing me. Anyway, I’m going to start wildly speculating here for a minute, because WKX is willing to let Chengling kill him, because he’s so tired and wants to stop fighting, but he’s going to kick everyone else’s ass who even tries it? And then Chengling is actually the one who shoots him and yeets him off the cliff? Is this a set up? Is Chengling in on this? Is he the one who’s supposed to “kill” WKX? If so, at what point did we get Chengling in on this? And who did it? Did Chengling send what’s his name, Jing Beiyuan’s guard, away on purpose at this particular point, because he knew ZZS would show up in time for this confrontation if he heard about Chengling’s reaction to the news about WKX? And do I actually believe Chengling is smart enough – and a good enough actor – to pull off any of this? (Look, I love our little goldbean plenty, but let’s face it, he’s not the brightest kid running around here.)

Also, my dudes. My clever little killers. Xie Wang and Wen Kexing. I am unwilling to believe that you two aren’t somehow still together on this in some way in order to fuck over Awful Yifu. Your antagonistic back and forth seems a little bit like playing roles. Xie Wang gives Awful Yifu a weird side-eye a few times when Awful Yifu talks about how tricksy and cunning WKX is, like maybe he’s reconsidering, and do not tell me you’re questioning and reconsidering whatever deal you’ve made with WKX, little gambler. Why does your Awful Yifu’s bs always work on you? This is really not the time to roll the dice again. I’m assuming A-Xiang is still the only one who knows about their tete-a-tete? If so, this is a side-take I never would have expected on “you don’t fail me, and I won’t fail you.” Honor among thieves? Stick to the plan, Xie’er, whatever the hell it is. Do not blink.

So then, Ye Baiyi shows up, and my immediate reaction is NO. My beloved cranky grandpa, don’t fuck this up, because whatever is going on seems to already have a lot of moving parts with a lot of places for things to go wrong! But … are you in on it, too? Have YOU coordinated with Chengling? (If so, maybe you should have warned him to expect ZZS’s wild-card self-yeet over the cliff’s edge, since you’ve already seen how self-destructive self-sacrificing these two can get over each other.) Making me even more suspicious, Ye Baiyi later proceeds to walk out of a banquet before even eating anything. This guy is walking away from food? There is no clearer sign in this ep that something is up.

Also, while we’re on the banquets, listen. I cannot be the only one who wants to punch Zhao Jing in the face during his interminable yapping during both post-fight banquets. This is one of those places where the show and the actor have done their job too well, because he is so dislikeable and so off-putting that I almost can’t bear to actually watch him. And yet, I can’t fast-forward, because what if I miss some info? Like the fact that … you know, I went back to watch this bit three times, and that is a very … interesting series of camera shots during the second banquet - after the toasts, just as a couple of randoms start advocating for Zhao Jing as head of the Five Lakes Alliance, and we move from Xie’er to Shen Shen to Chengling, all of them still standing, facing Zhao Jing after their individual toasts, all of them in a formation that’s almost caging him in from the front and both sides. It gets more interesting every time I watch it. Is … is Shen Shen also in on this, somehow?

See, I know that is a lot of wild speculation. I know Wen Kexing got yeeted off a cliff, and Ye Baiyi was busy catching Zhou Zishu. And we saw a body. And ZZS set that body on fire. But I also know that Liu Qianqiao was the person holding vigil outside the shed where the body was being held. And I know she’s the other person, besides ZZS, who we know of that knows the facemask disguise technique (in fact, didn’t she learn it from ZZS’s shifu?) We actually get reminded of this later on in this very episode. Which makes me wonder if that was actually WKX’s body, or somebody else, in the shed. Who “found” that body and recovered it? Was it a Scorpion or one of the Ghost Valley contingent? Also, where’s that key WKX was waving around, and why does no one seem to remember it?

Other things:

lol at A-Xiang’s reaction to Jing Beiyun talking about how ZZS used to ask him to set ZZS up with girls. Further lol at Jing Beiyuan, “And funny enough, he was NEVER interested in them. Welp, time for another drink!” Seriously, Qi Ye, we like you, you can absolutely stay.

Still at the banquets, Xie Wang seems discombobulated during a lot of this. And then when Awful Yifu calls him Zhao Xie’er in front of everybody, holy shit, he’s getting everything he ever wanted. Xie’er, you … you’re not going to fall for this again, are you? Please tell me you are not falling for this again, at what is likely a crucial moment. This is NO TIME to take another roll of the dice, little gambler. Stick with the plan, whatever the hell it is.

Oh, hey! Are we finally getting some backstory on Fantastic Cranky Grandpa? Oh. OH. “Our child?” What is up, my friend? (I did go back to Ep 16, when WKX calls Chengling “my child” while defending him against Ye Baiyi, and looking at the Mandarin subtitles, I can’t entirely figure out (with my Level 2 Duolingo Mandarin) all of the nuances of these two references, but it doesn’t look like they’re using the same words to describe these relationships.) So some further wild speculation: Apparently, Cranky Grandpa Fantastico is solitary drinking in the dark instead of feasting at the banquet, over someone who (he feels) foolishly wanted to save the lost souls in the Ghost Valley? And now he feels like fate is making fun of him? And he’s asking Dead Beloved what he would do in Ye Baiyi’s position? Ye Baiyi, is it possible that fate is making fun of you because you have found yourself in the position of saving a lost soul from the Ghost Valley? Also, Ye Baiyi, I’ve noticed the children have been turning you grey. I don’t think you had that grey streak when you showed up for the first Hero’s Conference, did you? In fact, I feel like you got offended when WKX talked shit about possible grey hairs on your head.

Duan Pengju, this asshole, omg … OMG. Well. I guess you got your confirmation, Xie’er. Were you really considering rolling the dice again? AT THIS POINT?

#wen kexing #zhou zishu #gu xiang #cao weining #zhang chengling #shen shen #xie wang #ye baiyi #liu qianqiao #zhao jing #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

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cannabisrefugee-esq · 5 years ago

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(via The Welfare Gnome! It's Like a Sock Gnome Except This One Can Actually Kill You. Ft. Joker (Again))

The Welfare Gnome! It’s Like a Sock Gnome Except This One Can Actually Kill You. Ft. Joker (Again)

Cannabis Refugee, Esq.

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December 20, 2019

According to the internet, a “sock gnome” is a mythical creature that pilfers socks. Presumably it lives in or around the dryer where you put an even number of socks in and get an odd number out. Sometimes it gets tricksy and spits out an even number but the pairs don’t match (meaning it’s pilfered one from more than one pair) but the usual evidence that you’ve had a sock pilfered by a gnome is that there is one left over that doesn’t have a mate and the missing sock never reappears ever. This is a real thing (if not a real gnome) and everyone knows what this means.

Well, there appears to be a similar creature that lives at Social Services and pilfers sick and poor people’s applications for welfare benefits. Or something, idk. I assume these creatures are related but maybe not since this gnome doesn’t play games: it’s goal seems to be to drive you insane before it literally kills you. I wrote here before about an application for benefits that went missing, along with a half a dozen other boondoggles that have wasted my spoons and left me scrambling to repeat some administrative process I was barely able to complete survive the first time.

Because while a sick person’s literal inability to jump through bureaucratic hoops is actually the best evidence that someone is extremely ill, someone has decided that only those who are well enough to sing for their supper (or pursue benefits) deserve to eat, as it were. The first application that went missing was for food stamps, while today I found out that my application to get on a 4 month waitlist to see a doctor went missing 2 months ago and has not been since heard from: although my disability advocate hand-delivered it, the application was never received.

I didn’t know it had never been received since I was instructed to wait for 2-3 months for a phonecall from them whereupon they would then tell me that I had to wait another 4 months to see a provider. Now I get to start the whole process over again. Of course, the clock starts, again, from zero: 2-3 months for the application to be processed and another 4 months before I will be seen. And as both Crohn’s disease and high functioning Autism are untreatable and incurable, the only reason I’m even trying to get in to see a doctor is that I need up to date records of medical compliance (not actual therapeutic medical care since none exists) to support my claims for disability. As if sick people have the time and energy for that.

Just “apply for benefits” then keep applying indefinitely or forever! Just get showered, dressed, don’t eat or drink anything though because Crohn’s, get somehow transported across town, pretend to act human for a several hours while you are being humiliated, interrogated, starved and otherwise tortured in public, then somehow get a ride back home. And do all of that without “acting” sick. Easy peasy.

And truly, bureaucratic incompetence (or a welfare or Social Services gnome) isn’t even worth writing about and I wouldn’t bother writing about it except that it had an unsettling effect on me: I literally wondered, if only for a second, if I had hallucinated the whole thing and therefore wondered if my new disability advocate who had hand-delivered the applications himself, Dave, was even real. Jesus Christ that was disturbing. Around Halloween of this year, Dave had helped me complete numerous applications, some online, while he mailed some hardcopies out of town and hand-delivered the rest; the 2 applications that were both hand-delivered were supposedly never received. One would be understandable, if not acceptable, but both of them? I was shook.

Very shortly thereafter I realized that the only proof I even have that Dave came to pick me up several times, completed applications for/with me and took me home again is that one application we did online was actually received and has his name and information on it. Much to my chagrin, they initially returned that “online” application to me in hardcopy to review, sign and return (WTF) but as it turns out, that bit of bureaucratic fuckery actually saved me from something awful — a literal break from reality — and was the only proof I had that Dave and our interactions were even real. Also, my old disability advocate told me about Dave in front of another person and they both remember it. (!) So yeah, I’m legit losing my mind by now but at least I’m not delusional (that I know of). Everything about this is fucking terrifying.

Wait. Is Dave even real? Let’s review.

At some point, I know my readers are going to get sick to death of hearing about this shit and I wouldn’t blame them. Hearing about how the system truly victimizes people is unpleasant and predictably leaves those who don’t have to deal with it (yet) with the strong impression that disenfranchised people are “victims” experiencing “victimization” which is always, always read as a character flaw, or it is eventually, especially if it goes on for a long time and it often almost always does. And this material is about as appealing to read as…idk, a book of vintage recipes where the first and second ingredients in every dish are Jello and fake mayonnaise? Maybe. There’s a trainwreck quality that’s hard to look away from, it’s interesting (at first) to see how all the various parts fit together (or ultimately don’t) and I suppose it’s possible to have compassion for the vintage cooks who were trying so, so hard to be resourceful and whatnot.

But eventually that person’s judgement will probably come into question and the blame will fall squarely on them if they consistently choose to participate in such insanity, in that case, preparing and serving Spaghetti-Os and sliced hot dogs suspended in savory Jello, or a canned ambrosia Yule log. (I just watched a video of someone making a canned ambrosia Yule log from a vintage recipe, you can watch that here). Or in the case of a vulnerable person seeking benefits, choosing to consistently be relieved of their dignity and even being (seemingly) willingly neglected and abused. The comparison is kind of a reach but what I’m getting at here is that it’s not pretty. The things I discuss on this blog aren’t pretty.

So do I have an actual point? Actually I have 2. The first point I will make via another anecdote and is something I learned as a young attorney who was becoming seriously ill: I had been seeing a chiropractor/nutritionist for months to attempt to treat what was becoming unbearable chronic pain and GI issues when my health insurance company started denying his claims. The “doctor” wasn’t being paid but I was still in disabling pain and his treatments were working. Kind of. Until they stopped. We had to have “the discussion” which drew out our competing interests: my interest in continuing treatment without a lapse versus his interest in being consistently paid. (Really, this is where the myth of the compassionate Western healer is always undone: the issue of money. But that’s a post for another day.) This discussion is never pleasant and as I learned, is absolutely meant to be ugly.

As a seasoned provider with decades of experience in the insurance game, the “doctor” calmly explained to me that part of the game is to pit the doctor and patient against each other so that they can’t provide a united front against the real enemy: the insurance company. The goal is to have the doctor and patient part ways angry so that there is no reason to pursue an appeal and the treatment — whether it’s medically necessary or not — simply ends. From the insurance company’s perspective, the problem (of exposure to liability) just goes away: if the doctor and patient part ways it doesn’t have to expend resources reviewing appeals and no further claims will be made, their exposure drops to zero, and they win.

Get it? Bad guys 1, good guys 0. And this, I think, is the dynamic playing out when people get fed up (and fired up) with hearing about what sick and disabled people go through — regular, relatively powerless people blaming and judging other regular, relatively powerless people for being “victims” instead of providing a unified front against our common enemy. In this case, against our corporate and governmental overlords who spend billions if not trillions annually on “corporate welfare” and destructive black budget programs while reducing, eliminating or otherwise making inaccessible benefits that real people need to live in this shithole they created, not us. And Big Medicine torturing sick people and deliberately (or leastwise predictably) making us worse.

We all have a choice, don’t we, to pick the correct side and to not fall into this deliberate trap set by the elite, to not go against our own interests, to decline the invitation to support our oppressors while undermining ourselves and our ilk, our own people. Choose correctly. It matters.

My second point is this. I can only speak for myself when I say that I absolutely never wanted to be a “victim” and I spent my entire life and literally everything I had to try to ensure that didn’t happen. I have written about that before if anyone wants to revisit that part of my journey, but what I haven’t directly said is this: once I had exhausted every resource I had accumulated over a lifetime (which wasn’t much), after I had asked everyone I knew for help and they all declined, after I had failed to cure myself of an incurable disease, I knew what was coming for me because I had spent my entire life trying to avoid it.

My experience as a benefits attorney only underscored what I already knew, which is that there is nothing there to catch most people when they fall, and there is no bottom to the abuse and neglect one will suffer, and literally endless opportunities to be victimized, once anyone, especially an unresourced, unsupported female, is no longer able to control her outcomes and sick women can no longer reliably control their outcomes. I knew the benefits system would be inaccessible or inadequate, I knew I would be abused and neglected by doctors if I let them, I knew I could end up sick and homeless at the same time, I knew I could end up sick and homeless and raped and pregnant at the same time if there was nothing I could do to stop it, and I knew that once I got sick there was, in fact, little or nothing I could do to stop it. I knew there would be no end to my suffering as a sick woman under capitalism and patriarchy.

I saw this coming a mile out, and to avoid that outcome I knew I didn’t want and knew I couldn’t handle (and shouldn’t be expected to) and to fulfill a lifelong promise I had made to myself to never “allow” myself to be victimized in this way, I attempted suicide. 4 times. Four fucking times I took action against myself that was so incompatible with life that by all rights I should have died at least once if not every time but I didn’t die. Each time I woke to this nightmare that won’t end and I had to go on, dealing with the same shit and with the same hideous constraints only even more sick and even more traumatized than I was before if that was even possible. And it is possible, isn’t it — it is bottomless. There is no end, there is absolutely no end to how bad this can and will get for me and for everyone in my position.

And to be clear, I started this blog after what ended up being my final (well, most recent) suicide attempt which was 2 years ago by now. Get it? Every single post on this blog was written after that and therefore was very nearly not written at all. What I am documenting here, I think, is a fairly common experience that is almost always lost to time and tragedy: what it’s actually like to be this seriously, hopelessly ill, how “the system” works against sick people and sick women at every turn, and what it really looks like to have no options. And while this surely happens all the time, every force in the universe, it seems, is working against most people actually knowing about it. In fact, the most relateable thing I’ve ever read, the only thing that I have ever seen address these points and describe an experience nearly identical to my own was left behind by an activist/writer/seriously chronically ill woman in a suicide note. I wrote about that woman, Anne Örtegren, and her suicide note here.

In my own case, and this is the only reason you are hearing about it, I happened to be a seasoned researcher and writer with a specialized interest in dissecting the insane system of patriarchy, I had a preexisting platform on which to advertise this project and an audience that was open to hearing about it, and despite my best intentions and efforts, and those of everyone and everything else for that matter, where those intentions and efforts were not compatible with life, my life, I didn’t fucking die. Not yet anyway. I suspect that many women who experience what I and Anne Örtegren and others have experienced go down for the third and final time before anyone even hears them scream. And if any of this sounds a little crazy to you, that’s only because it is. It is completely, completely insane.

#joker #christmas #xmas #friends #family

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